KOREAN PRINCESS BRIDE AF: AWKWAFINA IS NORA FROM QUEENS #108, "GRANDMA & CHILL"

Last week and this week I'm featuring TV episodes that have been nominated for 2021 WGA awards.

You know how it seems like every other story at this point is another twist on GROUNDHOG DAY, and we recognize it every time someone tries it and yet somehow they mostly all really work, and how is that even possible, but it is, and even right now as I'm writing this I'm actually thinking about how great it would be if every show that I love had a Groundhog Day episode? 

There's only on other story trope I can think of that I think is equally magically bulletproof: 

The framing device of THE PRINCESS BRIDE: Kid gets sick. Grandparent shows up and insists on telling them a story. And the kid spends the story calling out its ridiculousness while slowly falling in love with it. It's a super easy idea to understand, and it seems to always land.

In the WGA-nominated "Grandma & Chill", AINFQ writer Kyle Lau brings the BRIDE framework to a K-Drama spin on how Nora's grandmother met her her grandfather. The story has so many fantastic conceits of Korean soaps--amnesiac suitors, people marrying their siblings, hot dudes going shirtless for no reason...

This guy is literally the garbage man.

And all along the way Lau folds in the BRIDE-style hilarious banter between sick-in-bed Nora and her grandmother about what the hell is this crazy story anyway.  

In writing these posts, I'm always trying to think in terms of techniques or tips we can learn from watching these writers. And for me, the extra-special sauce of "Grandma & Chill" is the modern voice that Lau brings to the characters. Having the younger version of Nora's grandmother and her friend saying things like "Fuck that dude" and "More ruler D for me" in what is on the surface a period piece gets a laugh and grabs my attention every time.

Bringing a modern take to a story-genre is absolutely in keeping with what makes THE PRINCESS BRIDE great. But the AINFQ voice is distinctive, joyously anarchic in that Chaotic Good way that is Awkwafina. 

Maybe the takeaway of "Grandma & Chill" is to recognize the lasting effect of building your show from a strong, personal point of view. The more specific and idiosyncratic you can allow your show or script to be, the more it will be able to elevate everything that you give it (and also anything that you give it).

When you need inspiration, check out AWKWAFINA IS NORA... It's such a fun show. 

TOMORROW: TED LASSO! (Congrats on the Golden Globe, Jason Sudeikis!)

 

 

THE OPENING MONTAGE: BETTER CALL SAUL #509, "BAD CHOICE ROAD"

This week I'm featuring TV episodes that have been nominated for 2021 WGA awards, and in particular the things they do in their openings.    

SET UP

Having been nearly murdered in the desert by cartel agents looking to steal Lalo's bail money, Jimmy and Mike find themselves without transport and desperate to connect to civilization before they die. 

   

THE SEQUENCE

The episode, written by Thomas Schnauz, begins with a montage set to an instrumental version of Lola Marsh's "Something Stupid", which is a call back to a much longer montage sequence of the same format from 407.  

Here's 509:

Here's 407:

 

They're both split screen, one side following Jimmy, one side following Kim (although who is on which side is reversed). In 407 we're watching the two of them over eight months while Jimmy is setting up his disposable phone racket and Kim her legal practice. In 509 we're watching Jimmy on the left trying to survive with Mike in the desert, and Kim on the right at home worried about him.

In 407, the split screen becomes a way of telling the story of the two of them growing apart. As the sequence goes on, they're more and more turned away from each other, even in wonderful shots like the dining table where they're literally in the same space. 

 

The first time we see them at the table they face forward, 

clearly sharing the space and life.

 

 They even break through the divide, a fun play with the format.

 

Later, they're not even facing each other enough to consider that. 

They're co-existing rather than living together.

In 509, the montage seems to function similarly. The split screen in fact signals their now total separation both  physically and psychically. She's smoking while he's in a nightmare desert. She's walking away from the screen as he's's walking toward it. They often face in different directions, and when they do face each other, she's drinking water and he's drinking...um, something else. 

