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Ding Dong, Appointment TV is Dead

Ding Dong, Appointment TV is Dead

With 24 being canceled and Lost ending its run next May, this season will mark the last year of so-called Appointment Television.

Everything is now available at our finger tips, and denying it is simply delusional.
It’s a given that people are currently watching television in a very different way than how they were used to for the past last 50-60 years.
Pure made-for-TV content is virtually gone. Networks are constantly thinking of new ways to use new media to promote a show on the air.

Appointment TV itself has gone through some changes throughout the years.
At its core, it can best be described as a can’t-miss show you have to see every broadcast week.
The reason you “can’t-miss” it is exactly what has evolved.

Appointment TV has been in existence since the early days of television at a time where only a handful networks existed. Everyone around the country would tune in to watch one of the few shows on the air, week after week.
When a finale aired, it was an event like no other that a majority of Americans would follow. M*A*S*H*’s series finale achieved a 77% share with 50.15 million households. Three years prior, the Dallas reveal of who shot J.R. attracted 41.5 million households for a 76% share.
To compare, this year’s Super Bowl, the most-watched television program in television history, “only” achieved a 68% share.

But don’t think this viewer problem is anything new.
Over twenty years ago, in 1988, LAT’s Peggy Zeigler wrote in an article entitled “Where have all the viewers gone?”:

And everyone has to figure out how to make network television back into a hits business. The buzzword is appointment television, industry shorthand for the kind of “can’t miss” shows that people make sure they’re home to watch — or they tape. Appointment television translates to hit shows: “Cosby” was appointment TV, so was “Moonlighting” and “L.A. Law.” Appointment television brings more viewers to the set; “The Cosby Show” single-handedly boosted Thursday night HUT levels when it debuted in 1984.

By the mid-1990s, NBC’s “Must See TV” brand was starting to die down, and so was widespread Appointment TV. Due to an increasing number of channels, everyone had their own little personal “Appointment TV Show,” but few were nationally-recognized as such.

A crazy storytelling form became at that point a bit more common: serialized narratives.
Though heavily-serialized shows wouldn’t catch on for another ten years, “softer” mythological ones would in the meantime not only become critical hits, but also cultural ones. Series, such as The X-Files and Buffy the Vampire Slayer, succeeded in keeping an episode format while creating arcs over a full season.
Appointment TV was at that point apparently dead, replaced by Cult Television.

Then something happened: the Internet.
People could share thoughts and discuss mythological components, dissect a show, relay tons of behind-the-scenes information. But it needed content.
No new series had appeared to fill the void since the end of The X-Files.

24 premiered in 2001 and was an instant hit. Many reasons were given, a major one is linked to its serialized format.
It wasn’t only made to enhance “the watercooler factor,” but more importantly allowed the show to introduce a brand new concept: addictive television.
At the other end of the box, people had started to proactively change their schedules to fit a given show into their lives.
You wouldn’t necessarily want to do a Hill Street Blues marathon, but we’ve all heard countless stories of people watching several seasons of 24 back-to-back in one sitting.
After that shift occurred, virtually no episodic Appointment TV remained. Friends’ finale became an actual Television Event (thanks to the show’s influence on pop-culture), but the show never actually reached on a regular basis the levels of 80s sitcoms.

In 2004, Desperate Housewives brought back soap-opera to primetime with much success.
The same year, Lost smashed the mythological show rulebook and paved the way for new forms of television-related transmedia storytelling. Its complex mysteries also brought viewers, who tuned in week after week, wanting answers, or at the very least more clues. For its six seasons, countless time has been spent talking about the series and its content.

The void was filled, and the ultimate form of Appointment Television was born. If only with a decade to live.
Slowly but surely, the tool that helped it resurface was causing its very downfall.
The shows had become so serialized that you couldn’t miss an episode, and needed to use technology to catch up on them. From there, it wasn’t much of a stretch for “can’t miss shows” to become DVRed and streamed instead of live-watched.
Ironically, Appointment TV had become a “must-see,” but not necessarily on television’s schedule.
What works best on television are episodic shows, and what works best outside television are serialized ones.

