Reflections on being a screenwriter in and around production.
The relationship between the screenwriter and the filming process is a complicated one. Every production is different, and every writer is different. Some productions don't want the writer around, and some writers don't want to be around the production. Some writers are so keen to be involved that they take the drastic step of becoming directors (I'm looking at you, Graham Linehan).
A writer's status in a production can range from extremely low (a first-timer writing a sketch for an established star) to extremely high (Steven Moffat showrunning Doctor Who). My writing partner Jesse Armstrong and I have run the gamut. On one of the first sitcoms we were hired to write for, we were keen to be involved at every stage. We asked for an office, and the producer obliged by giving us a desk in the photocopying room. The symbolism could only have been clearer if he'd ushered us into a spare cubicle in the gents.
On the shows we have
created, however – Peep Show, The Old Guys, Fresh Meat –
we have been as involved as we wanted. This is partly due to the fact that we created these shows, rather than just being hired hands, and partly a result of the good relationships we’ve had with friendly and open-minded producers and directors. The upside is that none of the big
decisions are made without our input; the downside is that if something doesn't
work, there are no scapegoats.
Those good relationships are crucial, which is why social skills, basic standards of personal hygiene and a general sense of when to speak and when to shut up are under-valued writing tools. Hopefully, if the producer and director
understand you have the show's interests at heart, rather than a precious desire
to get your own way, things will be fine. Unless, that is, you're working with
arrogant, incompetent tossers, in which case you and the show are probably
screwed. Here are some general rules of engagement.
Script
The moment your
script is green-lit, it goes from being a charming tale of theoretical hi-jinks
to a practical template for an expensive entertainment product a team of
professionals will spend a great deal of time and money attempting to film. If
you're keen to engage with this, you need to flip a mental switch and look at
your script from their point of view. If you're not, and instead expect the
crew to magically make everything come to life despite their impossibly tiny
budget, you are, to use an industry term, a dick.
A new currency
evolves at this point. How much is that mutant octopus/exploding shed/alien
invasion actually worth? If the entire storyline revolves around it, it's worth
a lot. If you suddenly remember it's only there to set up a joke you cut in
draft two, it's worth a lot less. So the script becomes a basis of negotiation and you should be able to size up pretty quickly which elements are worth fighting for and which you can let go of. You will discover neat workarounds which can
preserve the important stuff while losing the expensive stuff. A car crash might be a nightmare to film but the immediate aftermath of a car crash is relatively easy. Changing a scene from Night to Day or vice versa might just save your First Assistant Director from checking in to The Priory.
In the end, it comes
down to that moment on a frosty winter morning when David Mitchell asks you why it's so important that he
jump nearly naked into a freezing lake.
Casting
It's all very well
creating Del Boy or Basil Fawlty, but if they cast John Cleese as
Del and David Jason as Basil there isn't much point. It's vital for you to be
as involved as possible.
One mistake Jesse
and I made early on with Peep Show was,
out of sheer enthusiasm, attending all the casting sessions. This not only
takes up an unbelievable amount of time but is counterproductive. Often an
actor who is great in the room is not so great on tape, and what's on screen is
what counts. Watching auditions on tape also insulates you somewhat from the
reality of the sheer volume of talented actors' time you are wasting.
Rehearsal
Rehearsal might be
the first and possibly only time you get to interact with the cast and discuss
the script with the director. It's an opportunity to clear up potentially
deadly confusions: if an actor has always assumed his character is a
repressed homosexual, it's your chance to explain he's just an unfeeling
cyborg.
Rehearsal is also a
great chance to make final changes: tweaking dialogue, wrapping a part more
closely around an actor who has a different accent/gender/take than you had
envisaged. The first time you hear your script read by the actors is the first
time you really see it; the first read-through is far more significant than the
first day of filming.
Filming
My dream, my
nightmare. Being a writer on set is like standing next to a photocopier during
a seven-week-long printout. It's repetitive and often boring and not the best
use of your time, but if you walk away there's always the chance of a
catastrophic paper jam.
On the one hand,
filming is glamorous and dramatic and the only bit people outside the industry
are remotely interested in. On the other hand, it's definitely the least
important for the writer. Once you've written and cast the show and have a good
director, 90% of your show is locked down.
