TV Analysis

Post image for Spec Script: Is fresher better?

Would you rather spec Better With You or The Big Bang Theory? Blue Bloods or The Good Wife?

I’ve recently received a few comments about the annual “Hot Spec Script” list and how it’s apparently already outdated.

[The list] is stale, if not outright old, as that’s a post from March. Might want to issue an update as it’s six months later…

I’m amused at the thought of a post being stale after six months, especially something called an annual list.
Has the state of television series changed so much in the last six months that an addendum–nay, a revisal of the list is required?
Either the person is talking about shows getting canceled, or how some shows are outdatedly classified as mainstream or wild cards. And I’m pretty pleased to see that out of over fifty shows listed, only three have been canceled in the past six months.

This brings me however to one of the core issues in picking a show to spec: longevity.
Before trying to break a show, or even research it, you obviously need to choose it.
Of course, each person has his/her own ability to take on a given show, regardless of the series’ age, and I’ve already talked a bit about this tricky subject.

There are two aspects to longevity.
The first is the fear of renewal.
As Lone Star and My Generation can both attest, being on the air is one thing, getting renewed is another.
Though it might have seem tempting to spec My Gen before it even premiered (what with all the billboards and whatnot), it would have proven to be a waste of time.
No one can really predict with 100% accuracy if a given show is going to get renewed, you can only guess it to a certain extent. If the series has ratings and an interesting story-world, then I’d wager it will continue.

The other aspect to the “longevity” issue is what is debatable, and perhaps even more important.
At the center of this is a simple question:
If a show has been on the air less than a full season, should you consider speccing it?
Blame it on Facebook, ADD or Jersey Shore, but it seems that people are not happy anymore sticking with the “at least one season under the belt” formula.
Everyone wants to “get ahead of the curve,” and the most obvious way to do it is to spec a brand new show.
Is this a ground-breaking issue? Hell no. But it’s now more than ever a central one.

Perhaps the best example of this situation is last season’s Modern Family and Community.
Both shows had been on the air for only a few months, and already you could tell they were going to be great comedies to spec. And the fact that neither of them were renewed at that point made no difference.
It was, and still is, a smart choice to try to spec them, but one key component that many people seem to miss is the fact that a new show hasn’t found its footing.
Case in point with Glee. Watch the first half of season one, then compare it to last week’s episode.
If you can’t see how vast the show has changed, you should reconsider speccing it.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m not saying you shouldn’t think about writing a Nikita spec script.
It’s always good sometimes to take mitigated risks when it comes to choosing a show to spec. But no one should feel rushed into breaking an episode of, say, The Event before it’s even renewed for a second season.
The show is as speccable now as Caprica was only two weeks ago. And then look at what Syfy did.

If you are going to commit several months of your life researching, breaking, and then writing a spec script for a brand new TV show that has been on the air for less time than the Chilean miners were underground, wait a bit.
You need to really think things through in terms of storytelling, dialogue, structure, characters; not gimmicks.
The show might not have found its foothold in the first season, let alone first two months of being on the air.
It’s certainly a safe bet to say Hawaii Five-0 will soon be the go-to action procedural to spec in a few months, but until then, don’t presume that a show two seasons in, like NCIS:LA, is already past its due with no more stories to tell.
I’m sure a few people are already spit-balling spec stories for The Waking Dead right now.
By all means, jot down your ideas. But maybe it would be wise to hone them once a few more episodes have been shown. You know, more than one.

You have to realize that if you have so much faith in your chosen show and your script, then neither of them are going away anytime soon. You are aiming for a shelf life of a year or two at the max, which is plenty of time for you to go from research to final draft. Don’t rush into a spec just because you have found a new show and “omygod no one has thought of this but me!“
This is tantamount to being scared of your own shadow. You’re racing against an imaginary enemy.

Your script isn’t going to stand out because you are the first person ever to spec Modern Family or Hawaii Five-0.
It will stand out because it is great by itself.


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Post image for Screenwriting lessons from Coupling

A key part of writing for television is watching television. And learning from it.
Screenwriting lessons from tackles series past and present, analyzing them through the prism of screenwriting.