Meanwhile, Event TV (sports competitions, award shows, etc.) was emphasized as such thanks to Twitter, and other live-communities.
It now has grown into something new: Social Television.

Lost‘s series finale in May will be Event Television. Everyone around the country might not watch it, but they will surely talk about it. By that time however, Appointment Television will be gone forever.
Whatever the case may be, massive weekly viewings of a show are a thing of the past.
Welcome to the world of crossmedia.

Show, Don’t Tell: Mamet’s rules and Breaking Bad

David Mamet wrote a few years ago a letter to his writing staff on CBS’ The Unit talking about what makes drama (written in caps).
This is a must-read for everyone involved with writing.
As Amy Berg described it: “Check out the latest viral writing porn.”

Comments about the content follow the letter.

TO THE WRITERS OF THE UNIT

GREETINGS.

AS WE LEARN HOW TO WRITE THIS SHOW, A RECURRING PROBLEM BECOMES CLEAR.

THE PROBLEM IS THIS: TO DIFFERENTIATE BETWEEN *DRAMA* AND NON-DRAMA. LET ME BREAK-IT-DOWN-NOW.

EVERYONE IN CREATION IS SCREAMING AT US TO MAKE THE SHOW CLEAR. WE ARE TASKED WITH, IT SEEMS, CRAMMING A SHITLOAD OF *INFORMATION* INTO A LITTLE BIT OF TIME.

OUR FRIENDS. THE PENGUINS, THINK THAT WE, THEREFORE, ARE EMPLOYED TO COMMUNICATE *INFORMATION* — AND, SO, AT TIMES, IT SEEMS TO US.

BUT NOTE:THE AUDIENCE WILL NOT TUNE IN TO WATCH INFORMATION. YOU WOULDN’T, I WOULDN’T. NO ONE WOULD OR WILL. THE AUDIENCE WILL ONLY TUNE IN AND STAY TUNED TO WATCH DRAMA.

QUESTION:WHAT IS DRAMA? DRAMA, AGAIN, IS THE QUEST OF THE HERO TO OVERCOME THOSE THINGS WHICH PREVENT HIM FROM ACHIEVING A SPECIFIC, *ACUTE* GOAL.

SO: WE, THE WRITERS, MUST ASK OURSELVES *OF EVERY SCENE* THESE THREE QUESTIONS.

1) WHO WANTS WHAT?
2) WHAT HAPPENS IF HER DON’T GET IT?
3) WHY NOW?

THE ANSWERS TO THESE QUESTIONS ARE LITMUS PAPER. APPLY THEM, AND THEIR ANSWER WILL TELL YOU IF THE SCENE IS DRAMATIC OR NOT.

IF THE SCENE IS NOT DRAMATICALLY WRITTEN, IT WILL NOT BE DRAMATICALLY ACTED.

THERE IS NO MAGIC FAIRY DUST WHICH WILL MAKE A BORING, USELESS, REDUNDANT, OR MERELY INFORMATIVE SCENE AFTER IT LEAVES YOUR TYPEWRITER. *YOU* THE WRITERS, ARE IN CHARGE OF MAKING SURE *EVERY* SCENE IS DRAMATIC.

THIS MEANS ALL THE “LITTLE” EXPOSITIONAL SCENES OF TWO PEOPLE TALKING ABOUT A THIRD. THIS BUSHWAH (AND WE ALL TEND TO WRITE IT ON THE FIRST DRAFT) IS LESS THAN USELESS, SHOULD IT FINALLY, GOD FORBID, GET FILMED.

IF THE SCENE BORES YOU WHEN YOU READ IT, REST ASSURED IT *WILL* BORE THE ACTORS, AND WILL, THEN, BORE THE AUDIENCE, AND WE’RE ALL GOING TO BE BACK IN THE BREADLINE.

SOMEONE HAS TO MAKE THE SCENE DRAMATIC. IT IS NOT THE ACTORS JOB (THE ACTORS JOB IS TO BE TRUTHFUL). IT IS NOT THE DIRECTORS JOB. HIS OR HER JOB IS TO FILM IT STRAIGHTFORWARDLY AND REMIND THE ACTORS TO TALK FAST. IT IS *YOUR* JOB.

