The Joys of Overwork

The difference between professional writers and dabblers is actually pretty simple. And it's usually revealed in a variation on one particular conversation:

"How'd you do writing today?"
"Oh I didn't do much."
"Why not?"
"I just wasn't feeling it"
-or-
"Inspiration wasn't cutting it"

I think I've probably said this before but: inspiration never strikes. When you've got a job to do you have to sit your ass down in the chair and just start. Some days it starts to flow, and some days it doesn't. Nevertheless, you still have to put in the time. This is called "fighting the good fight." It has everything to do with craft and discipline, and very little to do with artistic inspiration.

However, at times when things are going poorly, sometimes it helps to have an embarrassment of projects.

Right now I'm working on two things. One is an incredibly hard, challenging, genre-busting pilot. The other is a rewrite of a series that's fun, and easier to define.

In those times when the brain starts to bleed from all the thinkin' on one, it's nice to be able to switch to the other.

It would be nicer to sit on a patio and sip a Corona with Lemon, but you know, freelancers can't be choosers.

Reunion

Another new show, on Fox. It's on probation with me.
I love mystery kind of shows and I love narratives that trace people over longer periods of time. But it looks to me like we're not going to get a lot of what's fun about that sort of stuff -- jumping back and forth from future to past; using the juxtapositions of how people change as dramatic fodder to push the story along.

A lot of actors I like doing uninspired work. I think it's very lucky it follows The O.C. I might keep watching for the next couple of episodes, but something about this show just left me very uninspired.

How 24 Changed Everything

No...it's not the "dink. dink. dink. dink." digital clock that almost single-handedly makes digital displays cool again.

And it's not the whole "real time" fooferal, either. That's a gimmick, like David Caruso's naked butt launching NYPD Blue or The Harlem Globetrotters visiting Gilligan's Island. (Ah, Gilligan. Sigh.)

What 24 did is popularize a brand-new, ultimately excellent way to get writers off the hook.

OnceUponATime, TV writers suffered from what I like to call "Star Trek Syndrome." They would end their seasons with cliffhangers.

Ending your series on a cliffhanger just seems like such a good idea. Get people coming back for more...leave them with maximum excitement built up...(that is, unless your show isn't coming back. Then cliffhangers suck.)

The problem with a cliffhanger is that when you're working, working, working along in a season, you build everything to that cliffhanger. You're exhausted when you finally put that cliffhanger to bed. Stick a fork in me I'm done exhausted.

So you go away on hiatus. And then you come back, two months later or however long it is, and you have to pick up the threads and deal with that cliffhanger. And that sucks. Because the cliffhanger belongs to last year's show. Having to deal with last year's show is like being expected to take your little brother's girlfriend to the dance. It may be the best dance ever, but you're never, ever gonna get any.

Maybe the writing staff's different. Maybe the chemistry's changed. Maybe you went base jumping in Santiago in the hiatus and your whole universe has changed, and now you have to deal with this damn thing that came from last year before you get to go on and do all the cool stuff.

So, try as you might, and as much as everybody thought, "hey, coming up with the ending of this will be NO problem" last season when they pitched it, you get into the groove of doing that "resolve the cliffhanger" episode and...

...um...

...ah...

Oh SHIT. What the #@$% do we do?

See, because you didn't think that far ahead, Mr. Smartypants. You just got your characters into a scrape, or an impossible, show-killing situation. (Or in the worst, darkest, nastiest version of the story, a writer who subsequently left the show and chose not to return this season (read: money) got your characters into it, and left no damn roadmap on how to get out. Now you've got to clean up all his McD's wrappers and stray gum and hair and condoms and trash bags and barettes and lipsticks and parking meter slips and get them all out of the front seat before you can take the shiny new car for a drive.

So the conclusion of the cliffhanger inevitably sucks.

That, ladies and gentlemen, is Star Trek Syndrome.

Star Trek: The Next Generation NOTORIOUSLY had these season enders that were AWESOME (see: Borg, or the one with Data's head buried in the past) and then they came back, and zip, boom, zippity doo dah, wrap it up in the suckiest way possible.

Lest you think I'm geeking out totally here, The West Wing did the same thing when Aaron Sorkin (praise be his name) took the last chopper out in Season 4, leaving John Goodman as the President, and the Bartlets crying in the chapel.

