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How fortuitous! Or is it serendipitous? Perhaps both. Gentle Reader Hilary in Honolulu has sent a letter (thank you, Hilary!) in which she references a comedy bit that has relevance to something we were already talking about. Hilary describes a character (from a British show I’m not familiar with), in this way:

Rowley Birkin sits by the fire, snifter in hand, and tells a story. His speech is so slurred, however, that only tiny fragments of the story emerge, such as “‘don’t point that thing at me,’ she said,” or “three buttocks,” after which he relapses into indistinct speech.

Oh! That’s the same joke as “story fragment” jokes we were talking about on February 25. The reader/listener gets an incomplete part of a scenario and has to fill in the rest.

I don’t suppose there’s much instructional value in this observation except to point out that this is why it’s so often said (falsely, I believe) that “there are only seven jokes.” What writers mean when they say that is that joke types often end up encompassing a lot more different kinds of examples than you notice at first. The general principal that there’s humor in forcing the audience to mentally complete unlikely mental scenarios can be brought to the page in a lot of different forms that are all funny for the exact same reason, no matter how much the execution varies.

By the way, Hilary also mentions that she is making progress in terms of breaking into the business in the UK — she’s got professional interest there and a finalist slot in a competition. Whoo! I hear all the time from readers who are making progress, gaining confidence, creating good work. I couldn’t be prouder!

Go Team!

Lunch: chicken enchiladas, rice, beans

Here’s an exchange I just heard today on an episode of The Wire. It went something like this:

A GUY
I got a little problem.

OTHER GUY
Not uncommon in a man your age.

Fantastic, right? Funny without being unrealistic. But what’s the next line? It’s tempting to feel that the next line has to be a topper, or at least a “very funny” or “f— you” sort of acknowledgement of the joke. But that isn’t what happened. Instead, the first guy acknowledged the joke with a sort of wry grimace and went on to outline what he actually needed from the other guy. And, I swear, the joke was funnier for it, and the scene retained a sense of urgency that might’ve been lost behind a whole string of jokes.

Jokes breed jokes. You want a little comedic head-piece to a scene, and it’s easy to end up with a whole joke run, just because you feel like everyone has to keep responding and one-upping. Great for a sitcom, but if you’re in a drama, consider letting a joke line just stand alone.

Lunch: Vienna sausages, canned oysters, “spicy thai” potato chips, strawberries and a variety of candies

Thank you to Gentle Reader Seanna-Lin in Massachusetts. She’s a novelist who says she has found this humble blog to be helpful. Really? Cool! I’ve never taken on a novel myself and am overwhelmed by those who have. Have you seen one of those things? So many words on a page!

There is also a letter here from Nicholas in Rhode Island. He’s asking about taking on too many spec script projects at once. In a neat turn of phrase he says that he thinks his “back burner is about to collapse.” Hee!

Well, Nicholas, I’ve found that back burners can pretty much take any weight you put on them. It’s the front burners that are shaky. Cue up as many projects-in-waiting as you want. The trick is in determining the number of them that you can actively work on at once. Some people need to work on one at a time or they get distracted and out-of-focus. Others of us find there to be something counter-intuitively calming about being slightly overworked, since it forces us to turn off our censor and go into emergency mode, which can be very helpful. Figure out which kind of person you are and take on projects accordingly.

And then set some priorities. Having a spec pilot seems to be necessary right now, so that might be a good thing to have finished — really finished — before you work on that spec episode of Chuck which is less likely to be immediately useful.

Nicholas also asks a question about breaking the fourth wall in a spec script in an unusual way. He’s thinking of having a character in a spec for an already-existing show make reference to a bit of pop-culture to which the actor playing that character is connected. Did you follow that? Well, strange thing is, I actually did exactly this in one of the first specs I ever wrote. I learned that the actor on the show I was specing had recently performed in a Chekhov play. So I added a bit in which that character specifically talked about that play, gambling that someone reading the spec might understand and be amused by the connection.

In retrospect, it was a mistake. I cannot recommend this approach. It’s going to cause you to make choices in the writing that have nothing to do with what’s organic to the scene, and it’s probably not even going to be noticed or understood. Worse yet, if it is noticed and understood, you’re in danger of appearing cute, instead of honest, in your writing. I understand why it’s tempting (as I was tempted myself, once), but I have to say, “turn away!” Writing the show within the confines of the walls of that show is almost always the right choice.

Nicholas has more good questions, but those will have to wait for another day. For now…

Lunch: a chopped salad with garbanzo beans. I got extra garbanzo beans and I still had them all picked out before I was half-way done.

I recently received such an interesting letter from Gentle Reader Maggie in Brooklyn. She writes to point out another variety for our menagerie of joke-types — a favorite of her and her boyfriend. She says:

We were wondering if there’s a specific writers’ room term for a type of joke that we love. It happens when you cut to a scene and someone is in the middle of wrapping up a story, and the only line you hear gives you very clear, very funny picture of what the rest of the story was about.

She goes on to give some examples. One of them was from that Charles Barkley Super Bowl ad in which we hear him say, out of a cut, “…and that’s why I never eat shrimp.” Another is from “Pirates of the Caribbean” in which we hear Johnny Depp wrapping up a story with “…and then they made me their king.”

Maggie is right that this is certainly a distinct type of joke. I love this joke. I remember particularly taking note of the “shrimp” line when I heard it. I don’t think this kind of joke has been given a particular name, although every room invents some of their own terminology — if a particular show used this kind of bit as a running gag, I’m certain they’d come up with a name for it. Maybe it’s a Fragment Joke, since it’s based on only hearing a fragment of the whole. Note that it’s certainly the same joke if you only hear the start or the middle of a story. If you open a door just long enough to hear, “Now if I was to show you the OTHER buttock…” for example. That’s the same joke.

These jokes are so effective because they make the audience do the work of inferring what they missed. They’re certainly related to jokes like those in the old Bob Newhart routines in which we’d hear one side of a phone call or even an in-person conversation and have to infer what was being said or done. From his Driving Instructor Routine: All right, let’s get up a bit more speed and gradually ease it into second… well, I didn’t want to cover reverse this early….

Any time you can get the audience to do some of the work, you’re getting them invested, and that’s a great thing.

Lunch: Chicken Caesar Salad

I think you should listen to an episode of This American Life called Tough Room that includes a fascinating visit to the offices of The Onion, including an actual
session in the room, and lots of discussion about which jokes work and which don’t.

I recommend that you listen to this segment. This room feels very similar to some comedy rooms I’ve been in and very different from others, but even if you’re just sitting at home writing jokes to put into your spec script, I think you’ll find it useful for jump-starting your own thinking about what makes a joke work.

I particularly enjoy the discussion of the joke “Thirsty Mayor Drinks Town’s Entire Water Supply.” The hypothesis is that the joke works because it’s actually not randomly silly, but is instead a silly version of a story about misappropriation of public resources. The joke works because it means something.

There is also a wonderful discussion of why the proposed headline, “Nation’s Girlfriends Complain about Lack Of Quality Time,” feels tired, while “Local Man Complains Girlfriend Always Wanting to do Stuff” works, even though they appear to be the same joke.

The answer is that the first version is nothing more than a very old observation about women’s demands while in relationships, while the second version is a less-used joke about a very specific kind of man who prefers not to go out and engage in activities. Yes. That sounds like the right analysis to me — I love it when logic agrees with instinct.

Follow the link. You’ll get room experience just from listening.

Lunch: the “Mexican Scramble” at Jerry’s Deli

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