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We were talking about action sequences, in answer to a question from Karen in Virginia. And I promised to tell you a little about writing action on some of my more recent non-Buffy shows. So here goes:

On Battlestar, I was confronted with something different than Buffy. Space-adventure type action, with CGI effects. Turns out, it didn’t really make any difference. Just like at Buffy, it was all about picturing it first, then writing it. And, as always, just as it is when writing spec scripts, the secret is to study the produced scripts. I studied how the ‘real’ Battlestar writers wrote the action stuff, and then made mine sound like theirs. Very lean and spare, just like they do it.

It’s probably worth noting that I still left the action stuff for last, but this is for different reasons than it used to be. I used to dread it, and leave it for last in the hope that the script elves (Tinker, Polish and Tweak) would take care of it for me. Now I leave it for last because the emotions in action sequences tend to be really straight-forward, so I can just skip over them while writing, without any fear that something subtle will happen in the scene that will affect the emotions in the next scene. These scenes get left for last because they’re the least important, not the most feared.

And that, really, leads up to the only trick-of-the-trade that really matters for writing action, now that I think about it: confidence, writing without fear. Action is just all about making a decision. This will happen, then that will happen. She’ll kick him first, or the Viper will be hit from the left. You can’t be vague with this stuff, so commit.

This became really clear when I got to write an action sequence for my latest project. On Andy Barker, PI, the Andy Richter half-comedy I’m working on now, my script required an unusually long action sequence in which Andy grapples with an attacker. Since I had more experience writing action than the other writers (who have spent their writing years becoming far far funnier than me), I tackled the sequence with more confidence than I usually do. And I love how it turned out — I used the props well, came up with cool little moves. I just generally wrote my little heart out. Confidence, I recommend it! And it should be easy to be confident about your action-writing skills since the greatest action-writing skill IS confidence. It’s a moebius strip of self-bolstering rationalization! Hop on!

Lunch: Chinese BBQ pork and noodle soup from Noodle Planet. Mmm.

First off, a big “thank you!” to everyone who has written to say they have read and loved Bob Harris’s “Prisoner of Trebekistan.” The general consensus seems to be that it’s a book that gets read in one sitting. Not because it’s that short, but because it’s that suspenseful. Click here, and you can stay up riveted all night, too!

Moving on, can you stand another spoiler from The Office? This is from the latest episode. Here’s the exchange (this is from memory, so it might not be exact.):

MICHAEL
I watched Oprah today. And… I’m going to be a father.

PAM
(long beat, then)
What was Oprah about?

This is one of those wonderful moments with two punchlines in a row. Sitcom writing is often characterized as being all “set-up, punch, set-up, punch.” But sometimes, it’s “punch, punch…” And that’s a beautiful thing.

And this example also illustrates that the resulting effect doesn’t have to be “jokey” or unreal. In fact, you could make the case that the best, most natural way to get funny line following funny line WITHOUT any set-up, is when the comedy comes out of character, as it does here. Michael’s self-importance and Pam’s sensible mind and appalled tact fuel these lines, so they’re totally natural, and not at all forced or jokey. To say it another way, writing lines that come uniquely out of character eliminates the need for a lot of set-up, allowing funny to follow immediately upon funny.

Note that the example also illustrates a perfect use of a “beat” – I have no way of knowing what was indicated in the script, but I called it a “long beat” in my transcription. Not only is the beat necessary for the funny, but, within reason, the longer the beat, the funnier, since it’s that elapsed time that allows us to imagine the mental work that Pam is doing, trying to figure out what Michael could possibly mean. Writing teachers may caution against “directing” in your script writing, but in a case like this, it’s crucial. The “beat” tells us everything about the nature of the interaction.

Lunch: “Rajma Masala” — that MRE-style Indian food I like, over spaghetti

Did you see the premiere of The Office the other night? I love that show! I love it even though it makes me want to tunnel backwards through the sofa sometimes. “Discomfort comedy.” I think that many times the only thing that makes it tolerable is the presence of Pam and/or Jim, who are typically enjoying the discomfort. As long as I have someone to identify with who is not angry or mortified, then I’m okay. Maybe there’s some sort of generally applicable principle for all sorts of writing — you know, make sure there’s an audience surrogate in every scene, or something like that, but I haven’t taken the time to figure out if that’s really true. Perhaps we’ll address that another time.

Because what I want to talk about is — SPOILER SPOILER — the kiss. If you can call it that. You know what I mean. The slowest most painful build-up to any kiss in screen history. Think about it. You’ve seen other man-man kisses played for comedy. As far as I can recall, EVERY SINGLE ONE I’M THINKING OF has been of the ambush variety. One guy grabs another and kisses him fast. And the fastness has always been essential to the comedy. Even the Will/Jack kiss on Will and Grace was a (very funny) ambush. The only other slow build-up kiss like this that I can think of, although it wasn’t played for laughs, was the Uhura/Kirk kiss on Star Trek, which must’ve had a similar “are they really going to…” feel at the time.

The problem is that the ambush kiss has now been played so often, and so identically, that although it still gets yelps from an audience, it isn’t as dewy fresh as it once was. The Office did something valuable by taking this new run at it. It’s a valuable lesson about changing bits to keep them fresh.

Oh! And, as another supporting example, I just thought of another non-ambush comedy kiss. In Dude, Where’s My Car, the two guys have just been shown up by a guy making out with his hot girlfriend, so they, totally unthinkingly, try to top him with an even more passionate kiss. They also went away from the expected ambush joke, and reaped fresh funny as a result.