Both sequences actually end after the song. In 407, they're in bed, turned away from each other, and Jimmy can't sleep. In 509, Jimmy gets a cell signal. And with it the split screen ends. He calls Kim, who gasps and then starts weeping when she hears he's okay. 

All of which hints at a big difference about 509--that this is going to be an episode about connection and union, not dissolution--which the episode will then demonstrate in the most insanely unexpected fashion: as well as being a call back, the montage is a set up piece for 509's end, in which Jimmy and Kim together face annihilation at the hands of Lalo. (As in the montage, Mike is present in the background here, too, with a sniper rifle aimed at Lalo from across the street.) 

But where Jimmy nearly died when he and Kim were apart, Kim will not only save their lives, she'll give him a lot more credibility with Lalo. 

When he finally leaves, she again gasps, as she did when she heard Jimmy's voice. But this time there are no tears.  

TAKEAWAYS

Montages Create Suspense. Seriously, I would take a three credit class just on BREAKING BAD and BETTER CALL SAUL montages. They serve so many purposes in the show--give us a journey, show us a mental state, deep dive into a process like cooking meth or setting up a plan. 

In part montages are great because done well they're visually interesting. But the thing I notice here is the way in which they come with a built in sense of mystery. A song is its own kind of ticking clock; you know something important is going to happen by the time it ends, but what? Used in conjunction with a montage element like the split screen which tells you we're in a special sequence, the audience can't help but lean in, wondering what is going to happen.

Everything We've Already Done is Potentially Treasure for Later. One of my favorite parts about being a writer is discovering that something I wrote forty pages or three drafts ago has other uses or implications. The artistic unconscious is an insane and incredible gift like that. Basically everything we write is like Thanksgiving turkey. There may very well be some great leftovers.

Did the SAUL team know that they eventually wanted to call back to 407? Honestly, maybe. They're so good. But I suspect the real answer is no, rather as they came into 509 their crazy hive mind and/or amazing assistants brought 407 back to the surface. 

Sometimes when you're on a show the last thing you want to do is go back and rewatch or read your work. But this montage (and a lot of SAUL) demonstrates why we should.  

In the words of the greatest screenwriter that every lived: 

NEXT WEEK: More WGA-nominated scripts, including OZARK'S "Fire Pink"! TED LASSO's pilot! AWKWAFINA IS NORA FROM QUEENS' "Grandma and Chill"!

Also, Lessons learned from WANDAVISION! 

VENUS IN CLAMSHELL: WHO IS "ON" A SHOW?

 

 

This week the WGA is doing panels with the TV writers whose scripts have been nominated for WGA awards. Yesterday they did the drama writers; today the comedy. 

As the panel was going on the MC mentioned how BETTER CALL SAUL-nominated writer Ariel Levine had recently joined the show. "Actually, I've been here since season one," she said. 

The MC paused, I think probably reading the signals that he was missing something important, but also not sure what, because Levine is a staff writer. So he couldn't quite let the topic go. She had been an assistant, Levine explained to the MC's follow up.

"Okay, that's what I mean," the MC went on. "You joined the staff relatively recently." 

But that was exactly her point: no, she hadn't joined the staff recently, she'd been there since the beginning. Levine's co-writer on their WGA-nominated episode, showrunner Peter Gould, went on to note that Levine had shown an encyclopedic knowledge of SAUL and BREAKING BAD as an assistant, which was hugely helpful to the writing staff long before she was actually writing episodes. 

I'm not trying to take on the MC here. Life in our endless improv Zoom room is messy and sometimes awful. Things get missed.

But I think the exchange speaks to an important question for our community: How do we define who is "on" a show or when they "join" it? Is it just the writers, or once you've been promoted to staff? Because the assistants are contributing tons of time and energy to make that room and show run. They and sometimes consultants are also often providing research and other creative material the writers want need. If none of them are considered "part" of the writing staff, what are we saying about all of that work? 

I also wonder what that characterization ends up saying about our lives as writers. Some might find it fabulous to be imagined as Venus in the clamshell, emerging from the waves fully grown and ready to write WGA and Emmy-worthy material.  