But 24 made all that go away.

At that end of the first season, when they killed Teri Bauer, (spoiler monkeys: save the angry email...it's been five years. Catch. Up.) everyone went, "ooh...that's gonna make for a weird season opener."

And then they jumped ahead in time. And everyone bought it. And the Hallelujah chorus started.

If you can jump ahead in time, you can shuffle the deck anyway you want. Was your hero addicted to heroin? Not any more. Were they married? Not necessarily.

And imagine this:

Never again will we have to see a show where the youngest kid ages from 2 to 9 over the summer.

The notion that you can pick up the story 18 months, two years, three years later is a terribly exciting idea. No more three month hiatuses where you have to create the moment afterward, or even the idea that you can only start the story like the summer just passed. (Which is as far as people generally went before.)

Alias jumped on the idea when things got silly. The Sopranos, and Six Feet both used it, to tremendous, story-improving advantage. I think it's one of the most exciting tools that series' writers have.

The whole time working on Charlie Jade, we had lots of discussions of how much time had elapsed in "story time" over the season. We went back and forth about it.

Any series, over the course of the run, is going to pick up baggage -- subplots that don't work out, actors you would love to get rid of, situations that seem wobbly, the sheer fatigue of trying to come up with one more story in the same configuration.

24 gave us a gift. How much time do you need? Take it.

When the Sopranos starts its new season next year, two years will have elapsed in both the real world and in Tony's world. I can't wait to see the changes that brings.

Thank you, 24. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.

The Difference

"The Canadian Television Industry," I have often opined to my much-beleaguered friends, "is not really an industry so much as a toy."

It's tough living next door to the cultural equivalent of Wal Mart. Then you have those gallic cutups next door in Quebec, with their comfy language barrier, making all manner of hoo-hah and fun with their own healthy star system and hit shows.

Americans, you owe yourself a trip to Montreal, just to see a star system and celeb machine right there, right under your nose, that you've never, ever heard of. It's like the days before soundscan when the music industry hadn't yet realized that hip hop was the biggest musical form in the USA, and people were still paying attention, oh, I don't know...to Tim McGraw's hat or something.

Anyway, in Toronto, in what we on the hustings call "English Canada," the path to television and to creativity is at best, fraught, and at worst, suicide-inducing.

The number of hour long dramas on Canadian TV has precipitously declined in the last few years, and it's been the subject of much hand-wringing among Can Culture types. When Alliance Atlantis, who were the biggest production company around, got completely out of production a few years back (deciding to make bones running specialty channels and cashing CSI checks) their CEO left this rose in the middle of the room:

"I think," he said, "That Canadian production has suffered a permanent downturn."

Wow. Thanks for playing, we thought. Enjoy all that Canadian taxpayer money you scooped up over the years. That reminded me (as most things do) of a trenchant Simpsons moment, where Marge asked Homer, "Did you have to salt the earth behind you?" Homer laughed and said, "Yes."

Bottom line: It's been pretty depressing up here for the last few years. Canadian Networks exist on a sliding scale as to how much they really are committed to developing Canadian drama and comedy. All, save the CBC, really make their money by snapping up rights to U.S. programming. (Though the CBC isn't making much money doing anything right about now.) But lo, there have been signs of life, as of late. First came Trailer Park Boys. It shows on BBC America down in the USA, and it's so Canadian, it's almost...freaky. It's full of swearin' and dope smoking and stupidity. I saw the first episode and hated it. Two years later I watched three in a row and became completely obsessed with the show. I'm not the only one. Ivan Reitman signed on to Exec Produce a movie. Give'r. That show is made by Showcase, which is a Canadian specialty channel who does commission and develop interesting original stuff. (Showcase is owned by the aforementioned Alliance Atlantis: see how complicated it gets?) Anyway, after Showcase there came a little show called Corner Gas on the CTV Network. That show regularly pulls in 1.5 million viewers a week -- that's in a country of 30 million - so basically, if it was a U.S. sitcom, it'd be the equivalent of pulling in 30 million viewers. I think a U.S. Network would pretty much worship Baal to pull in 30 million for a sitcom right about now. Anyway, once Corner Gas took off, one of the biggest excuses that the networks had: "Canadians don't want to watch Canadian shows," kind of went away. And that broke the ice a bit.

