Writing under less than ideal conditions

When my partner and I started out we would lock ourselves in a room whenever we wrote. We couldn’t have any distractions. Most of the time that meant working in one of our apartments so it was easy to do… except for the neighbor across the courtyard who kept playing the Jethro Tull WAR CHILD album over and over. But we eventually killed him so that problem was solved.

When we finally went on staff of a show and got our first office we would always keep the door closed. Just the idea of people going by or our secretary answering a phone was too distracting. How could we be funny if we saw two people walking down the hall?

Then we stepped into our first writing room. The showrunners were the great Tom Patchett & Jay Tarses, two of the funniest men I’ve ever known. The writers sat around a kitchen table and just dictated the script. There was a writers’ assistant right there in the room taking shorthand. Yes, an actual intruder! Besides that, the door was open and there was always steady traffic in and out of the room. The casting director had questions, the prop guy needed to show us crossbows, the P.A. dragged in a new foosball table.

At first this was very intimidating. Like in the seventh grade when I first had to shower with everybody in gym class. And unlike school, I had to get over it in under two years.

What you learn real quick is that part of the skill of sitcom writing is the ability to concentrate and perform on demand. You’re always under pressure. You’re never going to be able to control the conditions. So you just have to deliver.

By the end of that first week I was starting to feel comfortable enough that I could pitch a joke now and again. One, I remember, actually made it in! I was so proud of myself – coming through under the toughest of all conditions.

Or so I thought.

Then came show night. This was a multi-camera series (THE TONY RANDALL SHOW for MTM if you’re scoring) and the writers all stand around the floor behind the cameras looking important. During a scene one of the jokes bombed. After the director yelled, “Cut!” Tom and Jay got us all in a huddle. We needed a new joke NOW. Holy shit! There were two hundred people in the audience waiting, another hundred crew members waiting… all on the clock. All looking at us. This was like having to shower in front of a school assembly.

I was frozen while the more experienced writers, Gary David Goldberg and Hugh Wilson fired joke suggestions at Tom & Jay as if it was nothing. One was selected, the scene was re-shot, and the new joke got a huge laugh. Yep. This was the Big Leagues. And I was a rookie.

Through trial by fire I eventually felt comfortable contributing in that aspect of the job as well.

The next season we moved on to MASH. That’s a single-camera show. No audience. So you’d think it would be easier, right?

Uh…no.

The first day of filming every episode was a rehearsal day. The cast would move from set to set on Stage 9 at 20th Century Fox and rehearse their scenes. Once they were satisfied, David and I were summoned to come watch the scene and then go off and do any rewriting that was necessary. But since it made no sense to keep schlepping back and forth between our office and the stage every half hour, we just did our rewrites right there on the stage. We commandeered a table in the mess tent and that’s where we worked – with actors, crew people, extras, God-knows-who walking by. And in some cases just sitting down and joining us. We’re trying to fix a scene and some extra plops himself down at the table and begins eating a burrito. We eventually killed him, too.

Again, it’s a skill that most writers have to learn. But schools never teach it. That was one of the reasons why I started the Sitcom Room. Sure wish I had had the chance to experience what room writing was like before I was on a network show.

I have no plans however, to start the Shower Room seminar.

This is a re-post from four or five years ago.

Dance Me to the End of Love

I LOVE this video.  Leonard Cohen's great "Dance Me to the End of Love" with a montage of Cary Grant dancing.  Maybe the coolest guy EVER. 

Friday Questions

The Friday Questions of October begin this week.

Andrew starts us off.

Did the cast and crew of Frasier and Seinfeld get along, since they were always in competition for Emmy's, etc.? Was their attitude mutual respect, friendly rivalry, or disdainful competition?

I never got the sense that the actors felt they were a “team” in competition with other “teams” from other shows. I’m sure there are some actors who bristle that they always lose Emmys to some other actors, but for the most part I think actors appreciate the good performances they see from their peers.

It’s the same for writers. When I would watch a “competing” sitcom (notably SEINFELD) I was thrilled when it gave me some genuine laughs.

From Powerhouse Salter:

What current drama series would you say has a good sense of humor? By sense of humor, I guess I mean a relaxed and subtly comic air that relieves the overwrought drama and succeeds in doing so without resorting to one-liner jokes or a wacky supporting character.

THE GOOD WIFE to be sure. I get more laughs from THE GOOD WIFE than most comedies. SUITS provides some hearty chuckles as well. I don’t watch CRIMINAL MINDS but I’m guessing they’re not a laugh riot. In fact, I don’t watch a lot of current hour dramas so I imagine there are a few that do employ humor that I just am missing.  Is WALKING DEAD funny?

