THINKING ABOUT THE WHOLE STORY

 

Right now I'm working on some posts about the Emmy winners. But this week I thought I'd step back and post some writing ideas from others. 

Last week David Simon wrote a beautiful article about Michael K. Williams, who played Omar on The Wire. And while others have talked about Williams' incredible talent as a performer, Simon came it from the point of view of a writer, and the great gift that Williams gave their writing staff.

At the start of the second year Williams came in to see Simon and asked "Why are we doing this?" i.e. Why are we walking away from the story of the black community of Baltimore to spend time with a bunch of white dockies in the shipyards? The conversation pushed Simon and his staff to express more clearly what exactly they wanted from the second year, what it was going to be about.

And each year after that Williams and Simon would have the same conversation. "What are we going to say this year?" he would ask.

"He gave us an astounding gift", Simon writes, "an act of faith from a magnificent actor who could have played his hand very differently. Television usually chases its audience — if they love them some Omar, you feed them more Omar. If they can’t stop looking at Stringer, you write more Stringer. Never mind story and theme.

"Instead, Mike bent his beautiful mind to a task that even the best writers and show runners often avoid. He thought about the whole story, the whole of the work." 

I find sometimes if I'm writing from a standpoint of theme, my characters can get lost. They are not chess pieces or puppets, right? But on the other hand, thinking about the whole story, about what is the thing that I'm exploring in this season, in this show can be so clarifying. Right now I'm working on a sitcom pilot where the main character is desperate to explore parts of his life that he never has, to have more -- and yet he's also terrified and hiding behind old defense mechanisms. It's a story about the terror of happiness, the two steps forward, three steps back struggle involved in taking the risk of chasing it. 

And I think I'm at a point where his story is really clear and fun to watch, and the script is probably fine to send out. But as I sit with it I'm realizing there's still a further opportunity here, and it's in considering the stories of the supporting players around him, and how their own journeys are dealing with the same issues. What is the happiness they are afraid of? What are the defenses they put up? 

That's what happens sometimes, for me anyway, when I apply Williams' question: when you're clear about the question you're asking, the thing you're wrestling with, characters who might seem minor or secondary suddenly can lock in in a new way, like metal filings around a magnet.

WRITING FROM FEAR

Michaela Coel, creator of I MAY DESTROY YOU, at the Emmys last night.

Something to think about for inspiration today: What is the part of my life that I am most uncomfortable exploring or showing to others? Of what am I afraid?

FIVE THINGS, WHAT WE DO IN THE SHADOWS, PRECIS

 So...you want to write for WHAT WE DO IN THE SHADOWS and/or consider the writing techniques it offers? Here's a quick summary of some things to remember: 

1) The External World is Key to the Comedy: Great comedy often comes from the conflicts between a weird thing and a normal thing. So in WHAT WE DO, you've got a bunch of vampires (weird) living in Staten Island (normal). Brainstorm some normal-life kinds of situations--Malls! City council meetings! Christmas carollers!; or vampire-kinds of stuff--Problems with Silver! Always hungry! Can turn into bats! And see how they can interact. 

2) They Explore the Space: Once you've set up your premise and characters, take the time to explore their implications. We know that these are goofy/clueless vampires who really just want to hang around. So what else might be true about them? 

3) And Use All their Toys: Where most mockumentary-type shows ignore one key element of their series, the documentary crew, WHAT WE DO has repeatedly gone back to them in different ways as both objects of incidental harm and occasional embarrassed (aka "Whoops, sorry about killing your guy") kinds of conversation. They're not main characters by any means, but they are part of the fabric of the show. So what might be the next ways to use them? 

4) Guillermo Wants Something (Outrageous): Stories live and die on the desires of their characters. Desires create paths, possible conflicts and choices. The bigger or even more absurd the desire, the bigger the choices and obstacles involved. On WHAT WE DO, Guillermo wants to be a vampire, and that desire leads to both hilarious conflicts, as the vampires show no interest in siring him, and ever-stronger choices, as he ends up having to protect his vampires from the bigger world.  