But that underlying myth is telling: Venus' creation and emergence actually comes out of an act of castration. (Roman myths, y'all...) There are so many prior years of hard work, meaningful contributions and relationships that get us to that writing job. We might not have enjoyed all of it, for sure. But as Levine rightly points out, it's to be claimed, not erased.

Script Pipeline did a great profile of Levine in April. Well worth a read. 

 

HAVE YOU HEARD THE ONE ABOUT THE MURDERBOT?: RAISED BY WOLVES, "Pilot"

This week I'm featuring TV episodes that have been nominated for 2021 WGA awards, and in particular the things they do in their openings.      

The Set Up
Written by show creator Aaron Guzikowski, the RAISED BY WOLVES pilot opens with our robot protagonists Mother and Father having just awoken for the first time, after landing on a planet where they're meant to begin a human colony. 

The Sequence 

In what has become a relatively standard  "landing on a planet" dilemma, Father discovers they've actually landed at the edge of a deep pit over which their ship is rocking back and forth. They have to get out with their embryos before they fall to their doom. 

 

But that's where the standard story ends. As Father gets out and tries to hold the shuttle for Mother, he asks her if she wants to hear a joke. "What did the male magnet say to the female magnet?" 

 

The moment screams "Tell us a Joke, Bob", doesn't it? 

 

Even before we get to the punchline, his offer tells us so many things. First of all, as perilous as their situation may seem, in fact they are more than its equal. Yes, they are robots, so not likely to start shrieking (although if you know the show, you know this is in fact VERY far from an accurate assessment).

But Father tossing out jokes as he tries to literally hold the rocket up by himself, his feet slipping in the sand, conveys his level of confidence and security. Which gives us a sense of what we're in for. This is not going to be a series with the typical sci-fi tropes as its problems. 

 

The moment also tells us a lot about Father and his programming. "Would you like to hear a joke while we work this out?", he asks Mother as he holds the ship. The joke is not some sort of cocky laugh-in-the-face-of-danger moment, in other words. It's him trying to be helpful.

Meanwhile the joke has absolutely no merit. "When I saw your backside," says the male magnet, "I was repelled. However, after seeing you from the front, I now find you very attractive." There's nothing funny to that, it's just a bit of word play, the kind of thing only a child might find amusing. 

 

Which actually fits. As their names themselves already tell us, Mother and Father are here to raise children. So of course their humor is going to be a combination of ultra-corny and a science lesson.

 

(The moment also immediately makes clear, these are not WESTWORLD robots we're dealing with. No seamless simulation of humanity to be had here.)

 

Lastly, the punchline points to a key thematic element of the episode: everyone has two sides to them, one of which is enormously unattractive. Mombot is also unbeknownst to herself Murderbot who explodes people by screaming. 

Mother so scary, you guys.

The men who come to the planet act pleasant but in fact are planning to kill Mother and take the family's land. Even the planet itself is ascribed duality: in narration the one surviving child Campion explains his realization, after his sister fell down that damn hole and died, that the planet does not care about them, or desire to protect them. 

 

(Campion’s voiceovers are a whole other part of the pilot worth considering. It’s so easy to overdo narration; you fall in love with the voice of your character and so you let it run way too long. Guzikowski really holds back with his, and they each pop as an exquisite combination of insight and revelation.)

 

Takeaways

You can reveal so much with so little. Admittedly, I am an unrepentant English major. I am desperate to over-interpret everything. But in this one tiny moment in the pilot Guzikowski teaches us A TON about his show and its characters. 

 

Jokes are a potent tool. Having been formed  by episodes of shows like THE WIRE, BREAKING BAD and MAD MEN, any time a character says they want to tell a story I lean in. I just know at this point how stories can often provide THE key to a character or episode. It's meat on the bone of theme or big ideas. 

 

The RAISED BY WOLVES pilot shows how jokes can offer the same kind of possibilities. They don't even have to be good jokes.

TOMORROW: The Road to Bad Choices and BETTER CALL SAUL.