EVERY SCENE MUST BE DRAMATIC. THAT MEANS: THE MAIN CHARACTER MUST HAVE A SIMPLE, STRAIGHTFORWARD, PRESSING NEED WHICH IMPELS HIM OR HER TO SHOW UP IN THE SCENE.

THIS NEED IS WHY THEY *CAME*. IT IS WHAT THE SCENE IS ABOUT. THEIR ATTEMPT TO GET THIS NEED MET *WILL* LEAD, AT THE END OF THE SCENE,TO *FAILURE* – THIS IS HOW THE SCENE IS *OVER*. IT, THIS FAILURE, WILL, THEN, OF NECESSITY, PROPEL US INTO THE *NEXT* SCENE.

ALL THESE ATTEMPTS, TAKEN TOGETHER, WILL, OVER THE COURSE OF THE EPISODE, CONSTITUTE THE *PLOT*.

ANY SCENE, THUS, WHICH DOES NOT BOTH ADVANCE THE PLOT, AND STANDALONE (THAT IS, DRAMATICALLY, BY ITSELF, ON ITS OWN MERITS) IS EITHER SUPERFLUOUS, OR INCORRECTLY WRITTEN.

YES BUT YES BUT YES BUT, YOU SAY: WHAT ABOUT THE NECESSITY OF WRITING IN ALL THAT “INFORMATION?”

AND I RESPOND “*FIGURE IT OUT*” ANY DICKHEAD WITH A BLUESUIT CAN BE (AND IS) TAUGHT TO SAY “MAKE IT CLEARER”, AND “I WANT TO KNOW MORE *ABOUT* HIM”.

WHEN YOU’VE MADE IT SO CLEAR THAT EVEN THIS BLUESUITED PENGUIN IS HAPPY, BOTH YOU AND HE OR SHE *WILL* BE OUT OF A JOB.

THE JOB OF THE DRAMATIST IS TO MAKE THE AUDIENCE WONDER WHAT HAPPENS NEXT. *NOT* TO EXPLAIN TO THEM WHAT JUST HAPPENED, OR TO*SUGGEST* TO THEM WHAT HAPPENS NEXT.

ANY DICKHEAD, AS ABOVE, CAN WRITE, “BUT, JIM, IF WE DON’T ASSASSINATE THE PRIME MINISTER IN THE NEXT SCENE, ALL EUROPE WILL BE ENGULFED IN FLAME”

WE ARE NOT GETTING PAID TO *REALIZE* THAT THE AUDIENCE NEEDS THIS INFORMATION TO UNDERSTAND THE NEXT SCENE, BUT TO FIGURE OUT HOW TO WRITE THE SCENE BEFORE US SUCH THAT THE AUDIENCE WILL BE INTERESTED IN WHAT HAPPENS NEXT.

YES BUT, YES BUT YES *BUT* YOU REITERATE.

AND I RESPOND *FIGURE IT OUT*.

*HOW* DOES ONE STRIKE THE BALANCE BETWEEN WITHHOLDING AND VOUCHSAFING INFORMATION? *THAT* IS THE ESSENTIAL TASK OF THE DRAMATIST. AND THE ABILITY TO *DO* THAT IS WHAT SEPARATES YOU FROM THE LESSER SPECIES IN THEIR BLUE SUITS.

FIGURE IT OUT.

START, EVERY TIME, WITH THIS INVIOLABLE RULE: THE *SCENE MUST BE DRAMATIC*. IT MUST START BECAUSE THE HERO HAS A PROBLEM, AND IT MUST CULMINATE WITH THE HERO FINDING HIM OR HERSELF EITHER THWARTED OR EDUCATED THAT ANOTHER WAY EXISTS.

LOOK AT YOUR LOG LINES. ANY LOGLINE READING “BOB AND SUE DISCUSS…” IS NOT DESCRIBING A DRAMATIC SCENE.

PLEASE NOTE THAT OUR OUTLINES ARE, GENERALLY, SPECTACULAR. THE DRAMA FLOWS OUT BETWEEN THE OUTLINE AND THE FIRST DRAFT.

