Writing for TV and Radio

Sue Teddern’s TV credits include: Birds of a Feather Bosom Pals Happy Together Homefront My Family My Parents are Aliens Radio credits include: From Galway to Graceland In Mates Sad Girl soloparentpals.com (f  ive series) The Charm Factory (two series) Westway Nick Warburton’s TV credits include: Born and Bred Doctors EastEnders Holby City Jupiter Moon Radio credits include: Beast On Mardle Fen (six series) The People’s Passion A Soldier’s Debt Tommies Witness

Writing for TV and Radio A Writers’ and Artists’ Companion

Sue Teddern and Nick Warburton Series Editors: Carole Angier and Sally Cline

Bloomsbury Academic India An imprint of Bloomsbury Publishing Plc

LON DON

 
   

 
YO 

SY DN 

First published in India 2018 First published 2016

Bloomsbury Academic An imprint of Bloomsbury Publishing Plc

© Sue Teddern, Nick Warburton and contributors, 2016 50 Bedford Square

1385 Broadway

WC1B 3DP UK

NY 10018 USA

Sue Teddern and Nick Warburton have asserted their right under the Copyright, London New York Designs and Patents Act, 1988, to be identified as Authors of this work. Bloomsbury Academic India www.bloomsbury.com An imprint of Bloomsbury Publishing Plc BLOOMSBURY, Bloomsbury Academic India and the Diana BLOOMSBURY and the Diana logo are trademarks of Bloomsbury Publishing Plc logo are trademarks of Bloomsbury Publishing Plc First published 2016 This edition published with permission from Bloomsbury Publishing Plc, 50 Bedford Square, London, WC1B3DP, UK © Sue Teddern, Nick Warburton and contributors, 2016

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any SuebyTeddern and Nick Warburton asserted including their right under the Copyright, form or any means, electronic or have mechanical, photocopying, recording, Designs and Patents Act, 1988, to be identified as Authors of thispermission work. or any information storage or retrieval system, without prior in writing from the publishers. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any electronicfor or loss mechanical, photocopying, recording, or any information Nomeans, responsibility caused including to any individual or organization acting on or storage or retrieval system, without prior permission in writing the publishers. refraining from action as a result of the material in from this publication

can be accepted by Bloomsbury or the author.

No responsibility for loss caused to any individual or organization acting on or refraining from action as a result of the material in this publication can be accepted by British Library Cataloguing-in-Publication Data the author.from the British Library. A catalogue record forBloomsbury this book or is available BritishofLibrary Cataloguing-in-Publication Data Data Library Congress Cataloging-in-Publication A catalogue for book this book is available fromthe theLibrary British Library. A catalog recordrecord for this is available from of Congress. ISBN: PB: 978 978-1-4411-9590-6 ISBN 93 88038 22 5 ePDF: 978-1-4411-7834-3 ePub: 978-1-4411-9488-6 For sale in the Indian subcontinent only LibraryBloomsbury of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Publishing India Pvt. LtdData A catalog record for this bookFloor, is available from No. the Library of Congress. Second Building 4

DDA Complex LSC, Pocket C – 6 & 7 Series: Writers’ andNew Artists’ Companions Vasant Kunj, Delhi 110070 www.bloomsbury.com

Typeset by Integra Software Services Pvt. Ltd. bound in India Series: Printed Writers’and and Artists’ Companions

Typeset by Integra Software Services Pvt. Ltd. Printed at Repro Knowledgecast Limited, Thane

Sue Teddern To Edward and Ruth for their love and patience Nick Warburton To Jennifer

Contents Preface by Carole Angier and Sally Cline

xii

Foreword by Richard Schiff

xiv

Introduction by Sue Teddern and Nick Warburton

xvii

Part 1  Reflections and experiences Back story 1: My journey as a writer Sue Teddern 3 Back story 2: My journey as a writer Nick Warburton 5 Ten landmark TV dramas and comedies Sue Teddern

Z-Cars (UK, 1968–1972) The Forsyte Saga (UK, 1967–1968) Breaking Bad (USA, 2008–2013) The Avengers (UK, 1961–1969) Cathy Come Home (UK, 1966) The Office (UK, 2001–2005) Grange Hill (UK, 1978–2008) Seinfeld (USA, 1989–1998) Blue Remembered Hills (UK, 1979) Talking to a Stranger (UK, 1966) Ten landmark radio dramas and comedies Nick Warburton

Twelfth Night (1923) The War of the Worlds (1938) The Archers (1950) The Goon Show (1951/1952)

8 8 9 9 10 10 11 12 12 13 13 15 15 16 17 18 vii

Contents

Under Milk Wood (1954) 19 Albert’s Bridge (1967) 20 The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy (1978) 21 Dreams, Secrets, Beautiful Lies (1986) 21 Spoonface Steinberg (1997) 22 Ulysses (2012) 23 Horses for courses: TV, radio or both?

