Category: TV Page 13 of 14

I May Write A Pilot Starring A Close-Knit Group Of Ear Specialists In A West Country Hospital. Working Titles Are ‘Aural Sects’ And ‘Dolby City’.*

At the Matthew Graham and Ashley Pharaoh Q&A the other week, Kate Rowland of the BBC Writersroom said that they’d soon be kicking off a talent search called Sharps, and that people should keep their eyes on the website for further details.

So I did – and if you’re interested in writing, you should probably do the same, as there are often posts with details of writing competitions or other opportunities in a variety of bradcast media – and lo and behold, details of ‘Sharps’ have now been posted.

It seems pretty interesting to my mind – the brief is for a half-hour TV script on the topic of ‘the nation’s health’, which it seems you can interpret pretty broadly. After the entries have all been received and sorted, 20 writers will be selected for a workshop, and then eight of them will be asked to attend a week-long residential course with what sounds like a lot of mentoring, as well as £500. Loads of writing-based skills practice, and money? I suspect I won’t be the only one who’ll be sufficiently enticed to send something in.

I do wonder, though, if they may have made something of a rod for their own backs in regard to the period of time they’re allowing to complete the sifting process – the closing date is Monday 16 June, and people who’ve been shortlisted will be notified by the following Monday, 23 June. That would mean they’ll really have to churn through the submissions, especially as the workshop is currently scheduled for 28 June, the Saturday after that.

Still, that’s a logistical thing for the good people at the BBC to sort out, and certainly no reason not to enter, as far as I’m concerned. And given that known troublemaker Lucy has today sent a mass e-mail to those of us lucky enough to be listed in her virtual black book, drawing our attention to Sharps, I suspect that many other people who blog on such things may well be thinking of entering too.

Are you planning on having a go? Do feel free to post a comment, or e-mail me at john[at]johnsoanes.co.uk, I’d curious to know.

*I am very, VERY sorry about this.

In Which I Talk About How The Packaging And Presentation Can Detract From The Gift When It Ought To Increase Our Interest

I’m going to advance a theory, but first of all I want to perform a little experiment. A thought experiment, if you will. Okay, here we go: how do you react when I tell you the following?

“I’ve got a present for you – but I’m not going to tell you what it is. It’s a secret. You’ll have to wait and see.”

Now, if you’re anything like me – and if what follows is going to make any kind of sense whatsoever – you’ll have thought vaguely along the lines of ‘oooh, wonder what it is?’; which is, I think, perfectly natural and reasonable (if you didn’t react like that at all, the rest of this post will make me sound like a lunatic, which isn’t new, but it will undermine the point I’m trying to make, so you might want to bail out now before you start getting annoyed by what I have to say).

If someone tells you they’ve got you a present, I think it naturally triggers a number of questions in the mind: what is it? Where did they get it? Is it something I’ve mentioned I’d like? And so on. Arguably, receiving the present and opening it, and thus having it reduced from ‘potentially anything’ to ‘what it actually is’ can seem disappointing, as if all the possibilities have been swept away, and the present itself (no matter how exciting it is) something of a letdown. In my typically pretentious way, I think it’s rather like the Schrödinger’s Cat paradox with the various probabilities waves (or, for the purposes of my comparison, possibilities) collapsing to reveal the true state of things.

I genuinely believe that the human brain has an almost inbuilt tendency towards constructing some kind of narrative, or speculating on possible events; in the same way as we see shapes in clouds or faces in patterns on the curtains, I think that if you present people with a scenario or a set of circumstances, they’ll almost immediately start to wonder what came before or what happened afterwards. I think a lot of art relies on this – we wonder what La Giaconda is smiling at, or why she’d rather sink than call Brad for help, and even if the picture is specifically titled to let us know it’s The Lady of Shallott, the picture acts as a snapshot, a moment frozen in time from a longer narrative.