5) There's a Big Picture: From the pilot WHAT WE DO establishes a bigger world to the story, the Vampire Council, and their desire to rule. And over the course of the first season our vampires fall afoul of them, courtesy mostly of Guillermo, who comes to discover he is a Van Helsing, setting up a fresh new take on the Dracula story. And knowing the big picture is that tale, what other elements can we draw out or bring in? For instance, what about introducing a Lucy figure that Guillermo falls for? Or a Renfield who is like Guillermo's equal and opposite? Or what about pitting Guillermo against his own vampires?

FIVE THINGS, WHAT WE DO IN THE SHADOWS: THE BIG PICTURE

In this week where we're looking at what you need to know to write WHAT WE DO IN THE SHADOWS aka some of the things that WHAT WE DO does so well, there's one more thing to mention. 

(Actually there are so many more things we could talk about, like the wonderful and specific characterizations of each of the vampires. But we've only got five things!)

It's a thing that was easy to miss in the early episodes of WHAT WE DO, in large part because the show presents as a pretty traditional sitcom, each week offering its own stand-alone little bit of hilarity. Vampires in Staten Island--what more do you need?

But in fact the series has a significant ongoing storyline--two in fact, that are really one. On the one hand, from the opening episode we've got the disintegrating relationship between the vampires and the greater vampire kingdom. Ancient vampire royalty The Baron shows up in the pilot and is horrified that the foursome have not taken over Staten Island. In later episodes they try to do what he wants, and fail. And then Guillermo accidentally kills him, leading to group being put on trial before the Vampire Council. 

In the second year things get worse, with vampires being sent to kill them off and on throughout the season. And now in the third things have flipped and they've been made the new Vampire Council themselves. 

Meanwhile the other arc which is ongoing but only revealed at the end of the first season is that Guillermo is actually a Van Helsing, and it seems to be in his very nature to kill vampires. Suddenly the death of the Baron has a whole new layer, as does Guillermo accidentally burning Nandor with holy water in the finale, or throwing stakes away and them ending up embedded in the pictures of the three main vampires. The second season will see him struggling with that identity in hilarious ways, and killing A LOT of vampires. 

Really these two arcs are two sides of the same coin, which amounts to a hilarious remix of the classic Dracula vs. Van Helsing storyline, with the Staten Island Vampires caught right in the middle.

Understanding that that's going on underneath it all is a useful way of thinking about the show. First, it begs the question "If this is true, what else is true?" If Guillermo is a Van Helsing who inadvertently keeps doing Van Helsing things, what are some other possible twists? What are some other Van Helsing-y kinds of skills he might have or natural talents he might apply? Maybe he can learn ancient languages almost instantly. He is very hard to kill. His blood makes vampires sick. He has some kind of magical power set. 

Or are there problematic parts of Van Helsing that become part of Guillermo's struggles? Like maybe he naturally repels attractive humans? Or anyone he loves will absolutely die? 

The bigger arc also sets up future conflicts. For now, Guillermo sees himself as the Staten Island vampires' protector. But will that last forever? Can it if they're now the Vampire Council? There's so much room to play with. 

That's what a bigger story arc does: it creates problems, opportunities and possibilities. It's a lot like character desire (in fact usually it emerges from them) applied to the macro scale.

Now You Try!

Knowing what we know about the bigger arc(s) of the show: the Vampires vs. the Staten Island Crew; Guillermo Van Helsing; and the Vampires vs. Van Helsing of it all, brainstorm some possible story ideas. You might find it useful to think of it as a two step process:  first, forget that this is a comedy and just try to think of some serious stories or problems that could happen. Allow yourself to consider any crazy, dark or even tragic possibility.

Then, see if you can come up with the WHAT WE DO version--the version where Guillermo is accidental, reluctant or has his life made worse in his Van Helsingness; the version where the Staten Island Crew succeeds over powerful vampires in silly or accidental ways; the ways that Vampires vs. Van Helsing can go to a hilarious place.

TOMORROW

When I do these Five Things pieces, I'm going to try to do a sort of one page precis on the weekend with a couple further opportunities or suggestions--knowing what we know about the show and where's at, what might you capitalize on?, kind of a thing. So look for that tomorrow.