THINK LIKE A FILMMAKER RATHER THAN A FUNCTIONARY, BECAUSE, IN TRUTH, *YOU* ARE MAKING THE FILM. WHAT YOU WRITE, THEY WILL SHOOT.

HERE ARE THE DANGER SIGNALS. ANY TIME TWO CHARACTERS ARE TALKING ABOUT A THIRD, THE SCENE IS A CROCK OF SHIT.

ANY TIME ANY CHARACTER IS SAYING TO ANOTHER “AS YOU KNOW”, THAT IS, TELLING ANOTHER CHARACTER WHAT YOU, THE WRITER, NEED THE AUDIENCE TO KNOW, THE SCENE IS A CROCK OF SHIT.

DO *NOT* WRITE A CROCK OF SHIT. WRITE A RIPPING THREE, FOUR, SEVEN MINUTE SCENE WHICH MOVES THE STORY ALONG, AND YOU CAN, VERY SOON, BUY A HOUSE IN BEL AIR *AND* HIRE SOMEONE TO LIVE THERE FOR YOU.

REMEMBER YOU ARE WRITING FOR A VISUAL MEDIUM. *MOST* TELEVISION WRITING, OURS INCLUDED, SOUNDS LIKE *RADIO*. THE *CAMERA* CAN DO THE EXPLAINING FOR YOU. *LET* IT. WHAT ARE THE CHARACTERS *DOING* -*LITERALLY*. WHAT ARE THEY HANDLING, WHAT ARE THEY READING. WHAT ARE THEY WATCHING ON TELEVISION, WHAT ARE THEY *SEEING*.

IF YOU PRETEND THE CHARACTERS CANT SPEAK, AND WRITE A SILENT MOVIE, YOU WILL BE WRITING GREAT DRAMA.

IF YOU DEPRIVE YOURSELF OF THE CRUTCH OF NARRATION, EXPOSITION, INDEED, OF *SPEECH*. YOU WILL BE FORGED TO WORK IN A NEW MEDIUM – TELLING THE STORY IN PICTURES (ALSO KNOWN AS SCREENWRITING)

THIS IS A NEW SKILL. NO ONE DOES IT NATURALLY. YOU CAN TRAIN YOURSELVES TO DO IT, BUT YOU NEED TO *START*.

I CLOSE WITH THE ONE THOUGHT: LOOK AT THE *SCENE* AND ASK YOURSELF “IS IT DRAMATIC? IS IT *ESSENTIAL*? DOES IT ADVANCE THE PLOT?

ANSWER TRUTHFULLY.

IF THE ANSWER IS “NO” WRITE IT AGAIN OR THROW IT OUT. IF YOU’VE GOT ANY QUESTIONS, CALL ME UP.

LOVE, DAVE MAMET
SANTA MONICA 19 OCTO 05

(IT IS *NOT* YOUR RESPONSIBILITY TO KNOW THE ANSWERS, BUT IT IS YOUR, AND MY, RESPONSIBILITY TO KNOW AND TO *ASK THE RIGHT QUESTIONS* OVER AND OVER. UNTIL IT BECOMES SECOND NATURE. I BELIEVE THEY ARE LISTED ABOVE.)

Although there is no one rule for writing “dramatic” scenes, I do find his various points thought-provoking.
What is also interesting is his rant about television not being like radio (despite its origins).
Seldom are TV shows treated with the same respect as movies, especially visually.
I recently listened to a Vince Gilligan interview linked last week where he did talk about how Breaking Bad, unlike any other series, “aims for the widescreen”, which is definitely something that can be both seen and sensed when watching the show.
Case in point in the season three premiere, where extreme wide shots were used to film an execution in the middle of nowhere (tip of the hat in this case to Bryan Cranston, who also was the episode’s director). This is still a visual medium, and this is a TV Show.
Paradoxically, Breaking Bad does employ a lot of great dialogue scenes which might seem to contradict the rule that “any logline reading “Bob and Sue discuss” is not describing a dramatic scene.” However there are also a lot of “silent moments”, and as Mamet says: “If you pretend the characters can’t speak, and write a silent movie, you will be writing great drama.”
It seems Breaking Bad is the current master in that department.