In his long-form essay Writing for Comics, Alan Moore does this brilliantly with William Holman Hunt’s painting The Hireling Shepherd, throwing out a number of ideas as to what might happen next, as if it were a frame in a film which might suddenly start rolling again. I doubt this theory could be applied to abstract art – it’s hard to imagine ‘what happens next’ in a Jackson Pollock painting – but I think that in representational art it holds true, probably due to the fact that anything depicted on a canvas is purportedly happening somewhere at some time, which inevitably leads the mind to wonder what preceded or what follows it.

Why am I thinking all this, you might wonder? Well, it’s for a typically mundane reason – I was watching Doctor Who the other night (blissfully unaware as I sat down to do so of Mr Arnopp’s cameo role) and when it got to the end of the episode, there was a ‘Next Week…’ snippet. Now, I don’t like these pseudo-trailers anyway – they seem to be fairly insulting to the writer of the episode that’s just finished as they imply that the episode hasn’t been of a sufficiently high quality to draw you back – but when the episode closes on a cliffhanger, it’s all the more daft to sneak-peek at the next episode; if you end the episode with large numbers of people in peril (as happened in DW on Saturday) and then show various people running around and shouting and so on, it’s pretty obvious that they’re not all going to die in the first ten seconds of the show, no matter what the cliffhanger suggested. It’s often called false peril, but I’d say that this is more like defused peril – and defused because someone, probably in branding and/or marketing, thinks that people need to know a bit of what’s coming next, that it’s the only way to draw them back. I disagree.

This isn’t entirely confined to fiction, as news programmes seem all too keen to tell us the key aspects of a story before going to their reporter live at the scene, who reiterates the key notes again before (if you’re lucky) adding in a detail or two and handing back to the studio. It feels like spoon-feeding, and more annoyingly it’s a waste of airtime (which may, unfortunately, be the reason for it – there are after all many minutes to fill for as little money as possible).

So, given my theory about an innate narrative tendency in the human brain, I think that the folks who ‘package’ and ‘brand’ TV shows in this way (all too often a very different job from actually making programmes) are missing the point quite dramatically. I feel people have a natural tendency to want to know what happens next, or (if they come in partway through a story) to invent ‘the story so far’ so as to catch up on what they’ve missed – if (and this is key) they’re sufficiently drawn in. Constantly reminding the viewer of what’s happened in the last few minutes (as seen in the moronic voice-overs in Dragon’s Den) or trying to keep us interested with ‘Coming Up’ stuff (especially in BBC shows where there are no ad breaks to encourage channel-hopping) actually undermines the content of the programme itself, and detracts from that which might actually attract viewers in the first place.

And it doesn’t work. I say this with a hearty chunk of confidence, because more and more of these tacky little tricks are in evidence on our TV screens all the time, and the prevalence of them is the clue; if they were drawing in and holding an audience, they wouldn’t be slapping these ‘coming up’ bits and ‘next time…’ trailers on the shows. The only programmes that I can think of which are thankfully devoid of this kind of nonsense are… any ideas? Yes, the soap operas.

Say what you like about the soaps – and after seeing last night’s episode I’d once again point to EastEnders’ enormous flaw in not having even one vaguely sympathetic character (or at least not one with a storyline at present) – they are absolutely brilliant at providing ‘the story so far’ as they go along. Sure, there are sometimes slightly clunky lines of dialogue like ‘So, how are you doing since your wife ran off with the milkman, Terry?’, but most of the time the necessary exposition is woven into the dialogue so seamlessly that it’s invisible, which is exactly as it should be. Stan Lee, co-creator of super-heroes such as Spider-Man and The X-Men, once said that every issue of a comic book is someone’s first issue, and this is true across most media; all episodes of soaps or dramas are someone’s first episode, and so the story so far, and the characters’ names and relationships, need to be established as quickly but discreetly as possible. Watch an episode of any long-running soap opera and watch out for how they do it, it’s quite instructive.

The soaps, which attract vast numbers of viewers, seem to be immune from this ‘previously on’/’coming up’-type nonsense, and yet in their attempts to attract the kind of audience share the soaps consistently command, the people who package programmes seem to think the best way is to market shows in a way that actually detracts from the content. I’m guessing the soaps don’t mess with their format on the grounds that isn’t broken so it doesn’t need fixing, but all too many other shows seem to try to fix it by breaking it even more.

