Writing for Television and Web.

For the past few years I’ve been chipping away at writing a pilot for a one-hour scripted television drama. Ever since I first saw The West Wing many many years ago, I’d been wanting to write for television, as it embraced dialogue and character. It also provided a writer the opportunity to develop said characters over many episodes, as well as several narrative threads. Film - at least studio film - on the other hand, is confined to two hours and is being further driven by the goal of immediate recoup. Cinema is rarely allowed the time or luxury of an extended theatrical run. The duration of a film’s longevity is often determined within the first three days of the box-office.

As a result of cinema’s painting itself into a corner, the main thing that has suffered is its writing. Studio film scripts are often developed in concert with demographic and market studies, and while this also happens in television, the exorbitant cost of cinema renders the final product as either highly conservative, or derivative, or both. Film is about a sure thing, and a sure thing is something that has some modicum of a guarantee found in a built-in audience. Witness the three major film ads during the Super Bowl for G.I. Joe, The Avengers and Battleship. All proven entities in terms of cultural resonance, bolstered by major CGI horsepower and star casts. I guess the one enigma is Disney’s John Carter, which continues to befuddle me - it’s a milquetoast concept with an awesome title. The sheer banality of the name John Carter, buttressed against sci-fi visuals is highly illogical in my brain. I guess that makes me want to see it for curiosity sake. I applaud Disney for their audacity on this one.

Not that John Carter. Or is it?

But back to television. In lieu of the mass conservatism of cinema, genuine risk taking has found a home in television, which, by virtue of massive competition from competing networks, has had to stick its neck out and be bold to be noticed. We have been graced with some of the most creative and wild writing in the medium’s history, with television taking risks that would send a movie executive into cardiac arrest. Witness Boardwalk Empire taking a turn into incest, or shows like Dexter and Luther painting serial killers in sympathetic lights, or shows like Shameless, Californication, The Wire and Breaking Bad removing our moral compass and smashing it with a sledgehammer. Unencumbered by ridiculous censorship, all of these shows are accompanied by deep, textured characters who relate to us as real people and not as caricatures of archetypes.

Previously television was limited in its production values due to the rigors of schedule and the volume of content that had to be produced. Cinematography used to be lackluster and production design limited to function. But this too has changed, as production values have begun to rival cinema, and the advent of RED, Alexa and DSLR cameras has given a cinematographic polish that was previously inconceivable. Watch Downton Abbey and witness production values that can rival any period film. Even sitcoms like Arrested Development read like films, and the use of widescreen cinematography on shows like The Killing and The Walking Dead further bolster the cinematic convergence.

Production values that make features envious. From ‘Downton Abbey.’

In the process of writing a pilot, I’ve first got to write a production bible, which is a comprehensive document not unlike a treatment that lays out the premise, the characters, and the narrative arc for the first three to five episodes. The finest example of a production bible - and the template for my own writing - is the bible for The Wire, written by David Simon. You can download the PDF by clicking here. It’s a work of literature by itself, and is a wonderful example of how to make a complex premise absolutely thrilling and compelling.

One thing that I’ve found consistent in pilot episodes is the initial introduction of a new character, a “rookie” if you will, into an already established world. It’s a convention that allows us to learn about the world of the series at the same time as the character, and allows things to move at a brisk, involved pace. Where The Wire and the other pay-cable series differ from the network shows is the networks’ reliance upon a central star, i.e. House, Shark, Damages or Boss, where a team is built around the central character, who is more than often morally ambiguous and is typically a genius in their field. While these series fall into archetypes, they still supplant that with inventive narratives.

The narratives often diverge after the introduction of the players, as there is a professional story arc and a personal story arc. Typically the former comes before the latter, although this is not law. The professional arc is the central to the plot, the action that drives the characters through the world. In The Wire it is the activities of the divisions of cops, dealers, government and media. In The Walking Dead it is the day-to-day struggle to survive in a world full of zombies. In Weeds it is Nancy Botwin’s drug business. Underneath all of this is the personal arc, which is the internal dilemmas that each character faces. In Weeds, Nancy must face the emotional responsibilities she has towards her children. She is lonely. In The Walking Dead we have the interpersonal relationships between characters that affect power structures and drive the decisions made within the professional arc.

When both of these arcs are balanced and feed into one another, what results is pure television magic. These narratives can be extended and facets can resurface at any given point, which allows for great dramatic flexibility, and also provides the balance between action and dialogue. Combine this with the upgraded production values and the prospects are tremendously exciting. And it never hurts to end each episode with a cliffhanger.

Television is tremendously exciting and like film, there is ferocious competition to get series’ produced. Unlike indie film, there is very little opportunity for indie television to be produced without the involvement of a network, but then this too is changing. The webisode is still a nascent format, showing promise from the early days of lonelygirl15 and living on in the form of sites like Funny or Die. With broadband and streaming technologies advancing, the web series can be poised as a legitimate challenger to network television. Hollywood is definitely taking notice, placing exclusive narrative content online in the form of short episodes. This year, Top Chef has created an entirely separate competition online, which has proven tremendously successful. Kevin Spacey and David Fincher are collaborating on a 26-episode, $100 million series called House of Cards which will stream exclusively through Netflix.

The future of “television?”

Star power will always garner attention, but it doesn’t diminish the potential for a high-concept web series. Creating marketing buzz is as challenging as marketing an indie film, but there are incredible opportunities as film festivals are opening up interactive divisions, and the potential to branch out into the app and gaming markets is tremendous. It takes vision, and it takes a tremendous amount of planning. But like any other medium, it requires a good story and a great story deserves a great screen/ teleplay. So first and foremost we either have to become better writers, or be better producers to find those scripts that sing. It’s a lot of work, but it is always tremendously rewarding.

Pilot season is a rabid time - actors, writers and producers are all clamoring for the few spots available. If you land a TV show the pay is phenomenal, and it’s a lot of back-breaking work. But as with any venture, you get out what you put in, and ingenuity is always rewarded when it is smartly and efficiently marketed and people are aware of it. So let’s get writing!