I found a website that has scriptwriting lessons to be learnt on a few of the shows i am researching for the major project.
Here are what they say:
3 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.
5 Screenwriting lessons from Friends
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.
It has been almost a decade since NBC’s Friends bowed out from our screens.
As the Blu-Ray/HD remasters of the show came out in the past few months,
I decided to re-watch all ten seasons of one of the greatest television
sitcoms in history.
It may appear dated at first glance, but the humor is still fresh, and the comedy lives on.
Lesson 1: Sitcom is about situation comedy
It seems a lot of contemporary comedies forget the very concept behind their existence.
As much as I enjoy 30 Rock, or even Big Bang Theory, a
substantial portion of the jokes and humor is very derivative. This
isn’t necessarily a bad thing (in small doses), but when all you can
offer is references and pop-culture callbacks, you’re missing out on the
actual definition of the genre you’re in. Situation Comedy.
Another upside to limiting references is, simply put, increased playback
value. The content ends up being very accessible to a wide audience. If
you don’t know anything about the Hunger Games trilogy (either now or in ten years), you may not be entertained by the recent Community episode. Friends was
perhaps one of the most “sitcom” sitcoms. You don’t need a pop-culture
dictionary to “get it.” A lot of the humor of the show stemmed from
interesting and/or comedic situations between the various characters. In
other words, life.
One of the best episodes of the series is undoubtedly “The One Where
Everybody Finds Out.” To recap, Monica and Chandler have had a
semi-secret relationship and have been trying to hide it from the other
friends. As the title of the episode indicates (spoiler alert), everyone
ends up finding out about the couple. The real power of the show is to
turn what amounts to a TV trope (friends trying to hide their secret
romantic relationship) into a legitimately funny and fresh concept. The
idea is not new, but the execution is ridiculously fun. There’s a key
scene in the show where Phoebe and Chandler are testing each other out
to see who knows what about the secret, and we (the audience) know the
truth. In that moment, the laughs come from the imbroglio within the
situation. We know, they know, but no one wants to admit it. Comedy in
the situation. Which brings us to my next point…
Lesson 2: Humor must make way to emotion
An often overlooked facet of comedies is the emotional component. The climax of the Friends scene
I just mentioned is not the jokes milked from the concept (Phoebe v.
Chandler), rather the honest truth behind the scene: Chandler’s true
feelings towards Monica. As Phoebe is about to kiss Chandler, he finally
admits that he is actually in love with Monica. The comedic situation
turns into a pivotal “can’t-miss” moment based on the characters. All of
this comedic build-up is meaningless if it is not attached to something
real. You can make as many jokes about Chandler being gay, but they’re
rooted to the character’s insecurities with women. Without the emotional
baggage (and out of this context), they may seem childish (if not
downright offensive).
Truth in characters also means truth in emotions. If we look at another comedy, Modern Family
is very successful in part thanks to its emotional resonance. People
can recognize themselves (or their family) in the Pritchetts. The same
can be said about our “Friends.” We can engage with their stories, and
lives, because most likely we have lived through similar experiences. In
ten seasons, it would be hard not to come up with a single example.
Lesson 3: Character arcs surpass story arcs
It may seem redundant with the previous lesson, but I thought it was
important to distinguish emotional/character moments in scenes versus
full-blown arcs over the course of several episodes/seasons. More
importantly, it may seem counter-intuitive to disregard story arcs, yet
it is especially true for sitcoms that, in the long run, characters
prevail over story. A multi-cam, by its very definition, has a much more
limited scope than its single-cam counterpart (location, visuals,
production, etc.). This means that choices have to be made from the
get-go (i.e. the script) about how the story is going to unfold. It then
makes perfect sense that the focus will end up being on the characters
rather than, say, the locale.
What you end up remembering from Friends is Ross and Rachel’s
on-and-off tumultuous relationship throughout the years, not the many
(fancy) jobs of Rachel. You remember Chandler’s evolution from man-child
to husband. Sure, you may fondly look back on “that one trip to
England” (aka “The One with Ross’s Wedding”), but what sticks is the
pay-off from a character’s stand-point (in this case, Chandler and
Monica beginning a relationship). “The One After the Superbowl” is often
derided and considered one of the worst episodes because of this very
issue. No one cared about the stunt-casting and crazy LA peripeties.
Ultimately, small-scale wins.