The soaps, and many other forms of entertainment media, are based on the fact that, suitably lured in, people want to know what’s going to happen next. JJ Abrams, the creator of Alias and co-creator of Lost, is obviously a man who knows something about getting the viewers and keeping them interested, and talks about the effect ‘mystery’ can have in an interview which you can view via this page. Abrams says “maybe there are times where mystery is more important than knowledge,” and I’d not only agree with that, but I’d go further and say that people are more drawn to mysteries than they are to knowledge.

Who killed Laura Palmer? Who shot JR? Will Maddie and David / Sam and Diane/ Lois and Clark/ Ross and Rachel/ Smithy and Nessa get together? Questions, and mysteries, are often the aspects of stories and entertainment which draw us in and then draw us back for more. By constantly stating what happened before what you’re seeing now, reiterating what you’ve just seen, and giving you glimpses of what’s yet to come, the experience of not knowing what’s to come is as good as lost. It’s not that I don’t want to know the answer to the questions posed in the story, it’s just that I don’t necessarily want to know them quite yet. It’s slightly perverse, perhaps, but isn’t it more perverse that, as a species, we create stories of things that never happened to people who never were in places and times which weren’t as depicted, and then break these stories (writerly pun intended) into sections deliberately designed to keep people paying attention?

Well no, I don’t think it’s perverse at all. I believe – as I’ve said above – that it’s absolutely natural. To paraphrase Neil Gaiman’s introduction to one of his Sandman volumes, being alive is very much a case of trying to catch up on what’s gone before, and as we’ll leave long before the story comes to its end, the tendency to speculate and wonder about events (be they real or imaginary) is, as good as innate in humankind; and the stories which hold our attention best are those which know how to play on this tendency and then go on to provide a satisfying resolution.

Oh, and that present I mentioned I have for you? I think you’ll like it, but I’m out of space now – I’ll have to tell you about it another time.

Not That I’m Actually Watching It, Mind – I Think I’ll Wait For The Repeats

As you’ve probably seen by now, ITV has decided not to show the second episode of the imported drama, Pushing Daisies, as they only allocated eight weeks in which to show the nine-episode series.

According to the news report linked above, ITV claim that the decision was due to the US Writers’ Strike, which meant that only nine episodes (as opposed to the usual 22 or so in a standard US season) were made.

Could they possibly insult their audience’s intelligence on any more levels if they tried?

Leaving aside the arguable idea that you can cheerfully drop a chapter in a series and it have no effect at all (especially given the increased serialisation in US TV shows in recent years), the first episode of Pushing Daisies did really well for ITV when it was shown last Saturday (beaten only by Casualty on BBC1, I think). As it’s fair to say that ITV have struggled to maintain an audience on Saturday nights in recent years due to the success of the revitalised Doctor Who and the ongoing draw of Casualty, you’d think they might be pleased about actually getting some eyeballs. Apparently not.

But the fact that ITV are attributing it to the Writers’ Strike is just nonsense – if the strike hadn’t gone ahead, there would have been 22 episodes for them to schedule, as opposed to nine, which would surely have been worse? Nine into eight almost goes, but 22 into eight? Duh. And, you know, given that they’ve been playing trailers for the series for about a month with the tagline ‘coming soon’ (to the extent that I kind of lost interest, after initial curiosity), could they not have started showing it a week earlier? Or maybe they should have a double-episode ‘finale’ – obviously, they might be reluctant to forego an episode of the not-at-all-padded-out-at-an-hour-long ‘All Star Mr And Mrs’, but I’m sure they could figure something out.

It’s frankly bewildering that ITV would shoot themselves in the ratings foot like this, and then compound it with a statement that is so utterly implausible. Such obvious idiocy reminds me of the old Monty Python line “I’d like to be in programme planning, but unfortunately, I’ve got a degree”…

Why Yes, I Was In Soho Yesterday Afternoon. What Of It?

Well, as planned, I went to the Monastic Productions Q&A here in London yesterday, as organised by the BBC.