 

 

 

 

 

MICROCOSM OF THE WHOLE: BOJACK HORSEMAN #612, "Xerox of a Xerox"

This week I'm featuring TV episodes that have been nominated for 2021 WGA awards, and in particular the things they do in their openings.     

Written by Nick Adams, BOJACK 612 is just a couple episodes short of the series finale, and a huge episode in the run. After six seasons of bad behavior and half- (and eventually more than half-) hearted attempts to change, he's finally going to be confronted with every single awful thing we’ve seen him do, and on national television.

 

And, as with everything to do with BoJack, the catastrophe of that confrontation will be his own doing. Rule One of BoJack: He always destroys himself.

The Set Up   

The episode itself lays out as two interviews: the first where he says all the right things, i.e. the things he says at the end of every season about what a piece of garbage he is and how bad he feels.

The second interview comes after he sees how successful he’s been at detaching himself from the horrible things he’s done with his tried and trough BoJack Sad Horse Song and Dance, and rides that ego train to disaster.

(It’s interesting to rewatch the episode in light of the ongoing revelations from FKA Twigs about the abuse she suffered from Shia LaBeouf. He’s gone to the press and apologized, saying he’d been “abusive to himself and everyone around” him.  Twigs’ response is exactly what BOJACK is aiming at: “It just reminds me of some of the gaslighting that I experienced when I was with him. The sort of taking the blame, but not all of it, and then denying it.”) 

 

So the episode is about artifice and the lies revealed when a light is shone on it. 

 

Opening Sequence

We begin with Paige Sinclair (wearing Katherine Hepburn's wedding dress from PHILADELPHIA STORY), the reporter who has been gathering all of the dirt on BoJack for some time, furious that someone else is going to get the exclusive.

It’s been clear for a while that Paige is the ticking time bomb on BoJack’s history, so it makes sense we’d see her here. But she’s also a character with a radically artificial voice. Though the series is set in present-day Hollywood, Paige speaks in the rat-a-tat-tat, absurdly rococo style of His Gal Friday, both her insanely alliterative 40s journalism word choice and her vocal tonality lacking in any sense of realism.

That difference always makes her fun to watch. But it also speaks to that broader story about artifice. The sequence even ends with Paige getting called out, just as BoJack will. As she winds down a final breathlessly ridiculous sentence filled with word play, parallel phrasing and internal rhyme, Paige turns to her sister.  “Why do you talk like that?” her sister wonders. “We’re from Fresno." Smash cut into credits. 

 

There's a "prepping the audience emotionally" dynamic to all this as well. When a show introduces a character that speaks in a radically different way than everyone else, it changes the way we watch. Their voice jars us out of the lullaby Go with the Flow State that television usually tries to slide us into. We become more aware of ourselves as watching a TV show, and of the characters as characters, to be watched and evaluated, rather than simply accepted. 

Which is exactly where the show wants us. As messed up as BoJack is, he’s still the guy we identify with. Will Arnett and the writers have mastered that tone of humble self-hatred that makes you empathize. By starting with Paige, Adams primes us to not be so easily seduced. 

Takeaways

The main thing I take from that opening is the idea of Nothing Wasted. Every line of a script is real estate, and it can all be used to serve the story. I might not see how in the first draft or the third. But that last polish, that's what you're looking for.

Also, Great Stuff Doesn't Need to be Obvious.  At Disneyland, every detail of the space in every single ride/adventure/animatronic nightmare zone (Pirates' Johnny Depp is literally the stuff of my nightmares) has been designed to create a fully immersive experience. When you walk into the Haunted Mansion, they want you to feel like you're in a Haunted Mansion.

But that doesn't mean you're supposed to notice everything. In fact the idea is that the illusion is so complete that you don't need to bother. You just know it to be true. 

A script is the same way. I don't have to call attention to the fact that the opening sets up the whole story for it to do so and to do it well. In fact not calling attention to it makes the second and third viewing much cooler.

TOMORROW: Robot Comedians and RAISED BY WOLVES.