Today, we take a look at one of the greatest British sitcom, Coupling.
You might know the series from its infamously aborted American adaptation, but just like pretty much anything, the original by Steven Moffat is vastly superior to its remake.
Though similar to Friends, the show ends up being quite different from it, both in its length (four seasons of six 30-minute episodes), and subject matter (sex is omnipresent for one).

Lesson 1: Context is key
Coupling is built around the relationship of six friends, but more than that, the peripeteia stem from their adventures outside the group.
Some jokes on the show might seem easy, or downright idiotic, but the truth is there are “no jokes per se” as Steven Moffat puts it. The humour comes from the context.
This ties back to the true essence of sitcom, or rather situation comedy.
Most of the memorable scenes of Coupling are exactly what makes the genre so appealing: comedy through situation, double-entendres, and other qui pro quo (not to be confused with quid pro quo). There are no punchlines or zingers on the show, it’s all about what the audience knows vs. the characters. This allows you, the writer, to play with two key aspects of TV series: character points of view and audience expectations.
Qui pro quo are classic and traditional, but they works extremely well when done right.

Lesson 2: “Traditional” format doesn’t necessarily mean “traditional” content
Bold and ballsy are not incompatible with the classic multi-camera format. Sometimes, you shouldn’t be afraid of avoiding the cookie-cutter and go where no show has gone before.
Multi-camera might seem at first constrictive but it might actually end up being the complete opposite. Moffat understood perfectly that the format was going to have to evolve, and he used this as an advantage.
Coupling thrived with its innovative use of storytelling. Rarely (if ever) has a sitcom so successfully utilized such a wide variety of non-linear techniques.
The main episodes that spring to mind are The Girl with Two Breasts, Split , The End of the Line, and Nine and a Half Minutes.
Don’t get fooled by the titles.
The Girl with Two Breasts played with the qui pro quo to a new extreme by introducing a foreign language. Almost half of the episode was in Hebrew, with most notably a crucial exchange between an Israeli woman and one of the main characters. The tour de force employed in the series was to show the same exact scene once more, only this time with the Israeli woman speaking in English and the other character in gibberish (ergo from her point of view).
Though the idea of showing back-to-back the same scene may seem almost ridiculous, the gutsy (and well executed) move actually paid off and proved extremely popular.
From that moment on, each season had at least one “epic” episode, as Moffat called them.
The second in the list is Split. As the name implies, it used throughout the entire episode a continuous split-screen (to showcase the split between the two main characters).
As always, the episode was filmed in front of a live audience, which means that, thanks to the multi-camera format, they had to shoot the two sides simultaneously on two different sets. Hilarity ensues.
Once again, this is a truly awesome use of what has since become more of a gimmick (I’m looking at you 24).
The End of the Line and Nine and a Half Minutes use the perspectives of different characters by showing different angles and POVs. What is great is how the various scenes intersect with one another, providing each time additional information regarding what came before (or will come after).

Lesson 3: Don’t forget continuity
Sitcom and serialized storytelling might seem antinomic, but in truth, even the most rudimentary comedy will have some form of continuity: relationships.
If anything, television is the land of characters, and especially in sitcoms you need to embrace that.
Somewhat like Arrested Development (though less pronounced), Coupling had numerous references to past episodes and small details. Beyond that though, the relationships between the characters evolved organically and clues regarding what was to come were disseminated throughout the show.
It wasn’t a surprise then when a Season Two episode “flashbacked” all the way to the Pilot to provide additional perspective on a certain relationship.
Don’t be afraid in your script to leave some questions/relationships open, even if it’s a comedy. After all, a pilot needs to set up the world. You don’t necessarily have to enter a super-serialized form of storytelling (especially for a sitcom), but don’t necessarily presume your audience is made out of amnesiacs. Even Friends had arcs.

What to take from the show
The audience has expectations that need to be managed, characters have points of view that must be thought out, and situations have perspectives that can (and should) be manipulated.


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Post image for Around the comedy spec

Around the comedy spec

by Alex on August 31, 2010

in TV Analysis,Writing

I am not a specialist when it comes to comedy specs.
After all, I’m no funny man.
With that said, I did want to shine a light on several very interesting articles that can undoubtebly be helpful to fellow comedy/sitcom speccers out there (and actually everyone else too).