It was, as I’d hoped, an interesting bash, with writers Matthew Graham and Ashley Pharaoh talking about the development process for Life on Mars and Ashes To Ashes, and taking questions. Most of the questions were interesting and, I’d imagine, informative to the broad mass of the audience and not just me (or the person asking the question).

Not many notes to share from the event – I was more busy listening than noting – but the following were a few things I scribbled down:

Ashley :
– It’s vital for the conflict in any tale to be built into the premise.

Matthew:
– Story should be the delivery mechanism for the characters.
– You shouldn’t be afraid to pitch ideas, and put your neck on the chopping board, and then put forward more ideas.
– You have to write without thinking of things like budget and music clearance.

And lest you think from the above that I was paying more attention to Matthew than Ashley, let me raise this point; talking about spending time with other writers on the series discussing plotlines and scenes, Ashley said that he loved those moments more than anything else, and that the thrill of working in that way with other writers was definitely one of the best parts of the job. Now, I’ve heard this sort of thing from a variety of sources now, and it does seem as if there’s quite a bit of hope that the idea of the US-style Writers’ Room is one which is gaining some popularity here in the UK – perhaps more as a notion or aim than a reality, but this may change in time.

However, the people I’ve heard it from tend to be writers, and so a part of me wonders if it might be less a case of an industry-led notion, and maybe more an appealing idea given that writing is all too often a solitary process? I’m not knocking the idea at all, but I wonder how likely it would be to take off in the UK, especially given that drama series such as those named above usually have shorter series than in the US (eight episodes as opposed to 23, for example – same for comedies much of the time). Any thoughts? Let me know.

And speaking of the solitariness of the writerly life, I didn’t manage to spot as many writing bloggers as I’d hoped – though I did get to say a quick hello to Lianne, and think I saw Mr Perry in the front row, I couldn’t see Monsieur Arnopp or Madame Lucy at all – were you folks there, or was it all a trick whereby you pretend you’ll be in one place and then hide somewhere else and laugh at my expense?

If the latter, you really needn’t have bothered; I can get that sort of treatment at home.

Meanwhile, In An Office In Soho, London…

AdMan1: Damn it, Jed, I’ve got nothing.

AdMan2: Nothing at all, Ty? That’s not like you.

AdMan1: I know, I’m the most prolific young buck at this damn agency, but I just can’t come up with anything to sell these fizzy mineral tablet things.

AdMan2: Tough break, Ty. Anyway, look at this funny video on YouTube, it’ll help take your mind off it.

They watch the video.

AdMan1: Hey, I like that. Who’s playing?

AdMan2: They’re called ‘OK Go!’.

AdMan1: Never heard of them. Anyway, how many views has that video had?

AdMan2 peers at the screen for a second.

AdMan2: About 30 million, Ty.

AdMan1: Is that all? Well, I’m sure no-one’ll notice if we rip it off.

AdMan2 frowns.

AdMan2: Rip it off?

AdMan1: Er, I mean, make an homage to it.

AdMan2: I was worried for a moment there, Ty. You sounded perilously close to being a non-creative.

AdMan1: Not me, Jed, I’m a creative genius, and I could build brands in my sleep.

AdMan2: Amen to that, Ty.

Cut to:

Three months later, same office. This advert plays on a TV screen. In front of it, Jed and Ty high-five.

Monastic Productions Q&A In London

You might already have heard about this, but if not…

The BBC Writersroom has organised a Q&A session with Ashley Pharaoh and Matthew Graham of Monastic Productions – also known as the chaps involved in creating and writing Life on Mars and Ashes to Ashes.

It takes place at the Soho Theatre in London on Monday 14 April at 5pm, and tickets are free. Full details, including how to get on the ticket list, are here.

I’m on the list, and am planning to go along – anyone else in blogland attending this? Do let me know, it’d be good to say hello.

Declare Your Independents Part One Of Two: Joking Apart

After I left college in 1992, I was wallowing in self-pity (or licking my wounds, you be the judge) following a relationship breakup. I was living at home with my parents, as well as doing the odd bit of stand-up comedy – unsurprisingly, relationships material featured heavily. In January 1993, the TV series Joking Apart was broadcast on BBC2, featuring Robert Bathurst as a sitcom writer whose wife had left him, and in which we’d often see him performing imaginary stand-up sets in his head, starting with the line ‘My wife left me’. For some reason I can’t possibly begin to fathom, my father said I might enjoy the programme.

