Listen then, my brothers and sisters, and I will tell thee of magic, of wondrous things and of ancient arts. I have much to tell, and all of interest to the seeker after wisdom, but mark this and mark it well, these skills arre not for shallow men, but to make great those who would lead our humble race to greater things.
This then I tell to speed thee on thy quest, to place one's heart, one's very mind, into that of another, better to convey those things we wish to tell. For is it not known that our noble listeners do take amusement if the tale is told in many voices, rather than the pathetic squeaking of thy servant.
How then shall we, but made of clay, conduct this wondrous task, this work for godlings? It requires no runes or spells, I tell thee, and only the application of some simple practice.
But first, my brother and sisters, ye must know the one into whose skin you wish to climb, and this learning comes only from being in the company of thy victim, if I may so name him. Ye must gain knowledge from this closeness, and the more you cling the better shall be thy understanding. Note not only, my beloved friends, the tone of voice, but the turn of hem, for all things are of import in this matter.
Yeah, you gotta get to know the guy, but big style. Every little bit of him, what he eats, where he drinks, even things he don't know about himself. It's the only way to grab his voice. Sure you can imagine, you're some kinda creative writer, aintcha? Can't expect you to behave like no newshound and just tell what you see, but you gotta start with what you got. And what you got is a real live breathing human being, I hope, less he's a corpse, and you gotta watch out for his foibles. Foibles is important, cause they's what makes a guy the guy he is. Foibles is everything, from the cut of his suit, to the smell of his aftershave. The size of his wife's butt to where he buys his automobiles. I aint kidding, the more you got, the better you'll know your man. Don't mean you have to put all that stuff on the page, just keep it in your head and the knowing will make your fella a more rounded and believable kinda guy.
For believability is the essence of our work. If we fail to convince the reader of the reality of the existence of our character then the whole dramatic experience is minimised if not totally destroyed. The reader's needs must be regarded as paramount, surpassing even the writer's desire to express herself in a voice she regards as totally her own. I'm sure I read an adage once about 'knowing thy enemy', not that I dwell upon such things, but similarly the writer must know the character she is writing. It is of no use to write of an African princess if one has no knowledge of how such a person exists. The honest writer will take her pencil and notebook in hand and research that existence. I do not of course expect her to travel to the dark continent in order to discover such truths, that would require too much of even the most generous of husbands, but in this modern age there are many public libraries where information on such matters is freely available. I would strongly urge every writer to learn the manners of the people she wishes to write if she wishes to speak in their voice.
Monday, 7 December 2009
Monday, 23 November 2009
LET’S WRITE A JOKE
Man stands at a bus stop wearing a balaclava helmet on a very hot day.
(Sounds promising.)
He is approached by another man, who asks, "Why are you wearing that balaclava helmet when it's so hot?"
(Good, build up, and we need a straight man.)
"It helps to keep my ear plugs in," the first man replies.
(Slight escalation of ridiculous.)
"But why do you need ear plugs?" the second man responds.
"They help me see the number of the bus."
(Double take.)
"How do ear plugs help you see?"
(Logical, pull back.)
"They help to concentrate the senses that are available. So, not being able to hear improves my eyesight."
(This, again makes a strange kind of sense, but I think I see a punch line coming. Do you?)
"That's fascinating. But you can hear me."
"Ah, but you're not a bus."
(Uh uh, think I'm off track here. It's funny, but not funny enough. Go back and try again, go back to where the second man says, "But you can hear me". That has to go. I need to up the ante.)
"That's a fascinating theory. So, if I covered your eyes it would improve your hearing?"
"I could hear a man coughing in Peru."
(This might be padding, which may prove necessary, but I can always edit it out later if it's unwanted.)
"And if I pinched your nose and stopped your sense of smell?"
(Haven't a clue where I'm going now.)
"It would improve my sense of touch."
(Oh oh, getting further and further away from a funny destination, I think.)
"But what good would that do you if you needed your sense of smell?
"I wouldn't let you hold my nose, would I?"
(This is getting so lame. Why did I start? Maybe I should write a recipe for a curry instead. No, keep going. Oh God, I've got it!)