It is true that sometimes the audience doesn’t need that much information to watch a show (Lost anyone?), but can an entire episode sustain without any kind of exposition in it?
What do you guys think?

Ten Spec Writing Rules (and why you should care)

Ten Spec Writing Rules (and why you should care)

While giving her ten commandments on writing a spec script in an interview a few years ago, Jane Espenson thought that “this could be a good blog entry.”
She wasn’t wrong.

How to write a spec script for TV is a broad question that has many answers. Her comment made me reminisce about some of the standard spec writing ground-rules. I find that having some does not hinder creativity, but rather focuses it.

Here’s a little (albeit detailed) reminder of some of them, starting with the most obvious.

1. Don’t spec a dead show

For the love of God, we don’t want to know what Carrie did with Mr. Big’s underwear or Ross’ latest honeymoon with Rachel.
If the show is buried, leave it there.

2. Don’t spec a show you want to get hired on

Where to send spec scripts is another issue, but your sample television script should not be destined for the show you’re basing it on. This might sound crazy for some but if you think about it, it’s pretty logical.
There are, firstly, some legal issues that might become involved. More importantly though, it’s just very hard for an outsider to nail a show right on the money.
As Martie Cook explains it in Write to TV:

If you are anyone on the Desperate Housewives writing staff, you know each of the characters intimately […], you know absolutely every minor detail. As a freelance writer, no matter how much you study a show before you write it, you simply won’t have the same inside track that the show’s script writers and producers do. It is quite probable that here and there throughout your script you may have things that are slightly off. [The Desperate Housewives writing staff] will no doubt pick up on the flaws in your script instantly.

Go for the next-of-kin, meaning the next show closest (regarding genre/voice/stories) to the one you want to get hired on.
There have been some successful rule-breakers, but these are extremely rare cases.

3. Spec a show you like

Not speccing the series you’re aiming at doesn’t mean you shouldn’t write something you don’t like (if anything, it’s gonna show in your writing).
Don’t spec a show simply because it’s hot, but also because you’re into it and have some kind of appreciation for it.
Passion is what drives you to be a writer, so why not use the same fuel for your script?

4. Don’t write mythological episodes

You know these little toys you had as a kid and didn’t want anyone else to touch?
Well the characters you’re using belong to someone else.
You’re allowed to play with them a bit, but the show-runner expects you to bring them back safely to him/her.
When you spec a show, go for the memorable stand-alone episode, not the big season finale.
If House suddenly learns he has a tumor, or Meredith Grey finds out she’s pregnant, you’re doing something wrong.
You can obviously play with characters’ relationships and/or use bigger mysteries/arcs, but one of the (many) questions you should be asking yourself is if your episode can neatly fit anywhere in a given season of the show. If the answer is yes, congrats, you’ve got a stand-alone episode.
This doesn’t mean though that your script should be pointless.
You need to provide the reader with an emotional ride, and perhaps even some thought-provoking content.
Use the already-defined protagonists; they’re here just for that reason.
For overly-serialized character shows you wouldn’t be able to understand without a Previously, the WB Writers’ Workshop advises to “set up your episode:”

If you are writing a serialized show (e.g. Gossip Girl or Grey’s Anatomy) please include a “Previously On” page that lists where your main characters are within the series when we come across them in your spec. This page should come after your title page and before your teaser.

5. Don’t write around new characters

You’re trying to prove that you can “blend in” a writing staff, and more importantly “get” the voice of a show.
Writing the backstory of Don Draper’s hairdresser might be fun, but it certainly doesn’t show how you can write the other Mad Men characters (the ones in suits and dresses).
And in case you’re wondering, limiting the amount of screen time a new character has doesn’t mean there shouldn’t be any guest-stars.
If you’re writing a procedural, you will definitely need to introduce new people (victim, murderer, suspect, etc.), just make sure they’re not the protagonists of your episode.