He was, as he often is when it comes to recommendations, absolutely right; Joking Apart was a terrific combination of wordplay and farce, often with a touch of genuine emotion thrown in – though this shouldn’t really come as any kind of surprise, as it was written by Stephen Moffat. Who, some of you might ask, is he? And I sneer at you and say, he’s the chap who invented Press Gang, Coupling, and has written some of the best episodes of the revived Doctor who (‘Blink’ and ‘The Girl in the Fireplace’, for example).

The first series of Joking Apart was well received, shown twice on BBC2, and even won the Bronze Rose of Montreux. So the wise owls at the BBC delayed showing the second series for the best part of a year, never repeated it, didn’t commission a third series, and of course never released either series on video. Sigh.

Time passed: my emotional wounds healed, I left home, and gradually stopped doing stand-up. My father and I would occasionally talk about ‘Joking Apart’ (partly spurred on by Robert Bathurst’s starring role in Cold Feet, and our shared love of Moffat’s later show Coupling). But while we merely talked about it, some people did something about it. Ladies and Gents, please doff your virtual hats to the hero of this tale: Craig Robins.

Rather than just sitting around thinking ‘wouldn’t it be nice if I could watch Joking Apart again?’, Craig contacted the appropriate wing of the BBC and bought the rights to produce a DVD of Joking Apart. A professional videotape editor, Craig used his skills to remaster the sound and vision on the recordings. In 2006, he issued a DVD of series one, and then last month, released series two (a double-DVD set, no less).

I bought them both last week, and eagerly watched all twelve episodes over the weekend, and this post is by way of both a review and a hearty recommendation; these are extremely high-quality productions – the shows presented are still very funny and clever, but rather than just leave it at that, Craig’s created extras for the DVDs – ‘making of’ features and new cast and creator commentaries.

As you can see from the picture above, these DVDs don’t look ‘home-made’ in the slightest (the two DVD boxes even match when stood alongside each other on the shelf), and Craig has done what I consider to be a brilliant job of turning his enthusiasm into something that others can enjoy. So, in case you hadn’t already guessed, I urge you to buy these DVDs – if nothing else, it’d be a great way for you to show your support for quality comedy DVD releases when so many huge firms seem to feel that an ‘Interactive Menu’ constitutes an extra feature.

Craig’s set up his own firm, Replay, whose website can be found here. The site is as professional as the DVDs, and I received my DVDs within a day of ordering them, so I can’t fault the service on any level. And you get a discount if you buy the complete set.

Go on, support the independent folks instead of giving money to Global Omnicorp Inc. You won’t regret it.

(My thanks to Craig – obviously, for all his hard work in making a fun show available once more, but also for his permission to post about the history of the project).

And Don’t Even Get Me Started On The Standard Of Parenting In Coronation Street

Now, I’m not any kind of expert on flirting (indeed, for some time I thought that, because of sharing the first three letters of the word, it was pretty much the same as FLIcking someone on the shoulder, albeit whilst adopting a come-hither look), but I do often find soap opera flirting almost painful to watch.

Much of the time, the dialogue’s to blame – just a bit too knowing and arch, and it sounds strangely like a blend of Mamet, Sorkin and Harlequin Romance novels, if you know what I mean; the characters have ready answers a tad too swiftly, as if they’re doing some kind of pre-rehearsed verbal dance. Granted, characters in fiction invariably talk quite differently from people you’ll actually meet (I think it was screenwriter/director John August who said that characters in films speak as we would in reality if we had five extra seconds to frame our words), often because they’re sneaking bits of exposition into the conversation or whatever, but sometimes it’s just a stage too far removed for me.

I’ve been mulling this over because the ‘flirty banter’ in EastEnders has been seeming clumsy to me for a while now, to the extent that the on-screen conversations (and the creaking of the rather visible plot levers) tend to get drowned out in Chez Nous by me yelling ‘Oh my GOD! That’s not how people talk! Ugh!’ at the screen whenever there’s a would-be wooing scene going on.