 

 

HOW TO CRAFT AN OPENING: BETTER CALL SAUL 507, "JMM"

This week I'm featuring TV episodes that have been nominated for 2021 WGA awards, and in particular the things they do in their openings.

 

It's a happy coincidence that this blog begins with an entry about BETTER CALL SAUL. When it comes to the "craft" of writing, you can't do better than Vince Gilligan, Peter Gould and the SAUL writing staff. Every single week seems to be a master class in storytelling.  

Among their greatest strengths are their episode openings and endings. Pretty much every time out, you can count on SAUL to begin with a sequence that weds striking, revelatory visuals to character turns and plot choices you almost never see coming. 

Alison Tatlock's WGA-nominated episode #507, “JMM”, is a case in point.  

The Set Up: 

Confronted with the fact that her relationship with Jimmy seems less and less tenable, Kim ends 506 by suddenly proposing they get married. 507 opens by paying that off with their actual wedding. 

 

The Sequence:  

We begin outside the courthouse in the midst of the next right moment, namely the two of them talking through this whole crazy idea. And, as is typical of SAUL, the truth of the moment is conveyed through the visuals. Rather than a two shot of the two of them at the table where they sit, we instead open on close ups on Kim's nervously tapping heel and Jimmy's ring, which he turns on his finger. 

 

 

Then we shift to a back and forth of shots of each of them individually as seen through the mesh of the outdoor table at which they're sitting. In dialogue, Jimmy agrees to tell her the truth about what he’s doing no matter what, and she promises to accept it. It’s their "real" marriage vows, in a sense. And yet shot through the bars of the table makes it look like they're each in jail (and separate). A brilliant commentary on what they're doing. 

The sequence rolls on through a discussion with the county clerk and one of the witnesses, each moment of which only adds to the sense of this wedding as doomed, romance-less calculation. The next beat builds wonderfully on that; waiting in court for the judge, the two sit together not in the gallery but at the defense table. It's the perfect expression both of what this wedding is, a defense strategy, and of their plight.  

 

 

If you just had this shot to go on, you would absolutely think the two of them were in court either defending a client or themselves. 

 

Truly, the sequence could have ended with the judge walking in. It's the horrible shotgun wedding we feared, brilliantly delivered.

 

But instead, Tatlock has the characters say their vows. There's no frills to them, no added comments or words; they're just the standard pro forma formula. And yet face to face with each other and the reality of what they're doing, neither Jimmy nor Kim proves able to leave the moment at the level of legal protections. For each of them the vows becomes a quiet, unexpected, funny expression of their actual love. 

 

And just like that everything we’ve come to believe about this wedding is turned upside down.

 

507 has some other incredible moments, especially the ending, which again leads with a striking visual image--half of Jimmy's face reflected on a shiny wall to create this insane Jekyll and Hyde effect--  

 

-- that becomes the jumping off point for a stunning character turn, as Jimmy loses his mind all over Howard.

But for me, it's this moment, when everything said "This marriage is a disaster" and then their vows go exactly the other way, that I feel like I watched a great magic trick. 

Takeaways:

Stepping back, I take two big lessons from "JMM". 

First, How can I make this moment, this conflict, this character More Visual. Look for images, choreography, and other visual cues that can help reveal the internal state of your characters and their choices. It adds so much depth. 

Second, Consider what your audience is expecting. Tatlock knows that we left 506 thinking this wedding is a terrible idea. Playing into that at the top of 507 allows her to hide where the scene is headed. 

So much of good storytelling is about manipulation and misdirection. And that's what Tatlock does so brilliantly here.

TOMORROW: BOJACK HORSEMAN

 

 

 

Wanna See a Magic Trick?

About twenty years ago now I had this crazy idea that I wanted to be a screenwriter. 

Actually, no, that's not right. About twenty years ago I was working as a high school English teacher at Red Cloud Indian School on the Pine Ridge Indian Reservation. I had all the seniors; They rode me like the practice pony at a rodeo that first year. It was brutal and I ended up loving them for it.