"And what if I cut off your vision, your hearing, your smell and your sense of touch and taste?"
"I'd burst out laughing."
"What? Why on Earth would you burst out laughing?"
"It would really sharpen my sense of humour."
Not a classic perhaps, but not bad for sitting on the couch of a Saturday afternoon, with a laptop, watching the TV and waiting for the Euro 2008 football tournament to begin. Let's put it all together and see what we've got.
Man stands at a bus stop wearing a balaclava helmet on a very hot day.
He is approached by another man, who asks, "Why are you wearing that balaclava helmet when it's so hot?"
"It helps to keep my ear plugs in," the first man replies.
"But why do you need ear plugs?" the second man responds.
"They help me see the number of the bus."
"How do ear plugs help you see?"
"They help to concentrate the senses that are available. So, not being able to hear improves my eyesight."
"That's a fascinating theory. So, if I covered your eyes it would improve your hearing?"
"I could hear a man coughing in Peru."
"And if I pinched your nose and stopped your sense of smell?"
"It would improve my sense of touch."
"But what good would that do you if you needed your sense of smell?
"I wouldn't let you hold my nose, would I?"
"And what if I cut off your vision, your hearing, your smell and your sense of touch and taste?"
"I'd burst out laughing."
"What? Why on Earth would you burst out laughing?"
"It would really sharpen my sense of humour."
In the end run the joke only rests on what everybody takes as standard, that man has five senses, so it's based on misdirection, but this is the basis of many a good joke. I could remove material, but the whole point of the misdirection method is to get the reader or listener into a pattern of thinking, before pulling the switch, so I think I'll leave it in.
Don't be afraid of writing comedy. The joke rarely leaps into your imagination fully formed. It has to be worked for. The punchline may not immediately present itself, but as I've show in the process above (and this is not a deconstructed joke) just keep going. Maybe it isn't a sense of humour which marks out comedy writers, but stamina.
Sunday, 22 November 2009
WRITING A COMEDY SCREENPLAY
Isn't it funny how the court jester has become the superstar of the entertainment world. Yes, the comedian, the funny man, has surpassed the movie star or rock musician in the popularity league. Think of the likes of John Cleese, Steve Martin or Woody Allen and you are seeing writer/actors that people aspire to be. A far cry from the local fool or village idiot.
So what drives people to comedy? Many comedians have told of how, as youngsters, they used comedy to defuse potentially violent encounters. But surely not all comedy geniuses sprang from the ranks of the bullied. To my mind the comedy impulse operates on a much simpler basis, the need to be liked. We court popularity by giving people the safe, non-addictive, drug of laughter.
But that's not what this article is about, it's about writing comedy screenplays, which is a much harder proposition than writing gags. You'll note that the three stalwarts named above gained their greatest honours with movies. They may have started out as gag writers, but ultimately the glittering prizes only come via the silver screen. Having said that I would encourage any novice screenwriter contemplating a screenplay to master the short form first.
The relationship between a gag or joke and a full length screenplay is a strange one. I personally like the Monty Python methodology of stringing sketches along a comedic plotline, but a character telling a joke does not make your movie a comedy. The comedy must from the start be in your basic plot. Around your daft situation your characters can become involved in humorous situations and say funny things, as long as they are moving the plot forward. A useful rule of thumb which I learned when writing sit-coms was that there were only three reasons for a line of dialogue to be in a comedy script. One, to move the plot forward; two, the set up line for a joke; and three, the punchline to a joke. Everything else is waffle and should be stripped out.
It is possible to take a favourite joke and mould it into your character's plotline, but you must ensure that the joints don't show. Does the situation fit in with the rest of the narrative? Would your character utter that punchline? Comedy is not a one-size fits all scenario.
Take for instance this joke -
A guy gets on a plane and finds himself sitting next to a beautiful woman. He strikes up a conversation and the woman tells him that she is a sex researcher. He is fascinated and asks her what she is researching.
"I'm looking into sexual myths," she says, "For instance it's believed that black men have the largest appendages of any race, whereas it's the native Americans who can claim that honour."
"Really," he says.