FIVE THINGS, WHAT WE DO IN THE SHADOWS: WANT SOMETHING (OUTRAGEOUS)

While WHAT WE DO IN THE SHADOWS is an ensemble show, the clear heart of it is Guillermo, Nandor's familiar. He's the show's point of view character, both our guide into this world and also the one to which the camera team turns whenever something ridiculous happens. 

But in addition to all that what makes him truly central to the show is that he has the biggest, clearest and craziest desire. He wants to be a vampire. As audience we love a character who is taking a big swing at life, who is chasing something difficult (for sure) and/or crazy (even better). 

In part maybe we like that because we can relate. We know what it is to dream for things that are hard or seemingly impossible. Someone who chases a dream is by nature someone we identify with. 

But I think it's also about clarity. Consider WHAT WE DO without Guillermo--what would it be about, really? You might still have the group being pushed to do certain things like take over Staten Island, but only under pressure. Part of the joke of the series, after all, is that they really don't want to do anything but hang out and eat people. 

Desires tell us what journey we're on. And they give us a general sense of the conflicts we're going to get to watch. Knowing Guillermo wants to be a vampire, we know he's going to try things to get the group's approval or attention; and without knowing the show at all we also know they are going to make that difficult in some way, that Guillermo proving himself is going to be very hard to do. (And in a classic WHAT WE DO twist, the challenge for Guillermo is not some set of impossible feats he must accomplish, but the fact that the vampires are so silly and self-centered they don't even notice how much he wants it.)

Guillermo's desire also lead to an unexpectedly rich second goal--to protect his vampires. At this point that quest is even more prominent than his baseline desire to be a vampire, because his people are now under constant threat (which his own acts of protection keeps making worse--a fantastic engine). Intriguingly it's a more emotional goal, too--it has to do with how he feels about them, his affection for them despite everything. The fact that they continue to treat him like garbage even now-- they have him locked in a cage in 301 while they debate whether to kill him--only makes this the more delightful (and also makes him more appealing).

Part of what is making season three look really interesting is the way they're expanding who has desires and for what. Colin Robinson wants to find out where he comes from; Nadja clearly wants to take their new job as Vampire Council seriously and be a real boss. The impact of those choices is pretty immediate. We start to care about those characters in a different way. I honestly can't believe how much I'm suddenly invested in Colin Robinson. He's by far the least likeable of the bunch, but now he's on the most emotional journey and I'm right there with him. 

Now You Try! 

Strong, clear, bold desires are central to making any story compelling. If we're looking specifically at writing a good WHAT WE DO episode, we might consider brainstorming some specific expressions of Guillermo's desire to be a vampire; what are things that he might do to try and win that promotion? Or we might consider further obstacles that he faces: how does the fact that he's a Van Helsing and has killed a lot of vampires factor in going forward? 

But here's a different idea: What would be a really concrete desire we could give Nandor or Laszlo? And rather than having it as something altogether new, the challenge here is to look at the things they've done in the show and the way they are and see whether there isn't something already there waiting for us. 

So maybe the way go about brainstorming is to first list some of your favorite moments of either character, the things that really stand out or that you loved. And then, see if there isn't something in there worth exploring as a bigger part of the character.  That might seem like a long shot, but I find in writing that so often the things we need are already there. It's like we buried a treasure chest and didn't know it. And it's just there waiting for us to find.

FIVE THINGS, WHAT WE DO IN THE SHADOWS: USE ALL THE TOYS

WHAT WE DO IN THE SHADOWS is a mockumentary, basically. There's an unseen camera crew that is recording everything for some supposed future documentary, just like in MODERN FAMILY, PARKS & REC or THE OFFICE.  

At this point there's conventions that people expect to come with that, like talking head moments or cutaways to one of the characters looking directly into the camera and rolling their eyes (aka Jim and Pams). 

One other convention that has become pretty much sacrosanct is that you never see the documentary team, or even have them directly referenced beyond that cutaway glance. Toward the end of THE OFFICE there's a moment where Pam is going to say goodbye to Michael in an airport and in order to do it she has to take off her mic, and it was kind of revolutionary simply because she did that. Like documentaries, mockumentaries never do that. 