All that is preamble to this. The difference between a meeting in L.A. and a meeting in T.O. is the attitude. In L.A., there's relentless positivity. After all, you might be the next hot thing! You may make someone a ton of money! What if it's not me?! Who do I have to kill to make sure it's me! You leave a meeting thinking that your penis is bigger, you weigh about 30 lbs less and you have the rugged good looks of the early Paul Newman.

In Toronto, often, the meeting is an excrutiatingly long dissertation of why you could never, ever do that. And what a problem it might be. And....BLAM!

I'm sorry, that was the sound of the flap of skin at the back of my head flying off with the force of the bullet.

That's why I'm pleased as plucky punch to say, that I have had meetings lately with people on a couple of projects that were just...great. Positive. People who are enthusiastic about material. Who want things to be good! Who want to make television that's full of quality just like me! Yayyy! Yayyyyy! In Canada! Could it be that this toy has some new, shiny batteries? My fingers are crossed.

And I never cross my fingers.

In The Tall Weeds Today...

On three different things, so not much to write about -- later on this week I hope to cover how 24 changed the hour long series forever...(and it's not the way you think.)

Also, the Toronto International Film Festival starts tomorrow.

Here's my prediction: for the fifth straight year, I will see zero films.
In fact, if I remember right, the last film I saw at TIFF, which used to be puckishly called the "Festival of Festivals" was SHINE. Yes. I will see no films.

But Lawdy Miss Clawdy, there will be Vodka and Dead Things On Sticks.

L8er,

On Dreck, On Spec...

Yay!

I got my first piece of hate mail of the "How dare you tell people not to write Entourage" variety. I'm so psyched by this because my days at the network tell me that for every negative letter you get, that's at least ten (or was it a hundred? Um..thousand?) people who want to boil the skin off your body, stitch you up into some grotesque fleshy covering and wear you as a man-suit.

That being said. I think it's perfectly legitimate to write an episode of any series you want. What's not acceptable - at ALL - is to not know your shit cold.

Let me present my bonafides to you first, because this might seem a little nasty without saying this upfront. I've taught a screenwriting course (Yes, it is true, we actually do grow on trees.) at a University in Toronto for about ten years. A little longer now, actually. This means two things:

-I am getting to be a very old bastard. (Approaching 40, don'tcha know)
-I have read, oh, say, about 900 spec scripts.

Now, most of these were in the "baby writer's first spec script" category. And most of them kind of sucked. There are no more great, undiscovered writers out there than there are great basketball players or great pro-golfers. The likely analogy is that there are a lot of girls and boys out there like Chris "Moneymaker" -- the guy who played poker online and played and won the World Series of Poker a few years ago. Or maybe that doesn't apply at all. Maybe, just for a moment, I wanted to write about poker. I am weak. So sue me.

Every year, though, I get one or two excellent first scripts from people who could really make a go of it as tv writers. Many of them have. Before you ask, yes, there are several of them who are waaaaaaayyyyy more successful than me. And they are younger. And for this they must die.

No. Focus. Right. More often than not, what sets the good apart from the bad? Besides the obvious, like, uh, the writing?

How cold they have the material.

This is important. Pro writers, before they start a show, do their research. A lot of people writing a spec script, because you're not getting paid, want to jump right into the writing part. It's a perfectly understandable impulse.

But it, like the liberal and regular use of crack cocaine, heroin, or crystal meth, can get you killed.

If you write a CSI, you cannot fake the forensics.
If you write a WEST WING, you must know how American government works. (Or more likely, the fantasy, "we're through the looking glass" version of how it should work.)
If you write ENTOURAGE, you have got to know Hollywood.
If you write HOUSE, your medical mysteries have to be true medical mysteries. You can't get back at the ex-wife by calling some deadly malady "Trudy's Syndrome."


So when you choose what to write, you can save yourself some time if you already have some knowledge there. That's why teen soaps are golden. Because unless you're one of the spore people, (And by the way, you #@%@#$% untrustworthy spore people, your tribute is late) everyone has been a teenager.

If I'm Mr. Hollywood guy and a read an item about something going on in L.A. and the barest detail is wrong, I'm gonna sniff and move on to the next script unless your material is just handed down from freaking Jehovah.