Does that mean you should just abandon story arcs? Hell no. One arc does
not mean you overlook the other. They are both interconnected. Context
is important within a comedy, you need a story before you get to the
point of it. Where the distinction lies is simply the reason why viewers
will be watching your show. Although it may be fun to follow Phoebe’s
wacky adventures, what we care about is her reactions to said
adventures.
Lesson 4: Don’t be dependent on the laugh-track
One of the reasons given behind the seeming decline of classic
multi-camera sitcoms in the last decade has been the over-usage of the
laugh-track. More specifically, as a crutch to the constant jokes
([insert laugh]). Yes, the show is filmed in front of a live audience,
but laugh-tracks are used. In fact, after watching a decade’s worth of Friends, I started noticing halfway through the show very noticeable, particular, recurring laughs (also used now in How I Met Your Mother). Are people trying to over-compensate for something?
It is important to note here that there is a difference between relying
on live audience and relying on a laugh-track. Multi-camera sitcoms are
re-written on the fly to suit the audience’s appreciation of the humor.
More times than not, laugh-tracks are used to impress upon you that this
moment is funny, and you’re wrong for not laughing (Peter Griffin would
say that it insists upon itself). Although one of the kings of
laugh-tracks, Friends used it sparingly to reinforce genuinely comedic moments.
The content of a multi-camera sitcom should be tailored, not to coincide
with the “beat” of a subsequent laugh, but simply to its context. In
other words, you should write a script without thinking about where the
laugh-track would go. It may sound obvious, but I know a few people who
picture the finished product in their mind while writing it, which may
end up being a derailing element.
Write what entertains you, not what you think others will be entertained by.
Lesson 5: Theatricality!
If you think about it, the format of a multi-camera situation comedy
seems fairly odd (within a television mind-frame). “Live” fiction taped
in front of a live audience which is re-written on the fly, then edited
and finally broadcast for the world to see. In truth, a multi-cam is the
closest analogous art-form to actual theater. I would argue that
classic sitcoms nowadays have “lost” this idea and are focusing on, say,
puns or references rather than theatricality (see the first lesson
learned).
As we’ve seen, Friends’ tour de force was that, on top
of its running storylines and other clever jokes, the entire framework
of the show (especially after its first couple of seasons) truly
revolved around the interaction between the characters and with the
audience. This went beyond the simple comedic situations. The clearest
case of that is undoubtedly Ross’ antics. It may be hit or miss for you
(perhaps even over-done in the second half of the series), but its
importance to the character and the show’s humor is undeniable. The
bumbling professor’s physicality, the way he interacts with his
surroundings, or express his sentiments, are all part of his own
theatricality. This may seem like something that is entirely dependent
on the actor(s) and the directing, but the reality is that much of it is
relevant to writing. More specifically, the scenery and set-up. A
talented actor will enhance the content and bring to life a character
that should be inherently funny on the page. You too can use the stage,
on your page.
What to take from the show
The key to a successful multi-camera sitcom, both on a creative and
popular level, seems simple: stay true to your stories, stay true to
your dialogue, and stay true to your emotions. Play with the situation,
the characters, and the audience. Humor can be everlasting if, even
taken out of its context, laughs can be had.
I also found a really useful article about another of my favourite tv shows. As it is a mocumentary i decided not to include it in my research by what i found particularly useful about this article was what it had to say about the supporting cast.
Here is the article:
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.
It was only a few months ago that NBC’s Parks and Recreation
concluded its seven-season run. From absurd government action to
now-iconic characters, the show offered us some of the funniest moments
in recent television history.
Time to take a look at this amazing mockumentary-style comedy. Because
time is money. Money is power. Power is pizza. And pizza is knowledge.
[As usual, I’ll be talking about the series as a whole. I highly
recommend you watch the entire show before reading this post—it’s
worth it.]
Lesson 1: Don’t let a format define your story
When Parks and Recreation started airing in 2009, a large amount of viewers quickly dismissed it as a “carbon copy” of NBC’s The Office.
It didn’t help that both were basically made by the same people. Leslie
was reduced as Michael Scott’s dimwitted protagonist clone, and the
tone of the show was being described as “mean-spirited”. Its first
season was promptly ridiculed and set aside.
Six years later, Parks now stands as one of the greatest
mockumentary-style comedies ever to appear on TV. Sure, there have been a
few lackluster episodes, but its (somewhat-)handheld format never
shackled the series. One could even argue the series thrived in spite of it.
Co-creator Michael Schur explained back in 2011 why the show used the specific format:
We wanted this to be a mockumentary show because in the
world of government, the difference between what goes on behind closed
doors and what people present to the public is a huge issue. Plus, the
single-camera format can be alienating, and the talking heads help us
relate directly to the audience, and provide breaks in the action.