THE OFFICE has a number of other interesting moments like this in its last season, too. But WHAT WE DO is the first show I know that has played with this convention from the start. In a number of episodes the crew are actually victims: in 106 one of the team gets eaten; in 205 Colin Robinson drains the cameraman. Also, the show is not above having the cast speak directly to the documentary team, as in 104 when Nandor apologies to the crew after saying they're going to eat everyone. 

On the one hand, by breaking that rule of leaving the film team alone, those moments really grab you. The expectation is so ingrained in us at this point, the change feels transgressive in an exciting way. And transgression is great for humor.

But there's also an insight in there about using everything you've got. If you've got a documentary crew as part of your conceit, they're another thing you have to work with, another toy to play with, if and when you want. The fact it hasn't been done can make that hard to realize, but once you do, you may find there's lots of room to play.

Now You Try!

What are some other things WHAT WE DO could try doing with relationship to the crew? Feel free to go way past what you think is likely or maybe even right for the show, i.e. "The Cameraman becomes Nandor's new familiar." It's only by pushing those limits that we figure out where the lines for the show actually are. (Also, it often leads to some really fun ideas that can work.) 

FIVE THINGS, WHAT WE DO IN THE SHADOWS: EXPLORE THE SPACE

This week I'm looking at five key aspects to the writing in FX vampire comedy WHAT WE DO IN THE SHADOWS.

In grad school one of my profs used to remind us, In a script you can only have one strange thing. The rest pretty much has to be normal. So for instance if your main character is super wacky, you probably don't want to also put them in a super wacky environment, as well. It's like a hat on a hat, or wearing a striped tie with a plaid shirt. It's just too much to take in. 

In WHAT WE DO..., the supernatural is clearly the strange thing. As I talked about yesterday, a big part of what makes the show work is the fact that it has set that idea in a otherwise very normal world. The context makes the vampires (and other supernatural creatures)' silliness stand out all the more. Bright colors stand out so much more against a bland background. 

But the other side of the coin is that the show also really invests in exploring its "one strange thing". In a sense the game of the series is "If this is true, what else is?" That is, if our point of entry into the vampire world is characters that are so clearly silly, what must it be like to be a vampire? What's the ridiculous equivalent of each of the things we know about vampires?

And so we get ideas like Laszlo having to say "bat" in order to turn into one, or the fact that the vampires all hiss at times in this ridiculously over the top way; or that when they use the word "God" their tongues burst into flame; or that their attraction to blood is so strong that when Guillermo's friend gets a nose bleed, Nandor simply cannot control his attraction; or the reveal that many vampires are actually famous people.

The writers also push beyond vampires to the broader supernatural world. Werewolves are incredibly dumb. The vampires don't believe in ghosts. Witches are obsessed with sperm to stay young. Trolls hate the term "trolling". Again, it all proceeds from those initial character sketches.

In improv they talk sometimes about exploring the space or the game. Rather than overcommitting to some single gag, as you often see on SNL, for example, give yourself the chance to really consider the possibilities of the world you're in. That's where the long term of the story (and the comedy) is going to be found.

Now You Try!

If you know WHAT WE DO, brainstorm at least twenty parts of the supernatural world or vampire life that the show could play with. See if you can come up with a WWD equivalent for half of them. Like for instance, what does an exorcism look like in this context? What if the only way to exorcise a demon is to make out with them, and they're just the worst kisser ever? 

If you don't know WHAT WE DO and you're working on your own thing, what is the strange element of your show? Try to think of 20 things that could come from that initial idea, twenty ways to explore that space.

SO YOU WANT TO WRITE FOR WHAT WE DO IN THE SHADOWS: FIVE THINGS TO REMEMBER (DAY ONE)

When I started taking notes on TV shows during the pandemic, one of the things that I really got into was creating lists of takeaway lessons from shows. And often, even with shows that have long gone off the air, I found myself presenting it in the way I titled today's blog. When I started in the business a decade ago, you still saw people writing specs of different shows with the view that you could shop those around to get work. I did a MODERN FAMILY episode for one class that I absolutely adored. I barely remember it now but it involved Phil and a very young Luke building something STAR WARS related. 