25

‘I’ve written a play … ’ Nick Warburton 25 Either or both? Sue Teddern 38 Ten memorable TV and radio characters Sue Teddern

44

Roseanne Conner Alan Partridge Yosser Hughes Saga Noren Eddie Grundy

44 45 47 48 50

Nick Warburton

51

The philosophy of Norman Stanley Fletcher The enigma of Anton Meyer The aspiration of Harold Steptoe The silence of Bessie Bighead The progress of Peggy Olson How to make your own memorable characters Notes on notes: Dealing with feedback Sue Teddern

52 52 53 55 55 56 57

The scriptwriting competition 58 Submitting a script 58 Reviews from critics 60 Good notes v. bad notes 61 Coping with the meddling Nick Warburton 63

viii

Contents

Having a laugh: Writing comedy Sue Teddern

69

Funny for money ‘I could write rubbish like that!’ No, but seriously … What kind of ha-ha? Seriously funny or funnily serious One idea, five formats

69 70 71 73 74 75

Part 2  Tips and tales – guest contributors Sam Bain Peter Bowker Elly Brewer Laura Eason Ellen Fairey Nick Fisher Phil Ford Jeppe Gjervig Gram Katie Hims Rachel Joyce Marcy Kahan Rebecca Lenkiewicz Jan McVerry Jonathan Myerson Hattie Naylor Richard Nelson Andrew Nickolds Georgia Pritchett Mike Walker Stephen Wyatt

85 87 89 91 93 95 96 98 100 101 103 105 105 108 109 110 111 113 114 116

ix

Contents

Part 3  Write on – getting it right, getting it written That’s an idea: Tips and ­techniques to get you started

121

How to kick-start your creativity Sue Teddern 121 The Old Lemon – or where ideas come from Nick Warburton 130 Characters: Making them memorable

143

‘Who am I and why am I here?’ Sue Teddern 143 Drama karma 149 Convincing surprises Nick Warburton 154 The building blocks: Plot and structure

164

‘But where are the bones?’ Sue Teddern 164 No place where it’s not Nick Warburton 176 A most delicate monster – voice Nick Warburton

182

More than one voice … 183 ‘Whose story is it anyway?’ Sue Teddern 196 The talky bits: Writing dialogue Nick Warburton

202

Speech, speech! Sue Teddern 218 Hearing their dreams – the nuts and bolts of radio Nick Warburton

The essential elements The visuals: Writing for camera Sue Teddern

The silent treatment INT. desk – day

222 222 237 237 247

How to start writing Sue Teddern 247 Putting it off Nick Warburton 253 PWD 254 Not writing 256 x

Contents

Selection and discretion Irongate – a case study Writing is rewriting – or what to do about drafts

256 257 260

Good, better, best Sue Teddern 260 The vanishing dream Nick Warburton 268 The finishing line

273

Now what? Sue Teddern 273 Be professional Nick Warburton 277 Reading (+ viewing + listening) list

284

Scripts 284 DVDs, CDs, etc. 285 Books about radio, TV, writing 285 Websites, etc. 287 Courses and workshops 287 Acknowledgements 289 Index 290

xi

Preface Writing for TV and Radio, the eighth in our series of writers’ Companions, may be the liveliest. These writers for TV and radio can do voices, and seem to speak directly to us, as though we were all in a room together – or in The Room, which is (we learn) what the industry calls the creative space where writers and producers meet for story conferences. Everything they tell us is memorable. Discussing the differences between TV and radio writing, Nick includes a paradoxical piece of advice: ‘If you’re writing for TV, think about words. If you’re writing for radio, think about pictures.’ Unexpected, but profound – you must stir the imagination to provide what isn’t there. Talking about writing TV sitcoms, Sue tells us that ‘Three laughs per page used to be the industry standard’, but it’s now four. We won’t forget that in a hurry! She goes on to test an idea for a sitcom set in a café, called Crunch Time; we promise you won’t forget that either. In Part 2 we hear from a fascinating cast of guests, including fifteen British writers, three Americans, a Canadian and a Dane. You mustn’t miss any of them, but as an example: read what Jeppe Gjervig Gram says about the Double Story, and you’ll understand what made The Killing and Borgen such remarkable television. In Part 3 we’re back with Sue and Nick, and the nuts and bolts of TV and radio writing, complete with exercises for classes, or for writers working alone. They explore where ideas come from, and how to find them; how to create characters – interestingly, sitcom characters mustn’t change (Sue), but most dramatic characters do, spurred on by their Driving Condition (Nick); how to manage plot and structure – for sitcoms, Sue has what she calls SHIGWIGB (see page 167), while Nick solves the age-old problem, to plan or not to plan, by planning, writing, and planning again. They also explore, in detail, thorny subjects such as voice and narration, dialogue (leave the most important xii