Always patrol your script aggressively for jokes and bits of stage business that you’ve seen before. And question your friends who are reading your script, make sure there’s nothing there that they find too familiar either. And then look for that twist. You can use the audience’s expectations to help you out, even! They’ll be extra surprised if you take the bit in a new direction, and surprise is one of the main ingredients for funny.

Lunch: shabu-shabu. Beef and veggies and lovely clear noodles dipped in boiling water right on the table-top. Plus, if the steam blows right, it’s like a facial!

So, I was flipping through my favorite book the other day, and I came across an excellent example of a certain kind of joke which I simply must discuss with y– Oh, my favorite book? That would be Prisoner of Trebekistan, by Bob Harris. So funny! Available right now on Amazon. You can go get it now, and then come on back. We’ll wait.

Okay, so here’s the joke. (It’s on page 277.) Harris is talking about the eensy animals known as chevrotains:

“They’re also called ‘mouse deer,’ despite being neither deer nor mouse. If that sounds confusing, consider the woodpecker.”

This is a kind of joke that requires the audience to do some math in their head. If you’ve ever heard a joke of this kind performed in front of a live audience, like at a sitcom taping, it produces a rolling laugh… one that progresses through the audience as people arrive at the conclusion with varying degrees of speed. The laughter of one person sometimes even triggers the rest of the audience into figuring out there’s a joke to be got, so then they start doing the work. It’s a comedy version of “The Wave” or a communicable disease.

I love this kind of joke. I remember one from my childhood, that occurred during an episode of Match Game. Remember that old game show? The celebrity panel was supposed to fill in the blank: Kissing ____. Richard Dawson held up an answer card that read “-er.” A rolling laugh followed, as the audience performed the appending of the suffix to reveal the famous name.

You may be told by others that this kind of joke is too “thinky.” “Maybe we can hand out pamphlets to the audience, explaining it,” you might be told, snottily. And sometimes, in fact, a joke does require too much work. But the fact of the delayed laugh should not in itself be enough to make you cut the joke. Audiences like to feel smart, and this kind of joke does that.

Give them the tools, and let them build the punchline themselves. I love that.

Lunch: cheeseburger and banana cream pie. A good day indeed.

Hello, Gentle Readers! I just spent a wonderful weekend on board the Queen Mary, where I was a guest at a convention for Buffy fans and, specifically, fans of James Marsters (Spike). Oh, what fun! Buffy fans are generous and amazing. Plus, the green room for us presenters was the ship’s old boiler room. It was cavernous and dark and musty and full of clanky noises and creepy echoes and ramps that led down into murky shadows and floorless floors. Atmosphere like you wouldn’t believe. I loved it.

One fan asked me whether I preferred writing drama or comedy, and I said I loved them both. Thinking about it now, I realize that was a pretty useless answer. I love them differently. The way a person might love both artichokes and throw pillows, you know?

And it occurs to me that some of you out there may be trying to decide this same question for yourself. So I’m gonna lay out some of the nature of the contrast. Comedy is funny. Ha! No, there’s more!

First off, comedy is a hard, hard world right now. No jobs to be had. And the ones that do exist are being given to all the experienced comedy writers who have development deals; the studio is invested in keeping us working. But this will change, I am convinced — the pendulum will swing and comedy will ride again. Since comedy writing is harder, there is something to be said for having a good solid comedy spec all ready to show off that skill, if you have it.

The working experiences on the two kinds of shows are totally different. Comedy writing is vastly more of a team experience. Every line is evaluated as a group, and most jokes get rewritten. This is true for both single-camera shows (like Earl), and multi-camera shows (like Two and a Half Men). Often, the script that is currently being rewritten is projected on a TV screen in the writers’ room, and the writers all shout out their suggestions for gutting– improving it. When a change meets the approval of the show runner, the writers’ assistant types it into the script.

The comedy room tends to be a loud and riotous place — lots of shouting and laughing. One notable exception I’ve heard about was the Frasier room, which was, by all accounts, quiet and thoughtful.

Drama writing is much more of an individual pursuit, and often the show runner is the only one who changes your lines. Some drama shows don’t even have a writers’ room at all — the writers rarely or never assemble to discuss stories together. House, I understand, works this way. When a change is mandated, the writer goes home (or to her office) and makes the change herself.

You probably already know, at this point, which kind of writing appeals to you more. If you were the class clown, and always found yourself getting funnier when other funny people were around, if you enjoy ‘topping’ someone else’s joke, if you like the verbal by-play, then you are a comedy writer. Now, you might also be a comedy writer if you’re more introspective, and are funny on the page if not in person… that can work too. That’s more like me. But the comedy rooms of Hollywood tend to be more frequently populated by the first type. These kinds of writers often cringe at the thought of the drama writer’s lonely and contemplative life. And they often don’t like the idea that they won’t get to weigh in on their colleagues’ scripts. The collaboration in a comedy room gives the entire staff more of a sense of ownership of *all* the episodes, which is usually lacking in drama.

If you find jokes mysterious, or if you insist on a certain level of taste and respect, then stick with drama, and don’t even bother with a comedy spec. You might be able, though hard work and study, to cobble one together, but it’ll be really hard to follow it up. And you’ll probably find the environment of the room nerve-wracking.

So, which do I like better? Well, I think I like the center of a continuum that slides along from pure procedural drama to really broad jokey comedy. I love watching Law and Order, and I love watching Family Guy. But one is too far to the ‘drama’ side and one is too far to the ‘comedy’ side, for me as a writer. I like the middle: comedies with grounded characters that are willing to let us have an emotion or two, and dramas that show us the world complete with a sense of humor.

And, of course, I like aliens and robots. Everyone likes aliens and robots.

Lunch: A peanut butter cookie and a cappucino from the deli on The Queen Mary.

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