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Okay, here is another chapter in the continuing saga of whether or not you’re going to need some other kind of material in addition to your specs of existing shows.

I’ve reported here before that writers are being urged by various agencies around town to have short stories, short plays and scripts for short films available in addition to traditional specs. But this week I heard a new spin on this.

Aspiring comedy writers are now being urged to have short comedy pieces available for busy executives and even show runners to read. And we’re talking really short, like a few pages!

The kinds of things that are being used for this seem to vary. Parody pieces suggest themselves immediately: a spoof of a catalog, or of a children’s book, or of a museum guidebook, or of a MySpace page, or of the “Harper’s Index,” or of the “cuteoverload” website, complete with pictures? … maybe an excerpt from a scholarly analysis of The Pussycat Dolls… maybe a school-lunch menu that devolves into a rant from a clearly deranged lunch lady. A parody of a travel guide or an obituary…? A funny series of newspaper retractions that build off each other…? An amusingly bad translation of The Rosetta Stone…? I assume comedy sketches and funny short stories would be good for this kind of purpose, and I could also see a humorous dialogue written as an exchange of emails, or as a series of text messages. In fact, I wouldn’t be surprised if soon execs are just given the address to the YouTube clip you’ve written and produced for them. Maybe we’re already there.

Be creative in thinking of your approach to what you pull together for this. If the concept itself is unique, that in itself might just be the thing that opens that door. Take a while to decide what to do, take a few practice passes at it. When a piece is short, it often takes far longer to write than something long, because every word of it has to be precisely right.

Now, recall that this does not replace a script. You will still need a spec script of some kind. Possibly a spec pilot, although I still advocate also having at least one spec of a show currently in production. So write your spec “The Office”. And then keep writing just a little bit more.

The idea, if this isn’t clear, is that reading a script takes time and concentration. Gems can be missed because the reader is rushed and tired. Something short and punchy that shows off your comedy skills in a concentrated fashion is going to have a heck of a lot of appeal.

Lunch: “Eggs Ranchero” at some random restaurant on the 3rd St. Promenade.

So I’ve literally just now arrived back home fresh from the Andy Barker, PI premiere party. Large fun was had by all and the pilot episode looked great, didn’t it? I’m told that my episode (co-written with the delightful Alex Herschlag) airs next week, so tell your Tivo all about it.

One of my favorite lines was cut from the pilot — so much always has to be cut to bring an episode to broadcast length. And I ask you to consider the question: is this a joke?

The moment was Andy watching himself on surveillance video, while searching for a clue in the background. He winces at what he sees and says, “Uch, I walk just like my dad.”

Now, obviously, that is not a joke in any traditional way. And yet it is a line that draws a big laugh. It’s a great lesson that all you need to be funny is character and observation. Andy’s comment is totally recognizable to all of us — we’ve all had reactions like that when looking at ourselves on film. That’s the observation part. The character part is that Andy is the kind of character who is willing to voice the thought even while searching earnestly for a clue.

Some of you may be alarmed by the idea of having to “write funny,” because you’re not confident in your ability to structure a joke. Well, look at that one… no darn structure at all and it’s a gem.

Character and observation. You can do it!

Lunch: egg foo yung and rice. Quite good!

You know, I had fun discussing that fragment of an Andy Barker, PI scene yesterday. Yes, I think I’d like to look at the rest of that scene. Note that this exchange does not appear in the final version because it was cut for length, but it’s still a joke I like very much:

/The bit we discussed yesterday leads into…/

CUT TO…

I’ll call this a presupposition joke. It’s much funnier to have a character be wrong about something they’re presupposing than about something they’re asserting. When Lew says “It’s three in the morning,” even though in this particular joke it’s phrased as though he’s asserting it, it’s very clear that he doesn’t think he’s telling Andy something he doesn’t know. Lew is presupposing that it’s the middle of the night, and therefore, in the absence of other evidence, the audience will assume he’s right. Then, when they realize he was wrong, the result is humor. Humor!