Meanwhile back in the suburbs of Chicago where I was from white people whose closest experiences with Native people was watching DANCES WITH WOLVES, Wasn't Kevin Costner amazing?--would tell me about how Native people rode horses and lived in tipis and had such terrible problems holding their liquor. 

I ended up trying to write a screenplay to share what I was witnessing, hilarious, incredible kids who refused to give respect that wasn't earned and fought like Hell for the things they believed in. It was a little bit the story of the prodigal son and a little bit Agamemnon, and also a total disaster because I had no idea what I was doing.  

Still, I loved not only that it gave me a chance to light a candle at the feet of every student I had but how it allowed me to think about what I had seen working on the rez. The writing process was filled with surprise and discovery.

And so a little while later, I went to UCLA and did an MFA in Screenwriting. It was a fantastic experience; new scripts due every ten weeks and being a part of a community of really decent human beings who gave great notes and tried to help each other, and faculty who kept pushing us to see ourselves as artists. To be able to say, I am a writer.

(I still have trouble saying that. Please look away while I stop squirming.)

While I've yet to set the world on fire--I sold a pilot, worked on a show, but otherwise still chasing the dream--if anything I love the experience of writing even more than I did before. Those moments where suddenly you see new possibilities in a character or relationship, a throwaway line you didn't even think through when you put it down that now gives you the key to everything leave me with "My God, it's full of stars"-levels of wonder. If you're reading this I bet you've had experiences like that too. 

The other thing I've come to love is watching how someone else tells a great story. For me, every TV show, movie, comic, book, even the occasional tweet is a chance to get to watch a magician do their thing. I want to be entertained, sure, but honestly what gets me excited is trying to learn how they do their tricks.  

During the seemingly-endless nightmare weekend that has been this #!%!%ing pandemic, I've watched a ton of TV shows and movies. And at some point I found myself finishing episodes thinking, What new trick did I see here? Or what disaster? (Sometimes I learn way more from trying to understand why something didn't work than what did.)

I started writing about what I saw, sometimes just a couple paragraphs, sometimes full blown beat sheets for everything from older scifi like BABYLON 5 and FRINGE to recent shows like HALT AND CATCH FIRE, THE MANDALORIAN, PARKS & RECREATION or likely Oscar-nominee movies.

Pretty quickly my writing started to take the format of Me writing to other people interested in story, i.e. "Here's a cool thing for your toolbox."

I kept saying I was going to turn this into a blog. I even bought a site on WordPress after I watched a video that made that seem super easy, which was crazy, my website looked like it was made for a shady real estate agency.

Meanwhile my set of posts kept growing until I just decided it, screw it, I'll get started on what is at this point basically the AMC Gremlin of blog sites, and see what happens. I can type stuff and you can see it.  For now, hopefully that'll be enough.

 

I really do love a Gremlin. 

My hope is to post something every week day about a TV episode or movie, one lesson or tool I found in something I watched. Hopefully once I'm humming I'll start adding in comic books and some other stuff too. (I've written so many notes on Stephen King books, you guys.)

Honestly I don't know if there's an audience for any of this, or if I'll just be writing it for myself. I hope it's the former, but if it proves to be a message in a bottle that never gets found, or at least not until the aliens  from Sigma-7 come to visit the ruins of our planet, so be it. Maybe it'll mean more then.

To anyone who does find this, whether you dream of being a writer, or you're already fighting the good fight, I say Hello, Friend. Thank you for the beautiful things you put out into the world. Even if they only live in your hard drive for now (or for always), they change you and that makes the world better. 

Wanna see a magic trick? Check back tomorrow. I've got some cool ones to show you.  

++ 

THIS WEEK: Lessons in Opening an Episode from some of this year's WGA-nominated TV scripts, including BOJACK HORSEMAN, BETTER CALL SAUL, RAISED BY WOLVES and others. 

COMING SOON: WANDAVISION! WGA-nominated features! So! Much! More!

NOW: The moment from "I, Carumbus," the WGA-nominated SIMPSONS script written by Cesar Mazariegos, that I can't stop watching.