There are two main offending types of EastEnders ‘flirty banter’, as far as I’m concerned:

1 – HARD-BOILED: As exemplified by Ronnie and Roxy, the purported sex-kittens of the Queen Vic. Obviously, nothing says feisty and smouldering more than names which echo well-known members of the East End underworld, but it’s bolstered by the sisters acting less like femmes fatales and more like people who’ve seen too many Guy Ritchie films. The standard set-up tends to be that one of them (and you’ll guess from the repeated use of that phrase that, offhand, I don’t know which is which – the perils of having names that are so similar*) meets a chap who is, of course, a bit of a wide-boy and a geezer, not to be trusted, and so on. Thus, they are destined by fate and plot requirements to pair off, and the banter is usually something a bit like:

He: So what are you doing tonight, then?
She: What’s it to you?
He: Just wondering, that’s all.
She: Well, stop wondering, it’s none of your business.
He: Maybe it is, maybe it isn’t. How does your husband feel about you being in the bar all the time, with all the male punters?
She: My husband’s dead.
He: Sorry to hear that. Boyfriend?
She: Are you offering?
He: Maybe I should be.
She: Maybe you shouldn’t.
He: Maybe you want me to.
She: Maybe I do.
He: Maybe I’ll do something about it.
She: Maybe I won’t be sitting and waiting.
He: Maybe you won’t have to.

… and so on. It’s the kind of dialogue which was prevalent in Moonlighting, but that TV show was a comedy, whereas EastEnders is meant to be based in reality, despite occasionally veering into melodrama and the realms of the East End underworld. That rapid-fire kind of dialogue reminds me of the old ‘Who’s On First?’ routine by Abbott and Costello or Murdock talking to Oveur in Airplane! – again, comedy items.

I referred to Aaron Sorkin above, and yes, there’s certainly an argument to be made that the speedy patter of characters in, say, The West Wing is unrealistic, but I think the ‘walk-n-talk’ sequences in that show are designed more to show the intelligence of the characters, who are able to assimilate information and respond in an unnaturally articulate fashion (plus, when you have a burgeoning romance between character in that show, it’s at least a continuation of those speech patterns, as opposed to the residents of Albert Square suddenly sounding as if they’re residents of Sin City).

Of the two styles of EastEnders flirty banter, this one is more prevalent – especially as EastEnders is full of characters who think they’re well’ard (despite that being the dog’s name), but a new strand has started to make itself known :

2 – ADULT-FEATURE-STYLE: Oh yes. Genuinely not that far from ‘I’m come to fix the shower’ or ‘I’m the pizza delivery boy’ school of flirting, this type of dialogue (so far) mainly seems to be allocated to the recently-returned character Clare, played by Gemma Bissix (who also played a character called Clare in Hollyoaks; I hope that isn’t some kind of condition of her agent passing scripts to her). Now, given that EastEnders is a mid-evening show, it’s unlikely to turn into an all-out nudey-romp-fest, and so the dialogue is less direct than in an adult feature, but it’s still not that far off. It often seems to run along the following lines:

She: Oh hello, man under fifty years of age.
He: Hello.
She: Is that the launderette over there?
He: Yes. Dot runs it, she’ll look after you.
She: Oh good, I need to do some washing.
He: It’s open seven days a week, I think.
She: Mmm, I need to wash my underwear, it’s all lacy and delicate.
He: Er, yes, Dot can probably help you.
She: Yes, my lacy g-strings and stockings need to be washed, or I’ll have no underwear to put on.
He: Well, as I say, it’s just over there, on the left. Push hard on the door, it sticks sometimes.
She: And my bras are so delicate and see-through I have to make sure I wash them properly. Don’t want them tearing apart.
He: In this weather, I can understand your concern. You don’t want to catch cold.
She: Oh, I’m so very hot right now. Mmm…
He: If you go to the caff, Ian’s probably got some canned drinks in the fridge.