"Yes, and Italian men have a reputation as the world's greatest lovers, whereas it is actually Jewish men who are the most amorous. My name's Julie Crawford by the way, and you are ..."
He takes her proffered hand and replies without a blink, "Tonto Cohen."
Sorry if you've heard that one before, but the point I'm trying to make is that John Cleese couldn't use that line because it doesn't fit his screen persona, but it seems almost specifically written for Woody Allen's sexual neurotic.
In previous posts I've told how I write comedy sketches. Take a ridiculous situation and keep writing till you hit a punchline. Then go back and prune out the extraneous material. This method wouldn't work for an entire screenplay but would work if you regard the entirety of a 90 minute movie as consisting of 30 scenes or sketches. Your problem would be in keeping your sketches within the limits of your plot. And remember, not only must your screenplay have a beginning, a middle and an end, but each sketch must have the same.
For me there's a greater satisfaction in writing comedy material than any other and I've tried most. Try it yourself, but remember that the competition is brutal.
Isn't it funny how the court jester has become the superstar of the entertainment world. Yes, the comedian, the funny man, has surpassed the movie star or rock musician in the popularity league. Think of the likes of John Cleese, Steve Martin or Woody Allen and you are seeing writer/actors that people aspire to be. A far cry from the local fool or village idiot.
So what drives people to comedy? Many comedians have told of how, as youngsters, they used comedy to defuse potentially violent encounters. But surely not all comedy geniuses sprang from the ranks of the bullied. To my mind the comedy impulse operates on a much simpler basis, the need to be liked. We court popularity by giving people the safe, non-addictive, drug of laughter.
But that's not what this article is about, it's about writing comedy screenplays, which is a much harder proposition than writing gags. You'll note that the three stalwarts named above gained their greatest honours with movies. They may have started out as gag writers, but ultimately the glittering prizes only come via the silver screen. Having said that I would encourage any novice screenwriter contemplating a screenplay to master the short form first.
The relationship between a gag or joke and a full length screenplay is a strange one. I personally like the Monty Python methodology of stringing sketches along a comedic plotline, but a character telling a joke does not make your movie a comedy. The comedy must from the start be in your basic plot. Around your daft situation your characters can become involved in humorous situations and say funny things, as long as they are moving the plot forward. A useful rule of thumb which I learned when writing sit-coms was that there were only three reasons for a line of dialogue to be in a comedy script. One, to move the plot forward; two, the set up line for a joke; and three, the punchline to a joke. Everything else is waffle and should be stripped out.
It is possible to take a favourite joke and mould it into your character's plotline, but you must ensure that the joints don't show. Does the situation fit in with the rest of the narrative? Would your character utter that punchline? Comedy is not a one-size fits all scenario.
Take for instance this joke -
A guy gets on a plane and finds himself sitting next to a beautiful woman. He strikes up a conversation and the woman tells him that she is a sex researcher. He is fascinated and asks her what she is researching.
"I'm looking into sexual myths," she says, "For instance it's believed that black men have the largest appendages of any race, whereas it's the native Americans who can claim that honour."
"Really," he says.
"Yes, and Italian men have a reputation as the world's greatest lovers, whereas it is actually Jewish men who are the most amorous. My name's Julie Crawford by the way, and you are ..."
He takes her proffered hand and replies without a blink, "Tonto Cohen."
Sorry if you've heard that one before, but the point I'm trying to make is that John Cleese couldn't use that line because it doesn't fit his screen persona, but it seems almost specifically written for Woody Allen's sexual neurotic.
In previous posts I've told how I write comedy sketches. Take a ridiculous situation and keep writing till you hit a punchline. Then go back and prune out the extraneous material. This method wouldn't work for an entire screenplay but would work if you regard the entirety of a 90 minute movie as consisting of 30 scenes or sketches. Your problem would be in keeping your sketches within the limits of your plot. And remember, not only must your screenplay have a beginning, a middle and an end, but each sketch must have the same.
For me there's a greater satisfaction in writing comedy material than any other and I've tried most. Try it yourself, but remember that the competition is brutal.
Friday, 20 November 2009
Is Comedy Hard?
Dying is easy, comedy is hard.