Notice how there is no mention of the mockumentary style as a narrative component.
The idea is (or was) about contrasting what we see and what is said,
not experiencing a fake documentary. This specific mockumentary format
is only a “take” on the government world. It isn’t meant to be a story
element in of itself (unlike, again, The Office).
Forget using the meta structure of a documentary crew as one of your
plotlines. The hell with confessionals rooted in realism. We were
treated with awkward and multiple angles, jump-cuts, and a less
voyeuristic approach overall. Hell, we even saw our characters evolve
right up to the year 2048. As long as it services them as well as their
story, there is no “real” reason not have a camera present. In fact, the
series almost completely abandoned its format in the latter-season
episode “The Johnny Karate Super Awesome Musical Explosion Show” (7×10).
At the end of the day, Parks and Recreation was able (and willing) to grow out of The Office’s shadow because it transcended the format it was born in. Similar style. Completely different world.
Learn how to move past the limitations of your own structure and style, or thrive within them.
Lesson 2: Supporting characters are as important as your main cast
Many comparisons can be made between Parks and FOX’s The Simpsons:
talking heads (Perd Hapley/Kent Brockman), sex scandal-embroiled
politicians (Dexhart/Quimby), rival towns (Pawnee/Springfield vs.
Eagleton/Shelbyville). Both shows also brilliantly use the mob
mentality. Citizens are easily swayed to vote against their own best
interests on multiple occasions.
The overarching commonality however is that both shows excel in making their respective towns three-dimensional. Parks always tries to deepen Pawnee (and Eagleton), especially when it helps both story and humor. JJ’s Diner is as identifiable with Parks as Apu’s Kwik-E-Mart is to The Simpsons.
The Gryzzl startup (and its CEO) were objects of ridicule as well as
catalysts for conflict in the final two seasons. We learned of Dennis
Feinstein’s existence several seasons before Jason Mantzoukas started
inhabiting the role (in “Indianapolis” (3×06)). The same holds true for the cavalcade of recurring characters.
The series excels with them for one simple reason: they are not just
obstacles or sources of conflicts for our protagonists, nor are they
just jokes in of themselves. They are shades of this world. They are
living and breathing Pawnee citizens.
Never underestimate your secondary characters. In fact, use them as a
continuously-untapped layer to enrich your world and stories.
Lesson 3: Know when to move on
Raise your hand if Mark Brendanawicz was your favorite character on
the show. Probably half of you just said: “Who the hell is–Oooh, the guy
from season one. Brendanaquits!” Yes, Brendanaquits. If you’ll recall,
Leslie’s long-standing crush on Mark was promptly swept under the rug
right after the first season because it didn’t seem to work for the
writers. The character himself made his departure following “Freddy Spaghetti” (2×24). He was supposed to come back, like the real-life city planner he was based on, but I guess that didn’t work out as planned. Either way, the voluntary decision to exile the character shows that Parks and Recreation was always willing to move on. It always tried to stay fresh and avoid some perpetual status quo.
Quoting Michael Schur on this concept:
All of these decisions fall under the general heading of
character development. My own preference is that everyone on the show
should be in a different place at the end of a season from where they
were at the beginning of the season. I don’t like shows where you catch
an episode in repeats and it could literally be from season 2 or season
8. People change in real life, and I think they should on TV as well.
Another example is the “pit plot”.
It’s an iconic storyline in the show, yet it barely lasted two seasons.
Most comedies would have dragged on the plot for the duration of the
show. Instead, the area promptly got filled in year two so we could move
on to newer, better stories. Shows should never be afraid to evolve.
Lesson 4: Take risks within relationships—when it makes character sense
We just talked about how Parks was able to keep a fresh pace
with its plot. The same can be said with the many relationships in the
show. When April and Andy got married out of the blue during “Andy and April’s Fancy Party”
(3×09), it caught off guard everyone (including viewers). This wasn’t
just because it was a joke. The shock came from the fact that the
wedding actually happened. Even better, it completely fit the
relationship in question and the characters’ impulsive nature.
Continuing with Michael Schur’s own comments:
All we knew was that we wanted to avoid the
standard-issue TV romance plots: fights, other men/women driving them
apart, and so on. We just thought about who they were – two impulsive
goofballs who don’t approach their lives in a responsible, adult manner –
and decided, what the hell? What if they just make a rash decision and
get hitched? As soon as the idea came up we felt it made sense, and as a
bonus, the stakes would subsequently be higher for every story we told
about their relationship.