In the recent past I’d say JUSTIFIED (Dewey Crowe was the funniest character on television period), MAD MEN, and particularly BREAKING BAD.

Ike Iszany asks:

Watching Cheers on line I notice they put a title card in where the first commercial break would be. When you write and direct a show do you use the breaks to your advantage or are they something that gets in the way? When I watch some sit-coms on DVD I feel like they suffer without the breaks. You can feel the show changes tempo a bit in the second segment without the break.

I finally found a person who likes having commercial breaks.

Actually, we design our stories around the commercial breaks and try to build to our act break. We want the moment of greatest suspense to come right before the commercial. That way we (in theory) hold the audience through the ten minutes of endless spots.

If there were no commercials (e.g. our show as on AMAZON) we probably would break stories differently.

DwWashburn has some observations and questions about MASH:

In my opinion, the only two "missteps" that the series took was the introduction of Loudon Wainwright III as the camp's minstrel and the marriage of Margaret. Since you were there during the latter, can you give any behind the scenes insight for this storyline. Did they know from day one that this was a mistake? Was it dropped quickly because of fan reaction, network notes, realization that storylines were limited, a combination of these or other reasons?

The Loudon Wainwright balladeer idea was an experiment in the early Larry Gelbart/ Gene Reynolds years. It didn’t work but I love them for constantly trying to think out of the box and stretch the form.

The decision to marry off Hot Lips came the year we were writing freelance for the series. So we were not in on the reasons for the decision.

We just inherited it. The problem was we were dealing with a long distance relationship and could only see one side. And it meant Hot Lips couldn’t be interested in anyone else. It cut down on her storylines. 

Plus, any value there was to a long-distance relationship we were getting from B.J.

We tried to do some one-sided stories, and those resulted in Hot Lips screaming at unseen-hubby over the phone. It just made her a shrew. So we quickly abandoned that.

We even brought her husband in for an episode. If memory serves we had to cast a different actor because the original Donald Penobscott wasn’t available. There wasn’t much chemistry.

The storyline just didn’t work so we bailed the beginning of the next season and broke them up.  That was our decision.  We received no pressure from the network or studio. 

Oh well. Some things work and some things don’t. But you gotta try.

What’s your Friday Question?

Help me Rhonda, or anybody

I’m not alone.

I’ve been hearing this song my entire life and have never figured out what the opening lyric meant. It’s from “Help Me Rhonda” by the Beach Boys. The thrust of the song is that a guy is hoping his new girlfriend Rhonda will help him forget about his old girlfriend who dumped him. (Or, some suggest “Rhonda” is actually his new car. Seems a big stretch. but the song is included in an album of their car songs so who knows? But that’s for another deep esoteric blog post.) For the moment let’s assume “Rhonda” is a girl. (It could also be a pet. STOP IT! It’s a girl!)

Here’s the first line of the song:

Well, since she put me down I’ve been out doin’ in my head

The second line is:

Come in late at night and in the mornin’ I just lay in bed.

Okay, I get line two, but explain line one.

Pat St. John, a great disc jockey, who hosts the midday show on the Sirius/XM ‘60s channel, also was confused and tried to get an answer. He went to Al Jardine, one of the original Beach Boys and he too was not completely certain. He gave Pat a vague explanation and Pat tried to communicate it on his show recently, but I’m still totally baffled. (This is like the original movie version of THE BIG SLEEP. I defy anyone, even Raymond Chandler who wrote the book, to explain the plot.)

So what’s your take? If you have an explanation I’d love to hear it (or read it in the comments). If I find one that’s really clear I’ll pass it on to Pat.

Thanks. And here’s the song itself.

Andy Ackerman's approach to directing

Here’s one of those Friday Questions that not only became a whole post, but required a guest blogger to answer it.

Andy (not Ackerman) asked:

What is it like for someone (such as Andy Ackerman) to work on two shows simultaneously with such different approaches to comedy?

Andy directed FRASIER and SEINFELD simultaneously, among others.

For those who don’t know, Andy Ackerman is an Emmy winning director who directed 87 episodes of SEINFELD. He has also directed pretty much everything else. He directed the pilots of both ALMOST PERFECT and BIG WAVE DAVE’S, and directed every episode of BIG WAVE DAVE’S – all six of them.

Oh, and he was one of my mentors. I learned directing by watching him on WINGS.