I remember attending a taping of some sitcom when I was new in town. (Perhaps it was Blossom? Perhaps not.) There was a joke in which a not-very-bright teenager, AFTER announcing that she’d been given a school assignment to write about “Women of the Nineties” asked, “Wouldn’t they be really old?” Another character corrected her. “Women of the nineties, not in their nineties!” The joke, if I recall the audience reaction, fell somewhat flat. You might think the joke is a lost cause, but I actually think, by reworking it as a presupposition joke, it could’ve worked. If we started the scene with the girl collecting a lot of information about osteoporosis and needle-work, explaining to her friends that she had this assignment about “really old women,” then it’s possible that it would’ve been amusing to have someone glance at her assignment and point out that she’d misunderstood it — that she’d made a wrong presupposition. At least, I suggest, it would’ve had a slightly better chance.

Lunch: bowtie pasta with marinara sauce and artichoke hearts

Did you know we’re famous, Gentle Readers? This very blog was mentioned on stage as part of the hilarious and wonderful This American Life Live Tour ’07, which I attended in Los Angeles tonight. Ira Glass mentioned on stage that this blog sometimes engages in joke analysis. So I’ve decided, in honor of that, to indulge in some joke analysis this evening. The twist is… I’m not sure why this joke works.

SPOILER ALERT…

Here is an excerpt from the script for “Fairway, My Lovely,” the episode of Andy Barker, PI which I co-wrote with Alex Herschlag. (You can watch it here). I wrote the following exchange, which had to convey loads of information, but which also needed to have some funny in it. (Note that Lew is an aging retired private-eye of the hard-boiled variety.)

ANDY
It does all add up. The affair, the pills, the condo, the fight they had during his lesson. Of course, she says they were just arguing about his grip…

ANDY
Nope. Wait! Yes I can! I mean, they taped the lesson! They probably still have the tape at the club.

And the scene continues from there. Lew’s repeated rephrasing of the same information just struck me as funny. And even though I wasn’t sure why, I kept it in, and I still find it hilarious, and I’m still not sure why!

It’s absurd, of course, but absurd never really works on its own. A character doing something nonsensical might make us laugh for a moment, but if it’s truly random, it’s not all that funny.

So I think the joke works because it reflects so much about both characters. It speaks to Lew’s dogged persistence combined with creeping forgetfulness, and it also illustrates Andy’s infinite patience. I also think the joke plays with the viewers’ expectations of how a scene is structured. We’re so used to scenes in which a character lists a series of good reasons to do or think something, that there’s something startling and refreshing about a scene with the rhythm but not the content of such a list.

Of course, if you don’t find the exchange amusing, then that is also a valid answer to the puzzle. Why does the joke work? “It doesn’t” is also an answer. (I still think it’s funny.)

Lunch: Universal Studios salad bar and a very dry granola bar that caused me to have an impressive coughing fit in the writers’ room.

Well, gentle readers, you will notice that I’m actually posting this very late on Sunday night. Although it is late, I wanted to post a tidbit for you! You know how, in a short story you might write something like this?

“You two,” the Sheriff began, looking back and forth between the two men, “have a great deal of explaining to do.”

That technique, of splitting the dialogue to suggest a pause or simply to create suspense, might feel like something that’s very specific to prose writing. Screenwriting by its very nature is about the raw dialogue, after all.

But look. You can create exactly the same effect in a script just by doing this:

SHERIFF
You two…
(looking back and forth between the two men)
…have a great deal of explaining to do.

It’s a little unorthodox to put an action in a parenthetical like this. Technically it should be a stage direction, but I think that doing it this way more clearly recreates the pacing and intent of the prose. And if you can make reading your spec feel like reading a short story, you’ve just made it transparent, readable, enjoyable in a way that scripts often are not. And can’t you just hear the Sheriff’s slow boil?

By the way, use this sparingly. It’s a spice, not a sandwich. Too much, and the script will start to feel choppy and labored. Just here and there, please.

Lunch: Buffet City again! Coconut shrimp and prawns with cheese and loquats and other wonderful items!

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