Old adage and old thinking, invented by writers and performers who wanted greater kudos for a craft that was deemed to be less worthy because it dealt with the amusing.
Comedians, writers and performers, want to not only make people laugh but to be taken seriously as well.
They thought they were being linked back in time to village idiots and court jesters, buffoons and the lame-brained. It didn't matter how much they got paid, they still had to wear that damn hat with the bell on the end.
So they absolutely had to insist that comedy was such a difficult craft to master that only those verging on genius could achieve it.
Sorry, guys, don't buy it.
To write a comedy sketch all you need a combination of a situation, characters and dialogue, with a mix of at least one of the elements being ridiculous. Keep writing till you hit the punch-line and then edit back. Let's try it with a little bedroom conversation sketch.
BILL: So, how do you know Fred next door's got a bigger thingy than me?
JEAN: He showed me it.
BILL: What do you mean, he showed you it? Guys don't just go around showing their married-next-door- neighbour their thingy.
JEAN: Fred does, he's an exhibitionist. He says, if you've got it, flaunt it.
BILL: The dirty devil. Is it ..eh.. really big?
JEAN: Enormous.
BILL: What, length-wise or girth?
JEAN: Both. He's won prizes for it.
BILL: What do you mean 'prizes'?
JEAN: Trophies. Awards. There's an international organisation for men with big thingies, and they give out annual awards in various categories, Fred says.
BILL: He's having you on.
JEAN: He showed me it.
BILL: So you said.
JEAN: His prize! It's a big gold-plated thingy and it says 'Most Promising Newcomer'.
BILL: Oh, so he's not been in this club long?
JEAN: No, just since he was spotted. In a public toilet. That's how they do their recruiting.
BILL: He didn't try to ... you know ... when he was showing you ...?
JEAN: It's not sexual. It's all about aesthetic qualities.
BILL: Bollocks!
JEAN: That's a separate category.
BILL: He's just trying to get into your pants. I'm going round there to give him a hiding.
JEAN: Hey, just because Fred's proud of how well-endowed he is, and wanted me to see his thingy, and feel how smooth the skin .....
BILL: You touched it?
JEAN: How else was I supposed to experience the satin-like sheen?
BILL: Listen, I'm as broad-minded as the next guy, but I don't want you going next door and looking at Fred's thingy and touching it. It's .. it's .. unhygienic.
JEAN: You're jealous.
BILL: Yes. I admit it. I am. Green-eyed. (pause) I can't help it, but I really envy your facility for making friends, darling.
Okay, so maybe it's not worthy of an Emmy but then again at least I'm not ashamed of my jester's cap.
Old adage and old thinking, invented by writers and performers who wanted greater kudos for a craft that was deemed to be less worthy because it dealt with the amusing.
Comedians, writers and performers, want to not only make people laugh but to be taken seriously as well.
They thought they were being linked back in time to village idiots and court jesters, buffoons and the lame-brained. It didn't matter how much they got paid, they still had to wear that damn hat with the bell on the end.
So they absolutely had to insist that comedy was such a difficult craft to master that only those verging on genius could achieve it.
Sorry, guys, don't buy it.
To write a comedy sketch all you need a combination of a situation, characters and dialogue, with a mix of at least one of the elements being ridiculous. Keep writing till you hit the punch-line and then edit back. Let's try it with a little bedroom conversation sketch.
BILL: So, how do you know Fred next door's got a bigger thingy than me?
JEAN: He showed me it.
BILL: What do you mean, he showed you it? Guys don't just go around showing their married-next-door- neighbour their thingy.
JEAN: Fred does, he's an exhibitionist. He says, if you've got it, flaunt it.
BILL: The dirty devil. Is it ..eh.. really big?
JEAN: Enormous.
BILL: What, length-wise or girth?
JEAN: Both. He's won prizes for it.
BILL: What do you mean 'prizes'?
JEAN: Trophies. Awards. There's an international organisation for men with big thingies, and they give out annual awards in various categories, Fred says.
BILL: He's having you on.
JEAN: He showed me it.
BILL: So you said.
JEAN: His prize! It's a big gold-plated thingy and it says 'Most Promising Newcomer'.