But you know, if Marisa is drinking a quart of tequila and macking on Summer, maybe not.

Ironic aside: Do NOT do an O.C. where Marisa macks on Summer. Please leave something to the sad, sad fanfic writers.

When I was writing specs, I chose WEST WING. This was at the end of WEST WING's first season. I did this for a very good reason: I am a freak for U.S. Politics. I also set my episode around the Library of Congress. Because I had been there, on a story, and had once interviewed the Librarian of Congress. See? Inside knowledge.

Once upon a time, I read a pretty good Sex In The City spec from a woman in my screenwriting class. She had the characters mostly right, and the story was inventive enough. The problem was, it hinged on a certain candy bar name that shared a name with one of the iconic characters on the show.

All the Americans are scratching their heads right now. Mr. Big.

Do you see the problem?

Mr. Big (the candy bar version) is not found in the USA. And is CERTAINLY not found anywhere within the five boroughs, never mind Manhattan.

Know it, or research it. There is no other option. Half baking your script is like half baking a pie. And who wants some bastard half-pie? It'll probably just curdle the ice cream and make a big goopy mess.

You want some Hollywood playa reading a big goopy mess?

I think not.

Entourage as a spec

It's inevitable, really. The show's got a certain cachet this season. It has definitely gotten better with the injection of a lot of top-tier writers into the room.

I think all the "It's the male Sex In The City" comparisons are still a little premature, and they have got to find something to do to un-one-note Drama, but the inevitable ascendancy of Turtle cannot be stopped and cannot be denied.

But that doesn't make it a good spec, far as I'm concerned, for a couple of big reasons:

-It's an HBO show

That makes the act outs a little softer or looser than when you actually have to go sell soap for two minutes.

-It's a show that's still trying to find itself

Most of the spec monkeys who are trying to write the perfect Entourage script will probably pore over the DVD's of the first season. They will do this at their peril. The show becomes more disciplined, and really a different show in the second season.

-It's an insider's world

If you are the assistant to some big powerful Hollywood type, then maybe you can come up with a window into the world that's fresh and new. But you'd have to have a pretty transcendent insight into the nature of male friendship working its mojo in your spec to overcome the third-hand "I read Variety" kind of spin you'd bring to the script -- even if you do live and work in L.A. (and if you don't, for the Love of God -- push away from the keyboard now -- unless you've spent lots of time in L.A. there's no way you can fake it. Ah, you know...without surgery.)

Aside number one: In the previous life as a journo-monkey, I was once on a film junket in L.A. and read the L.A. weekly, and counted five ads for doctors doing cosmetic vaginaplasty. This was the first time I ever knew such a thing existed. I was 28 years old. My chilhood ended that day.

-Entourage meanders.

And that might be its shaggy style (although what was with the "let's hug" Ari/Eric moment in the finale?) but people watching for writers who can craft a good story and write a good script are liable to be harder on you even for something that works in the show.

-L.A. Obsession: Enough Already.

I want you to think about this long and hard. I want you to imagine your Entourage spec. Visualize it. Can you see it? Good. I want you to imagine a pile now. Do you see the pile? Yes. Good. Your script is at the top of the pile. Excellent. Unfortunately, it's a pile of other Entourage scripts. So now some bastard who spends every waking moment immersed in minutae about the TV and Film industry has to read fifteen or thirty more scripts about people immersed in the minutae of the film industry. Oh Lord Love Nellie, yours had better not just be good. It better be Murder in the Frickin Cathedral good.

Just my gut, and your mileage may vary. But before you type TURTLE and go to town, think about your other options. I know, in half hour right now there aren't many. But I'm just not sure Entourage is the way to go. Remember, funny dialogue is only one part of it. And I'm not even convinced that when you're looking for new writers, that it's the most important part.

Podcasty TV Talky Goodness on KCRW

Okay. Let's get back to the dancing monkeys and the hey hey hey.

If you're looking for an insanely great resource for info on TV, click here.

The Treatment is an excellent show prouced by the great L.A. NPR station, KCRW. Hosted by Elvis Mitchell, it's podcast and downloadable. This week, the show interviews Jenji Kohan, Creator of WEEDS, which I've blogged about below.

Next week is the almost-preternaturally talented Hugh Laurie of HOUSE.

Click and listen.