Let’s start with one of the masters of classic sitcom, Chuck Lorre.
He recently did an interview for Esquire entitled ‘How to Make a Successful but Critically Ignored Sitcom.‘
Though you might not be interested in creating the next Two and a Half Men, don’t let the title of his article fool you. Chuck Lorre does give some helpful advice that every aspiring sitcom writers should, if not follow, then at least know of.

Over at the [eventual] sitcom writer, Evan has made a must-read in doing an extensive ‘Spec Script Toolkit’ for not one or two, but three sitcoms (and he’s keeping them coming).
Community
Modern Family
The Big Bang Theory
Pick your poison.
All of them are broken into several parts; namely Homework (Part One), Story & Structure (Part Two), Characters (Part Three), Numbers (Part Four), and I’m guessing other stuff to come.
This reminds me a bit of my Spec Flashpoint series (way back when), only this time for sitcoms, and better.
Currently Community is the farthest along in the breakdown, but Evan is much more awesome than I when it comes to updating his blog. So don’t go far.
And even if you’re not planning to break a sitcom spec, there are tons of things to learn from this process.
This is pretty much the same state of mind you should be in before starting a spec (based on a TV show), that is: research, research, research.
You’re not getting into the head of the writers or the characters if you’re not first trying to find a way inside.

Last but not least, HWAS interviewed writer Ron Rappaport in a piece called ‘From Assistant to Sitcom Creator: Writing for Tweens.‘
Who cares about tweens you might say.
Well I always like linking interviews of writers because, whatever their field, you will always learn something new and will always get a piece of life experience. After all, everyone has a different H-Wood experience.

And to borrow Evan’s ‘Lesson learned while writing this blog entry’:
It is never a bad thing to be open to new things, regardless of your genre of choice. Read, listen and be aware.
What’s the worst that could happen? You learn something new?


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Already another award show?
It’s as if time isn’t standing still anymore.
Unlike when you’re stuck watching an award show. Badum-ching.

For once, the opening Emmy number was good (surprisingly). It was also a nice big ad for FOX’s Glee…on NBC.
I do have one major caveat though: Jimmy Fallon, please stop singing.
I mean it.
We could all tell you had a hard time catching your breath and you were pretty much completely off-cue during the live part of the song.
I do wonder why they didn’t use Auto-Tune like Simon Cowell.

The best moments of the night didn’t come from Fallon (as expected, like the Conan jokes), but from Neil Patrick Harris, Ricky Gervais, and even a clip featuring the Modern Family cast discussing ‘options’ with a fake suit.

The running-gag of Twitter jokes was as bad as that time we had reality presenters as actual hosts of the Emmys. Remember?
You shouldn’t be scarce on jokes when you’re hosting an award ceremony, that is all.

There were several awkward moments during the night, especially with some presenters. The first one coming to mind is the Matthew Perry/Lauren Graham duo that epicly bombed.
That was soon followed by John Krasinski forgetting his lines–even though the teleprompter was right in front of him.
Awkward.

This year was also the year of popular vote it seems, with lots of newcomers and fan faves winning. Jane Lynch, Jim Parsons, Eric Stonestreet, Aaron Paul, you name it.
And, yes, Bryan Cranston did deserve to win again!
I’m however sorry to point out that Eddie Falco was not the best choice as Lead Actress in a Comedy. She even admitted it herself.


Still nothing new under the sun regarding the Best Drama-type categories, which brings me to this now-popular joke: Will Erin Levy get fired for winning an Emmy? *rimshot*

Lost didn’t win anything.
I find it sad that Darlton actually used as their Emmy joke a true anecdote showing how poorly planned their mythology was. Though that’s old news by now surely.

It’s funny that the Emmy peeps recycled last year’s bottom-screen announcement, such as ‘George Clooney in 17 minutes’ or ‘True Blood cast in 21 minutes.‘
I mean really?
Is that what people watched the show for, or is NBC that desperate to get eyeballs?
Funny to think that the cast of True Blood is also seemingly as popular as Clooney.
At least this year they didn’t pull out the ‘In Memoriam in 30 seconds’ card.