(I also did a spec of WALKING DEAD that I thought was really bold, until someone pointed out to me that Rick and Carl having to kill a hospital ward filled with child zombies was just way too far for the show, let alone the ABC/Disney Writers' Workshop application. Edgy is fine, but you still have to know the rules of your show--and your producers/fellowship company.)

Today I don't hear much about people doing specs to get work like this. But it's still very useful when watching a show to think about what are some of the key elements of different shows. You learn new techniques that way. Also who knows, maybe someday you get to meet the showrunner or a writer on staff and your knowledge comes in handy. 

WHAT WE DO IN THE SHADOWS, FX's vampire comedy, has just returned. I haven't seen the new season yet, but I binged the first two seasons during lockdown. And I took plenty of notes. 

So this week I'm going to give you Five Writing Things to Know/Take From WWDITS.  

TAKEAWAY ONE: The External World Setting is Key to the Comedy.

Sometimes WWDITS draws its humor from the vampire world. Sometimes it comes from the experience of living together. Sometimes it has something to do with someone's past. 

But to my mind the strongest comedic elements involve the characters' interactions with the normal world--dealing with the city council; dealing with neighbors; Lazlo hiding out in that small Pennsylvania town in episode 206, which was nominated for an Emmy. The three main vampires have so little idea how to deal with ordinary human reality, and at the same time they have no idea that that is the case. And it's in that gap between their understanding and reality that so much funny stuff happens. In 102, when they go to the City Council and announce they're taking over Staten Island--it just doesn't get funnier than that. 

Guillermo is often key to these bits. He's basically the Pam or Jim of WWDITS, the reaction shot the show loves to cut to when something batshit is happening. Those moments usually add another laugh or a deeper laugh onto the first. He's a sweetener.

Colin Robinson is an interesting bridge character in this regard. Unlike the others his vampirism is entirely based in normal world realities. So the game the show plays with him is in a sense the opposite of the other vampires; where they're always the fools, Colin is the secret master. And what makes his bits funny is often in the way the show spins what seem like recognizable normal behaviors as vampiric, or in the ways he'll suddenly take on a more traditional vampiric look or gesture for just a second, often in the background. It's so out of place in that world and Colin's overall behavior it's always good for a laugh. 

Now You Try!

Let's say you want to develop pitch ideas for WWDITS, or a show that similarly is going to draw comedy from how crazy characters deal with real world situations. 

Try this: create a list of at least 20 ordinary situations from your day to day life--dealing with a contractor; dealing with a self-parking car; going to the drive through. See which ones pop for you. What is about them? Is there a story or stories in there?

"CHUCKLES BITES THE DUST" DAY FIVE: LYING TO THE AUDIENCE

Every TV episode has a problem, right? A conflict or question that lies at its heart and is going to get resolved by the episode's end. On some of the best shows that resolution will only create new conflicts and questions. And really most shows it's probably more than one; certainly in ensembles or dramas that's the case. 

The problem of "Chuckles"--the battle between sobriety and laughter--plays out very concretely scene to scene. Over the course of scenes we see more and more people coming around to the idea of having a sense of humor about death. When Lou has Ted do an on-air eulogy, he's very serious about it, and Ted's intention is clearly the same even as what he has to say is ridiculous. 

But then as Murray tells Lou jokes Lou slowly converts to the cause of absurdity. Then Sue Ann. Then we get that intensely dramatic scene where Mary comes down HARD on them. (I'm going to post something about that scene sometime soon. It's so well written.)  So the comic is clearly on the rise, but it has not won the day.

We end on the comic winning out in the most hilarious and total way possible, in a sequence that physically embodies the very conflict of the whole episode. Mary literally sits there fighting to keep from laughing, until she can't. 

You could end the sequence on that note, and you'd be fine. The problem has been resolved. Comedy wins the day.

But genius that writer David Lloyd is, he adds one more beat--the minister telling Mary Chuckles would want her to laugh, which makes her burst into tears. In fully embracing the comedy of the moment, we also fully comprehend the loss. And it's so unexpected it's also funny. Having set us up to think our only options in this moment are laughter or tears, in the end Lloyd reveals a third option we didn't see coming: both. 