6. Don’t go for the obvious

If you have thought of it, chances are other writers on staff have too. How to write a TV script isn’t about using the low-hanging fruits.
Think of why the show didn’t use that particular storyline. Now look at your spec script outline.
The aim is to write better TV than what’s on TV. You have months, they have two weeks (at best).
Don’t be that guy/girl who throws an empty can of beer at your screen yelling “My dog can write better than that!”, and then come up with a body-switch episode.

7. Don’t think too big, your spec must be realistically producible…

Maybe you should edit your spec script down. Jane Espenson once told the story behind a failed Star Trek spec she did:

It was all epic. And unfilmable. I had demonstrated a complete lack of ability to tell a story with an eye toward real-life budget constraints. And, as a result, I had ended up telling a story that they simply wouldn’t do on their show. Writing a filmable spec, keeping it small enough, is an important part of the process.

8. …but don’t expect it to get produced

Specs are mainly here to showcase your talent as well as show you can blend in a predetermined ensemble.
One of the greatest ironies of TV spec writing is that, even though you’re striving to prove you can successfully write a one-hour drama, your “proof” won’t be made.
You can use that to your advantage by going bigger on some of the stories.
Alex Epstein in Crafty TV Writing also makes an interesting point about censorship, and how your material can be “slightly edgier” to what’s on TV:

If you are going to push the envelope, it should be in a direction that the show would naturally take if the network censors were all on holiday that week.

With that said, don’t go too far. Although you can thematically go beyond the usual, don’t go overboard and start putting “fuck” every pages (unless it’s The Sopranos — but what the hell are you doing speccing a dead show?).
Like getting staffed on your specced show, there have been very rare instances (mostly in sitcoms) where specs ended up being made. There’s also that guy who got struck by lightning twice. You know what I mean.

9. Keep it fresh

This is both about your choice of main storyline (who wants to see a rehash of a plot done to death?), as well as arcs you might have to use in your spec.
Your Grey’s Anatomy script about Izzy Stevens won’t be of much use now that Katherine Heigl is off the show.
Try to keep it updated enough so as not to make your spec stale. Doing this on a serialized show is obviously harder.
But like Botox, too much nip and tuck on your finished script, and it quickly becomes a mess.
As Jane Espenson puts it:

It’s better to let a spec show a few of the signs of aging than to keep fattening its lips and lifting its keister until even you can’t recognize it anymore.

Fellowships find that 6-month old scripts are fine as they consider it the correct amount of time for a good polish/new writing. However, if it’s a couple seasons old, cross it off.

10. Watch, read, and study

Perhaps the single most important rule here.
You’re aiming to mimic an already-existing show so that your own spec script format matches theirs.
The best way to know how it works is to do the three things listed: watch their episodes, read their scripts, study their structure. If you can, you should definitely try to get your hands on the series’ bible (though that’s going to be a hard thing to do).
Ask yourself: What would a typical A, B, or C story be? How long are the teaser and the tag? Why are the act breaks here but not there? And for that matter, how many acts are there altogether? The list goes on. You should also have a feel of how the characters talk, and even think.
Basically know the show by heart.

Remember that writing a spec script is still art, not science.

You could forget about everything and write for the double-edged sword that is ‘stunt speccing.’ If you’re on top of your game and make the perfect script, kudos to you. However if not done correctly, it could bomb massively (and you’d have wasted a lot of time writing it). Perhaps I’ll post a spec script example or two next time around.
Rules are meant to be broken, but some are also meant to be respected.

And since I did mention Jane Espenson’s own ten commandments of TV Spec writing, here they are:

– Don’t spec a show you don’t respect.
– Don’t make your spec about a guest character. Focus on the main character.
– Get sample scripts of produced episodes. Study them.
– Follow the show’s structure exactly.
– Find a story for your spec that plays on the show’s main theme.
– Don’t write an episode that resolves the show’s mystery or consummates its romance.
– Place the story turns at the act breaks, and give us a reason to come back after the commercials.
– In a comedy, spend time polishing the jokes, especially the last one of each scene.
– Spelling, formatting, clarity of stage directions – they really matter.
– Use strong brass brads.

Write on.