Preface

thing unsaid), script layout (with intriguing and entertaining examples from their own work) and many more. This book is as close to The Room as you’ll get before you enter it yourself. Which, with the help of Writing for TV and Radio, we hope you will. Carole Angier and Sally Cline Series Editors

xiii

Foreword Richard Schiff

Some great writer, it might have been E. L. Doctorow, said something like: ‘The minute I know what the next sentence is, I stop writing.’ If he didn’t say it, he should have. Or could have. What that means to me is that his writing, his creative flow, is coming from somewhere behind the brain, or below it, from that unknown source. Once, my niece had painted a beautiful, soulful portrait of a woman – an impression so fluid and stunning it stopped me when I first saw it. I told her it was brilliant, this painting is stunning and brilliant. She ducked her head and said: ‘No, I didn’t do anything. It’s just nothing.’ We tend to want our brilliance to come from sweat and arduous effort, like a marathon runner finally breaking the tape just before collapsing or a mountain climber as he or she reaches the Everest summit. Some colossal struggle to overwhelm the greater elements, the mythic forces of opposition. We want to be heroes. When I’m acting I like to not know what is next. I like to be active and present so much to the point that I am unaware or don’t remember the next line or moment. Hopefully, I will have crafted the character so that the truthful, whole reaction will be educed from what is happening now. I like to ‘E. L. Doctorow’ my acting. When that happens it feels effortless and I get the thrill of surprise in moments I didn’t expect. When it happens on stage it feels like flight. When it happens on a TV or movie set it feels like I am intimate with some otherworldly thing, something greater than me. It feels, and don’t laugh, like love. I have been lucky to embody the characters and speak the words of some wonderful writers: Eugene O’Neill, David Mamet, Lanford Wilson, Arthur Miller, Aaron Sorkin, David Kelley, David Milch, Jason Katims, Nick Hornby, xiv

Foreword

Jonathan Franzen, to name a lot. All of these writers have a thing in common: they give me the tools to build my platform for flight or craft my house of intimacy. An actor is a detective who combs scripts like a Cold War spy until he finds those elements that unlock the secrets of the soul of his character. The reason he exists, in this story, and in the world. What are the clues? Well, to name a few: How does he speak? Is he shy or verbose? Does he speak openly, unapologetically? Or is he obtuse and sneaky or close to the vest to protect himself or someone close? What does he communicate and how? Is he physically imposing, threatening? Is he timid? Is he accepting and open? How does he present himself? His clothing: Is he a dresser, a slob, someone who does the minimal presentation to get by but not be noticed too much? Has he been on a bender? Does he stink from drink and smoke? We look for every clue to answer the first essential question: Who am I? And then I look at what he does and why. How he goes about it, his actions. What he is willing to risk? Where and who are the obstacles or enemies? Where the hell am I anyway? My home? What does that mean to me? What are the clues? Is it a well-appointed home? Are there servants? Is it lived in? Comfortable? Is there a woman’s touch? Then, of course, comes the forensics on the words themselves. Does he speak in quick phrases? With eloquence? A high vocabulary that might actually mask his meaning more than illuminate it? Is he a liar? Is he pathologically truthful? Does he have an accent? How long has he been away from his homeland? Why did he leave? Is this why he is so quiet? Protective? Scared? Each beat is explicated, each moment examined, each word chewed and swallowed. David Mamet writes like jazz, sometimes scat jazz; Eugene O’Neill with the lyric street folklore of the 1920s; Aaron Sorkin in metered eloquence and quick quips; Jason Katims in a sort of middle-American, muted, rock ballad and David Milch in a harsh, gutter symphony. Each writer has wonderfully different music to the language and each challenges us to find their rhythm and play in a cohesive band. But these writers – and there are plenty more – have one thing in common: their characters are steeped deep in the world of the story. The clues they leave for us actors are rich and complex and sometimes require extraordinary techniques of excavation, examination and exploration. They know the deeper they bury, the more obsessive we will be to dig it out. xv