Anyway, I reached out to Andy to see if he would answer the question and he graciously did. It’s a great answer and also tells you a lot about his personality and approach to life.  Here's his answer:

That's an interesting question from your reader. Here's a possible thought:

I've never really approached a given show as being that different, even though they are different. I suppose, for me, it would be akin to my approach as a parent. Meaning, I've four children, all with their own individual voices, sensibilities, tones, styles, personalities, etc. I may adjust to each one accordingly, when dealing with them one on one. But in the end, regardless of that individual child, I'm still the same parent/guide/coach/director. 

So, to very loosely use that analogy, I basically approach either given show the same way, because I am, well, me. In other words, I just jump in, be myself, and implement whatever contributions I can to help the script, actors, and final product be the best/ funniest it can hopefully be. Whether I'm a parent, or director, or just dealing with day to day life, I rely on my instincts. Frankly, your instincts can be your greatest tool.

It seems to have worked out. My kids are pretty funny.

Again, my thanks to Andy Ackerman. One day we’re going to reboot BIG WAVE DAVE’S and he’ll be my first call.

Uh oh, another rant

As I figured, yesterday’s post generated a lot of discussion. Let me respond to one comment, from reader Jim, that I thought was particularly well written and insightful. Jim wrote:

The scene you described struck me, when I saw it, as belonging to that contemporary school of comedy writing that has no use (for) gags in a comedy scene. In fact, this approach to comedy avoids anything that might make the audience laugh out loud. Anything that could be clearly identified as "a gag." That's old-fashioned and hackneyed. To write this kind of scene, you never have your characters say or do anything that might come off as funny. Instead, the laughs are supposed to be inherent in the situation itself, not in how the characters react to the situation or how they deal with it. This style of comedy writing is all set-up and no payoff.

I do understand that writers want to avoid having their characters speak in zingers and one-liners. Too many sitcoms fall into that trap, and it's annoying. (My wife has been working her way through THE GOLDEN GIRLS lately, and I swear, that show needed a drummer just offstage, playing rim shots.) But, you know, it's entirely possible to have your characters saying and doing funny things, in finding funny angles to your situation, without everyone coming off like Morey Amsterdam or your script like an episode of I MARRIED JOAN.

Thanks again, Jim. Very thoughtful comment. And if you don’t mind, I’d like to use it as a springboard for today’s old retro guy’s rant.

I totally agree that filling a script with zingers makes a show feel tired and old fashioned. And trust me, there’s nothing harder to write. When you have two characters sitting at the breakfast table and there’s nothing going on but you have to give each one funny line after funny line, it’s torture. And unreal. And forced.

But that isn’t to say funny lines are to be avoided. There were funny lines in SEINFELD and funny lines in FRIENDS, and FRASIER and ALWAYS SUNNY IN PHILADELPHIA and 30 ROCK. There are funny lines in ARCHER and BROAD CITY. Millennials will, in the privacy of their own homes, laugh at funny lines.

To me, when a writer is justifying not making a scene funny it’s just a smokescreen for lazy writing. The message I get is that he is incapable of writing a funny scene. He doesn’t have the chops to make someone laugh.

Anyone can come up with “inherent” comic situations. Comedy writers make something of those situations. Prove to me you’re really funny first and then discuss style.

Here’s what I find really perplexing? Why would anyone want to become a comedy writer if he’s embarrassed at making people laugh? If he thinks that presenting something genuinely funny is somehow beneath him, somehow compromising his principles? Why go into boxing if you’re opposed to violence? If you think sugar is bad for people why become a sous chef?

I’m sorry but to me, self-aware characters who observe situations instead of being forced to act upon them are dull and uninteresting. Irony is worse than “gags.” Equating situations with pop culture references instead of reacting with strong attitudes and emotions is a crutch.

Call me old and a hack and out of touch – that’s fine. I’m proud to be a COMEDY writer. I’m proud to have made people laugh for many years. I’m not saving lives but it’s a noble profession. I’m providing joy to millions of people. There’s nothing to be ashamed of. There’s nothing to apologize for.

Baseball analogy (oh no!): There are some hitters who have “warning track” power. That means they don’t have the strength and ability to hit the ball far enough to go over the fence for a home run. Instead they hit long fly outs. Imagine these players saying, “Home runs are passé. Sure I could hit them, but I don’t want to. Home runs are showy and seriously, haven’t we all seen enough home runs? Why should I stoop to that level?” Turn on many of these new TV comedies. That’s what you’re seeing – 300 foot fly ball outs, except instead of the hitter being shipped off to the minors where he belongs, he’s pumping his fist in triumph.

There is but one truism in comedy -- regardless of the style, year, or sensibility:

PEOPLE WANT TO LAUGH

It is not:

PEOPLE WANT TO BE MILDLY AMUSED 

or:

PEOPLE WANT TO FEEL SUPERIOR TO THEIR ENTERTAINMENT