Oh well.
At least a deserving series won for Best Comedy.


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Post image for Lost Finale Thoughts: From The End to the beginning

Once upon a time, author Stephen King issued a challenge to the Lost writers:

Minus the continuing presence of David Duchovny, X-Files blundered off into a swamp of black oil, and in that swamp it died. If J.J. Abrams, Damon Lindelof, and their band of co-conspirators allow something similar to happen with Lost, I’m going to be even more pissed, because this show is better. Memo to Abrams and staff writers: Your responsibilities include knowing when to write The End.

Flash-forward to five years later: the 100-minute long Lost series finale, abstemiously entitled The End, airs on ABC.

Before I go into my in-depth look at Season Six and the series finale, let me get something out of the way:
Saying that people didn’t like The End because “there were no answers” and “it’s about the characters, stupid” is hypocritical.
If you flashback to a couple of years ago, I am betting Montand’s left arm that you were interested in knowing ‘what the hell is that black smoke’ more than ‘what the hell do Jack’s tattoos mean.’
In season Three, you were interested in knowing Juliet’s and Ben’s backstories not only because they were intriguing characters, but because they seemed at the time to hold key pieces of the Island puzzle.
And people tuned in en masse to the Season Two premiere not to see Jack’s divorce, but to discover what was in the hatch.
Don’t tell me otherwise, because that is either a blatant lie or misguided faith.
The only exception to this rule is the first half of Season One, which indeed delved more into the characters than the (not-yet-fleshed-out) mythology.
Lost drew a cult following because of its mysteries and original storytelling, not because the 815ers were the greatest characters on television at the time. If you disagree with this statement, then you’ve never watched, let’s say, Six Feet Under (2001−2005), The Wire (2002−2008), The Sopranos (1999−2007), or Battlestar Galactica (2003−2009), and the list goes on.
Like Lordy said in his own review, the fact that Lost did not answer any of its main mysteries is completely irrelevant to most people’s quarrels with the series finale.
Why? Newsflash: Darlton had 120 other episodes to answer questions.

So, no, my problem with Season Six does not reside in the lack of answers, it’s more in line with gross character neglect and unjustified fan manipulation.
The “character-only” approach of Lost is first untrue, but more importantly distorted. This point of view was only shaped last year when Lindelof and Cuse began to realize that they couldn’t satisfy fans with answers and needed to go back to a cleaner slate.


Cue the flash-sideways.
As they themselves admitted, the writers wanted to bring to the final season some symmetry in regards to Season One. Though admirable, the effort was pointless and quite frankly disappointing.
First, the idea here was to bring a new sense of mystery and discovery to the characters we had come to know throughout the years. Since doing a flashback on Jack’s ankle-tattoo seemed ridiculous at this point, they chose to do an altverse and switch things up a bit.
The only problem here, and it’s a big one, is that these are not our characters. They haven’t lived through the crash, they haven’t lived through the Island, they haven’t lived through six seasons of tumultuous events. Ergo, we do not care about them.

Of course, this whole ordeal was made irrelevant by the final revelation that, not only did none of it matter, but nothing was actually real. This was quite literally the metaphysical equivalent of ‘it was all a dream.’ Perhaps it wasn’t Vincent that dreamed Jack’s son, David, but this doesn’t mean I didn’t waste an hour watching his pre-adolescent angst towards his father.

There’s also the lack of any character development. Even if you were to assume that the flash-sideways actually happened and mattered, the finale rendered them nonexistent.
Paradoxically, this even impacted ‘our’ characters. For me, the whole emotional effect of Juliet and Sawyer’s reunion was nullified by the fact that, mere seconds ago, she was very content with being in a family with Jack and David. When she ‘remembered’, it was as if an instant brainwash had occurred. Now that Juliet was exchanging fluids with Sawyer, I was left to wonder if she recalled having a son and being with another man, or if her ‘old personality’ had crushed this new life.
Bringing back Julie Bowen as the mother would have actually made things better. And before you comment on her unavailability, allow me to remind you that Modern Family was actually shooting an episode in Hawaii at the same time! Talk about a wasted opportunity…

There is also all that happened on the Island.
The episode felt more to me like a season finale than a true series finale. There was no real farewell to the Island, contrary to what was alluded to since the season premiere (a cataclysmic event involving either a nuke or the volcano). The dramatic reveal of the Island being underwater now makes no sense at all.
As for the characters in peril, I’ll here quote Charlie Jane Anders’ great review of the finale:

Probably the greatest weapon in Lost’s arsenal was always its ability to make you care, desperately, feverishly about what happened to these people.
And in the end, I just didn’t care if that rock went in that hole or not. By extension, I had stopped caring whether the island sank. I had stopped caring about the fate of the Man In Black, long before he got kicked out of the episode prematurely. I didn’t care about any of it.