But you'll find
yourself on set at least once and possibly a lot more. Here are a few
suggestions as to how to conduct yourself:
Eat as much as you
possibly can
The food is free
and, on the whole, high quality. Eating gives you something to do with your hands and can also serve as a comfort blanket. Sometimes the only response to an actor
randomly changing your lines is spooning down mouthful after mouthful of sticky
toffee pudding.
A writer on set is
an alien
You are the only
person there with no official role. I'm including the nurse who has done
nothing but knit jumpers for six weeks or the driver having a snooze in his
car. They're both on the call sheet (the list of crew members) and everyone knows why they’re there, whereas neither applies to you. So try to
convince people you are a peaceful alien who means no harm, like Klaatu from The Day the Earth Stood Still rather than a threat who must be dealt with with extreme prejudice, like Alien or Predator.
Ideally, transform
from alien to human by getting your name on the call sheet
As associate
producer perhaps, or if your agent is really good, executive producer. This may
save you from being mistaken for a runner and sent out for emergency doughnuts
and Tampax. (It might also save your life: when writers Graham Linehan and
Arthur Mathews were driving to the Father Ted location,
they almost died because they weren't on the call sheet and hadn't been told
about black ice.)
Your notes require careful
judgment
OK, let's not call
them notes, let's call them what they really are: interventions. There's a good
chance that if you have something to say, you'll be doing it while the actors
are in costume, the lights are blazing, the cameras are running and every word
is costing money. So make sure it's worth saying.
Your notes require
careful timing
The earlier you say
something, the better. Mentioning during the on-set rehearsal that you don't
think a character should have a moustache is welcome and potentially valuable;
mentioning it after the fifth take is neither.
If in doubt, speak
up
I have a few regrets
about notes I have given on set, but I have a lot more about notes I
didn't give. I'd rather say something stupid – "We are going to have a CGI
dragon over the guy in the wetsuit covered in ping-pong balls, aren't we?"
– than forever regret not speaking up when watching my show on TV, which
features a man wearing a wetsuit covered in ping-pong balls.
Talk to the director, not the actors
It’s one thing if an actor approaches you for clarification about the meaning of a line or discussing changing a word or two, but the most heinous crime you can commit on set is approaching an actor before, after, or God forbid, during a scene and telling them how they should play it. Why is this so terrible? Because it undermines the director’s authority, the engine by which all film sets are powered, and the last thing an actor needs going into a scene is two opposing voices in his head telling him how to play it. Filming is a bit like a war zone – clear hierarchy and lines of communication are essential or someone might die (probably an actor). If you ignore them you might end up getting killed (probably by the producer).
Editing
Ideally by this
stage you won't have burned your bridges with the producer and director by
having demanded they keep your gratuitous motorcycle chase, insisted your
girlfriend/boyfriend/aunt is given a leading role, given the actors notes by
reading out the lines and telling them to copy you, or screamed at the art
department for buying the wrong kind of potato. Keep your powder dry and your
credit high for the edit.
Editing is far, far
more important than filming. No one starting out realises this because, as the
great screenwriter William Goldman once said, there are no editing
anecdotes – no amazing little stories about the day the editor tried cutting
out a reaction shot, then put it back. But in many ways editing is where your
script gets written for the second and final time.
If you're lucky
enough to be involved, try to limit your time in the edit – for your own sake as much as anyone else’s. The fewer times you
watch a cut, the clearer your view of it will be. This is particularly true of
genres such as comedy and horror, where it takes effort to imagine the visceral
reaction expected of an audience. The more you watch it, the harder this becomes.
Broadcast
The "fun"
bit – the final tasting of the dish you've spent months, possibly years,
cooking up. Unfortunately, you're the viewer who'll enjoy it least. Even if
everything has gone spectacularly well, you'll still be obsessing about the
moustache you wish you'd mentioned, or the fact that your character would
definitely be eating Maris Piper and not King Edward potatoes. But that's the
sacrifice you have to make. And if you're really hating it, just remember it's
preferable to the alternative – not being broadcast at all.
Originally published in The Guardian 11/3/11:
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