… okay, so I’m exaggerating a bit there, but not really that much (from half-listening, Clare had at least two conversations about her underwear with male characters in her first week of returning to the soap, with the men looking as bewildered and scared as if Catherine Tremell had suddenly appeared and asked where the ice was), so please don’t go thinking I’m constructing a straw man argument.

I guess the underlying problem is that the real-world ways people banter and flirt aren’t actually very telegenic; people meet in pubs and bars or at work or in nightclubs, and the way they sound each other out and find they have similar outlooks or interests or whatever aren’t as dramatic as the TV camera, and the narrative drive, demands. Whilst it might be realistic to show people meeting at a club where the music drowns out all their dialogue to the extent that they’re more conducting dual monologues than having a proper conversation, it’s not necessarily going to make for good TV.

Which is probably why instead we see a lot of scenes like the above, which is a shame, as I think that actually properly showing some characters getting to know each other, and realise they get on, would make for a greater degree of audience empathy with them – something which EastEnders is wholly lacking to my mind at the moment, as there are very few characters who aren’t in some way stupid or venal or worthy of come kind of contempt; okay, maybe there’s Dot or Bradley, but her bible-bashing and sanctimony makes her hard to care for, and his refusal to move out of the Square after his dad slept with his wife looks less like the behaviour of a stable character and more a case of plot necessity.

And I genuinely believe that with likeable characters comes audience ‘support’ for them, so that they’ll have an emotional connection with them and want good things to happen to them. I appreciate that may sound simplistic, but I think it’s absolutely vital for an audience in some way to feel a connection with the protagonists. Whether it’s wanting Peggy to be made a Yellowcoat or Tony Soprano not to be gunned down by an old enemy, I believe that the audience has to – on some level – feel engaged and connected with the characters. Without that connection you’re trying to get an audience to spend their time watching a tale of things that never happened to imaginary people who the audience doesn’t care about, and thus has no emotional attachment to, so if they’re laughing or crying or flirting, it’s irrelevant, as the audience doesn’t give too hoots about the outcome, and may well be long gone before the resolution hoves into view.

I’ve perhaps strayed a little off the point here, but before I end this post, I want to make it clear that I think it’s entirely possible to have on-screen flirtation which makes you feel that the characters are both getting along and growing closer, whilst still speaking words that could come out of the mouths of actual people – there are many examples of it around, but perhaps the best example that springs to mind is the relationship between Jack Foley and Karen Sisco in the film ‘Out Of Sight’. Great performances by both the actors, and a terrific script too (I’m sure you can think of other films with good romantic banter or flirty stuff – feel free to post them as comments), showing that it most definitely can be done. And given that all you need for on-screen flirtation are two actors and a script, there’s no reason why TV soaps shouldn’t be able to create the same sort of sparks between characters as, say, Bogie and Bacall did. Budget should not be an issue.

Unless I’m missing something? If so, post a comment and let me know.
Maybe I’ll listen. Maybe I won’t. Maybe I’ll agree. Maybe I won’t
You like that repetitious banter, eh? Well, wait until I start talking about my underwear, you’ll be twice as giddy. Apparently.

*And, for my money, also the reason the band Tony! Toni! Toné! never quite made the big time.

Spaced: The Final (af-)Frontier

I’ve enjoyed the work of Simon Pegg for many years (yes, including his work in ‘Faith In The Future’), and reading his interviews and the like, it often feels like he’s very much an example of someone who loves comedy, almost like ‘one of us’ (by which I mean the audience) who’s made good. As a result of this – perhaps wildly inaccurate – feeling, I’d like to think that Mr Pegg wouldn’t forget about his colleagues, or where he’s come from, or any of those other things that people who’ve had a hearty degree of success are legendary for doing.

Which is why I was so pleased to read this, which – if the report is accurate – suggests that one of the key reasons why he’s upset about the issue is because, all other aspects aside, of the bad manners involved.

Good show, I say. Dashed good show.

LINK: News That Made Me Smile

I really hope this turns out to be true.

It would tie in beautifully with a gag at the end of the third series, after all.

Verily, my digits are interlaced (which explains my typing speed).

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