I do still have chills watching Through the Looking Glass or There’s No Place Like Home, but similarly to Anders, I have stopped caring about Jack & Coe for some time now.


Now about that ending.
What I found interesting about the ending of Lost was that it was thematically related to the series. It echoed two main components of the show as a whole: the fact that everyone was connected and the Island was the most important part of their lives — with one difference.
Whatever the timeline, Lost had always shown events directly (flashforwards) or indirectly (flashbacks) linked to the Island. Even when the Oceanic Six were on the main land, Lost lingered on how the crash and the on-Island events had impacted their lives. Sayid was working for Ben, Jack was suicidal because he wanted to ‘go back’, Kate was raising Aaron, Hurley had to lie about the crash, and so on.

For the first time, the flashes this season were neither about what preceded the crash, nor what followed it. The flashsideways were never narratively connected to the Island. This may be why some were let down by the ending. Basically, we were led to believe all along that, like the flashbacks and the flashforwards, the flashsideways would prove to be important to the understanding of on-Island events.
They weren’t. And, as we’ve seen, most of them were made irrelevant.

Beyond that, the end was also more abstract than some people appear to say. Though you do get some sort of a spiritual conclusion to the characters, you certainly do not get closure of what we might call their “corporeal selves.” You don’t know for instance Sawyer’s ultimate fate.
However, I accept that since, as pointed out above, what will happen in their lives onwards won’t have much to do with the Island.

One thing I don’t really get is the whole “moving on/letting go” part. Beyond the obvious meta comment, I don’t really understand what they have to “move on” from/to.
As far as I can see, virtually every single one of the Lostaways is finally happy, and has moved beyond his/her issues to a new realm of bliss.
Let’s take a look: Ben is a father figure to Alex, Jack is in love and has a son that cares about him, Sawyer stars in a ‘buddy cop’ drama with Miles, Hurley is lucky, Sun and Jin are finally free and about to have a baby, Locke is with Helen and can walk.
If one were to argue that the flashsideways had a point, it was to show that the characters had “moved on” from their (literally) otherworldly problems. Yet, now they need to abandon this wonderful world.
Would this message of “letting go” be present in the episode if it were not the series finale? I’d say no.


During the first four years, Lost was about rescue.
That was Jack’s purpose: to get his fellow castaways off the Island.
It was never about “moving on”, it was never about “letting go”, it was about “getting the hell off this damn rock” as Sawyer would say.
Season One ended with the raft launching, season Two ended with Penny discovering the Island, season Three ended with Jack communicating with a potential rescue team, and season Four ended with the actual rescue of the Oceanic Six.
Mission accomplished.

Personally, the show concluded with season Four. There’s No Place Like Home, the 2008 finale, does offer what I believe to be a great conclusion to the series.
Sure, some questions would have been left open-ended (how did Locke end up in that coffin?), but no more than the amount of mysteries further multiplied by the last two seasons.
Seasons Five and Six brought in unnecessary drama and one-sided debates. Indeed, once Jack is converted by Locke, there is no scientific counterpoint. Plus, since both MiB and Jacob appear in the flesh, no one is here to doubt their existence.
It also tried to solve major philosophical questions (Fate vs. Free-Will, Science vs. Faith) that, despite being part of the show from the very beginning, certainly did not need to have a clear-cut answer (you can guess which one).

Even though The End thematically resonates to the show as a whole, it certainly is not a true conclusion to the series’ ongoing purpose, only its last season. Ultimately, it ended with a tribute to its own completion. Whether this will shape the way Lost is viewed for generations to come remains to be seen.


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