BILL: Oh, so he's not been in this club long?
JEAN: No, just since he was spotted. In a public toilet. That's how they do their recruiting.
BILL: He didn't try to ... you know ... when he was showing you ...?
JEAN: It's not sexual. It's all about aesthetic qualities.
BILL: Bollocks!
JEAN: That's a separate category.
BILL: He's just trying to get into your pants. I'm going round there to give him a hiding.
JEAN: Hey, just because Fred's proud of how well-endowed he is, and wanted me to see his thingy, and feel how smooth the skin .....
BILL: You touched it?
JEAN: How else was I supposed to experience the satin-like sheen?
BILL: Listen, I'm as broad-minded as the next guy, but I don't want you going next door and looking at Fred's thingy and touching it. It's .. it's .. unhygienic.
JEAN: You're jealous.
BILL: Yes. I admit it. I am. Green-eyed. (pause) I can't help it, but I really envy your facility for making friends, darling.
Okay, so maybe it's not worthy of an Emmy but then again at least I'm not ashamed of my jester's cap.
Thursday, 19 November 2009
Analysing The Eskimo
ANALYSING THE ESKIMO
They say you can't, or shouldn't, analyse humour. That to analyse is to destroy. Be that as it may, what follows is a short look at a brief sketch I wrote for radio. I didn't set out with the aims I ultimately describe, only to write something funny, but if it helps anybody else who wants to get into comedy writing so much the better.
ESKIMO
(A howling Arctic wind is blowing.)
COMMENTATOR: (a fairly close relative of David Attenborough)
As we look across the icy wastes we see an age-old sight that typifies life here close to the North Pole. A lone figure beside a hole he has laboriously cut in the ice. Perched, harpoon in hand, waiting for the arrival of a seal that may provide him and his family with sustenance, clothing and warmth in this bleak desolation. Wrapped in a fur jacket, trousers, hood, boots and gloves, he seems unaffected by the elements, for he has truly adapted to his environment.
This is the Eskimo, or as he prefers to be called today, the Innuit.
ESKIMO: (shouting) Oy! Not me!
COMMENTATOR: What?
ESKIMO: I said, not me!
COMMENTATOR: What, you don't want to be called an Innuit?
ESKIMO: No. I want to be called
COMMENTATOR:
ESKIMO: Yeah. I'm a transvestite.
COMMENTATOR: A what?
ESKIMO: A transvestite. Fella that dresses up in women's clothes. That's why I'm wearing the wife's gear.
COMMENTATOR: Really ? But that's fascinating. Are there a lot of Eskimo transvestites?
ESKIMO: Dunno. Buggers all look the same to me.
END
If you didn't find that funny you're free to leave now, but if you did, let's have a look at why we find this tickles the funny bone.
The point I started with was - cultures which don't differentiate between the way the sexes dress couldn't possibly have transvestism. I'm no anthropologist but I don't see anybody getting a thrill from dressing in his normal everyday clothes. Eskimos fitted the bill for me, because there seems to be a dearth of Eskimo jokes. Blacks, blondes, Irish, Polish, they all get it in the neck, but the Eskimo escapes unscathed. It was time this was rectified.
So, the punchline was the fact that a transvestite Eskimo would look exactly like he always did. My problem was in relating a visual joke on radio. You may notice the lengths the Commentator goes to in describing the Eskimo's dress. This, of course, was to reinforce the listener's preconception, but for the same reason I would keep it in even if converting for TV.
The other device I use is in the Eskimo declaring that he doesn't want to be known as an Innuit. The listener immediately begins to think that the joke is leading toward some differentiation between Eskimo and Innuit and is surprised when the Eskimo switches play by saying he wants to be known as
As I said, this analysis comes after the event. Comedy writing, to my mind, is about coming up with a basic concept and then writing it till an opportunity for a punchline presents itself. You then edit extraneous material to get the pace you want. For instance the Commentator's description of the Eskimo at the ice hole is there for radio listeners but, again, I would keep it in for TV to set a tone and pace for the gag. Besides which, that's the way commentator's talk.
This may not be the way other comedy writers do their business but it works for me. If the joke works for you, so much the better.
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