(He's actually been seeding that possibility all the way along--Lou and Murray stopping in the midst of their jokes to have a very serious and thoughtful conversation about why we laugh in the face of death; Georgette's comments.)

In part this is just me saying "Isn't that great writing?" But there is a lesson to be learned here, too. Lloyd set up the audience to see the episode going one way: eventually Mary's going to break. Eventually comedy's going to win. And more generally, that comedy/sadness is an either/or. And because he's done that, when she bursts into tears we are truly surprised. It's the definition of sleight of hand; he's got us looking at the left hand while we should be looking at the right.

We can do the same thing in our scripts. It's not the kind of thing you might put together in your first draft, mind you, but once you've got a draft, we can step back and say, what expectations have I set up in the audience at the start of the script? What's the problem that I've established? 

And then how can I use those expectations to surprise? If I've given the audience an either/or, what's the third way they won't see coming. 

As writers we're always trying to get as something true, but we're always liars too, telling people to think certain things only so that we can then undermine them.

"CHUCKLES BITES THE DUST" DAY FOUR: TRAINING YOUR AUDIENCE

I was saying yesterday that "Chuckles" starts as far from the ending as it possibly can--i.e. in a deadly serious, even somber place. But in addition to setting up the ending, in the fashion of a great joke (which it is, in fact), that opening tills the soil of the ep, if I can be farm-y--which actually I should not because what the hell do I know about farms, I grew up in the suburbs of Chicago. 

What I mean is, it teaches the audience that in this episode things are going to be a bit different, more open to reality and a little deeper. It creates the conditions for what follows, which is not only hilarious but also repeatedly thoughtful about death and life and the place of comedy in the midst of it all. "We laugh at death," says Lou after he and Murray get caught laughing gets him laughing about Chuckles' death, "because we know death will have the last laugh on us."

Amidst the comedy we also get Claudette's great line about funerals come too late, and the various characters reflecting on what they want their own funerals to be like, including Ted's fantastic assertion that he's not going to die (which while definitely written for the laughs also so captures how most of us live our lives most of the time).

In a sense, these serious moments become part of the magic trick of the episode--we track the comedy, and yet at the end it's actually all been kind of moving too. How the hell did they do that? 

And the answer is in part by following the dramatic threads even as comedy starts to win the day. But in part it's where they started, the way they tilled that soil (I'm just going to keep saying it until it works) to make it ready to grow the kind of harvest they want (God it's just getting worse, isn't it, you know what I mean). 

Fun exercise: Look at the first couple scenes of your own pilot--Teaser plus Act One, say. And pay attention specifically not to how they read but to what they're teaching the audience to expect, what sort of conversations, themes, arc, emotions are on the table/off the table. 

Is what you're seeing what you want? Any adjustments to be made?

"CHUCKLES BITES THE DUST" DAY THREE: START AWAY FROM YOUR ENDING

The engine of the "Chuckles" episode really is more and more people laughing about Chuckles the Clown's death, until eventually even Mary breaks down at the most inopportune moment. 

But the scene in which his death is announced is interesting for how deadly serious it is written and played. Right up until the moment where Lou describes the manner of Chuckles' death, he, Mary and Murray respond in exactly the way we would if someone we knew had died. Even when Lou says who has died, Chuckles the Clown, which feels ready made for a laugh, it is still played totally straight. (There is some funny-seeming business with Lou running back and forth, but Asner plays it so seriously that it undermines any sense of the comic.)

There's an important thematic piece in that choice, which I'll talk about tomorrow. This is a sitcom and this is a very funny episode, but the ep is also a kind of meditation on mortality. Playing the introduction straight and serious in a sense sets us up for that. It prepares the ground, if you will. 

But it's also setting up the journey of the episode from sobriety to absurdity. The comedy of the end is that much greater and more surprising because the episode starts in such a completely different place.

It's a great tip for writing character and episode arcs, one we could even try right now! Pick a character you're working on. Where do you want them to end up? Now, what are some spots that seem the farthest away (or most unlikely) from that endpoint? 

Somewhere in those idea, that's your opening.