Herein lies one of the great things behind the writing of Parks and Recreation:
realistic character development. The idea is to always organically push
the characters in their logical direction instead of having them run
circles. Ben’s understated (and perfect) marriage proposal to Leslie in “Halloween Surprise” (5×05) is another great way to show a leap with two central characters.
When it comes to your own series relationships, commit forward instead
of taking a step back. There is rarely (if ever) a need to stagnate.
Fresh paint needs time to dry, not a TV show (with exception).
Lesson 5: Make Flanderization work for, not against you
“Flanderization” is a famous television trope
that describes the act of “taking a single (often minor) action or
trait of a character within a work and exaggerating it more and more
over time until it completely consumes the character.” As you might have
guessed, the trope got its name from The Simpsons’ Ned
Flanders. He initially was a friendly neighbor and attentive father, but
has over the years become solely defined by his obsession with
religion.
Much like one now thinks of “religious zealot” with Flanders, you could define most scenes with Parks’
Ron as featuring an “anti-governmental meat-eating secretive woodsman”.
The same could also apply to Andy and “lovable idiot man-child”,
although it really wasn’t until the beginning of his life outside of
Ann’s house that he became a kinder person. So, how did the show avoid
“Flanderization”? Well, it didn’t. It used it to its own advantage.
An entire mythology was built around Ron’s enigmatic aura. Sometimes it
got reduced to “steak and eggs”, but when it worked it built the
character instead of diminish it. Andy similarly had layers developed
around being a simple goofball (Burt Tyrannosaurus Macklin and Johnny
Karate being two persona extensions).
It could even be argued that the characters went through a “reverse
Flanderization” process. The characters were more defined by a singular
tone in the first season than in later years. Andy was a lazy and clingy
ex-boyfriend, Leslie was an (even more) obnoxious Tracy Flick (or, as
described above, reminiscent of Michael Scott), April was, like,
whatever man, and Ron said two words.
A bad way of dealing with the trope is to not only define a character by
that one aspect, but specifically limit him/her with that layer. Parks not
only embraced those characterizations, but went deeper. The “good way”
isn’t necessarily about making the trait less “over-the-top”, it is
about humanizing it in the process. In other words, you do not reduce a character down to the trait, you expand on it.
Lesson 6: Being positive does not have to mean being sappy
Earnest comedy and positive relationships. Two of Parks and Recreation’s
unsung strengths. While everyone is trying to add some form of edge to
their show, this NBC comedy never shied away from having actually nice
characters (or silly ones) with heart. And making it all matter in the
end.
Even with Leslie’s intense care for everyone she loves (in planning
birthdays or other surprises), that “crazy” intensity was never played
against her on the show. Parks rarely (if ever) undercut the
true sincere emotions of characters for cheap laughs. Ann or Ben were
often overwhelmed by Leslie’s antics, however none of them were the
butts of jokes. In “Anniversaries” (6×14), we smiled with Leslie at Ben’s awestruck expression while he was sitting on the Iron Throne
(one of the truer portrayals of a nerd), but we were all playing
(including Leslie, trying to make him happy). Everyone was “in on it”.
A lot of the relationships on the show also led to affairs of the heart.
Every major character ends up being linked to a key romantic pair by
series end: Ben and Leslie, Chris and Ann, April and Andy, Ron and
Diane, Tom and Natalie Morales’ Lucy, Jerry and his wife Gayle (a
pre-series romance putting him at odds with the rest of the cast—and
played that way), Rita and Keegan-Michael Key’s Joe. Even Craig finds
“true love” in the series finale.
In that respect, the show’s true success is playing those romances not
as sappy ideals, but as realistic relationships (albeit kind ones). Just
because they are positive does not make them impossible. Ben and
Leslie, the closest lovers on the show, still have to deal with their
triplets (and Jennifer Barkley). Chris and Ann’s romance is never
portrayed as “true love”, only the most ideal match for their baby.
If anything, Parks and Recreation is a great example of a show
that embraces its sincerity and heart without compromising humor, story
or character. Refreshing, in an age of gritty everything.
What to take from the show
In a word: character. If you don’t underestimate the heart of the
series, then the relationships you create will carry the momentum
forward. This is also why there’s no reason to be scared of big story
moves, or to be anxious about dropping stale storylines. As long as you
fulfill the characters’ potential, and develop them properly, you can’t
betray the spirit of your show.
Stay safe,
Helen
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