by Linda Venis
Case Study #2: My Own Cocreated Show, Almost Perfect
Let me give you an example of how character is story from my own career, straight out of my handy-dandy “creating comedy from character” toolbox.
In the mid-1990s, my longtime writing/producing partner Ken Levine and I were under contract to Paramount Television, where we were developing new series ideas. As part of our deal, the studio assigned us to assist another writer, Robin Schiff, who was developing for them as well.
We were immediately intrigued by an idea that Robin had about a thirtyish professional woman like herself who is juggling a high-pressure job and a brand-new romance with the “man of her dreams.” This character, whom we named Kim, is a determined, full-speed-ahead type (attitude) who’s worked hard to win her “dream job.” However, on the day she gets that very position, she meets Mike, the smart, ruggedly handsome guy she believes she’s been waiting for. She desperately wants both work and romance to succeed (desire) but her inability to compromise (flaw) works against her.
That inner conflict spoke volumes and promised all kinds of stories that would flow from Kim’s predicament. For example, Kim has a nicer home than Mike, makes more money than he does, chooses work over a needed night alone with Mike, hates sleeping over at his smaller place. All relatable situations complicated by one of Kim’s flaws, her need to be in control. Long story short, the three of us pitched the idea to CBS, got a pilot commitment, and the series, called Almost Perfect, was on the air the next season. The show never hit the big time (I’ll give you a moment to Google it), but we could never blame that on the ease of storytelling that came directly from elements of the main character.
I learned a great deal from guiding a network series, and in an indirect way the experience led me to teaching in the UCLA Extension Writers’ Program. After we had completed twenty-four episodes for the first season of Almost Perfect, we met with the CBS execs to determine if we were coming back for a second go-round. The network’s audience research had concluded that Mike, the boyfriend in our series, was “not strong enough.” Our writing team formulated a scenario to create more conflict between Kim and Mike in order to bolster his character. We presented it to the CBS execs in our next meeting.
But despite our fix, we were told in no uncertain terms that the character of Mike needed to be eliminated. That presented us with a particularly cruel dilemma. Without Kim’s boyfriend we had no inherent conflict for stories. In short, what was our series? We were given a second season (your first instinct is to stay alive), but we had no premise to guide us. We concocted stories based on Kim and her coworkers on the job, but those episodes had no focus or theme. Even our title, Almost Perfect, made no sense. We were without a pivotal character and limped along until CBS mercifully finished us off five episodes into the next season.
The moral: There is no compelling story, and certainly no series, without the framework of character. That’s the lesson I felt compelled to pass along when I created my “Creating from Character” course.
Character Is Conflict
As I noted in my discussion of Modern Family, conflict is the element that fuels story. While we tend to think of conflict in more dramatic terms, it’s essential as well in building comedy, unless of course your goal is to create the next Jackass. Then all you really need is a willing main character and fire.
The best comedies are constructed around a core relationship. There may be one per series or there may be more, but the physics are the same: The irresistible force meets the immovable object. Diane Chambers vs. Sam Malone (Cheers), Mike “Meathead” Stivic vs. Archie Bunker (All in the Family), Felix Ungar vs. Oscar Madison (The Odd Couple), Ray Barone vs. Debra Barone (Everybody Loves Raymond), even Lucy vs. Desi. Someone wants something, someone is an obstacle to their getting it, and if the conditions are right, meaning the two characters have strong contradictory attitudes, desires, and flaws, then sweet conflict ensues. The difference between a memorable comedy and a forgettable one is right in those conditions. (Instructor’s note: Great casting makes a difference as well, a big one. When you’ve figured out the secret of casting, please let me know.)
Diane Chambers (Shelley Long) and Sam Malone (Ted Danson), in particular, are the alpha and omega of romantic comedy. Diane, the intellectual and controlling romantic, meets Sam, the slow-to-mature, bed-hopping ex-jock. They are incompatible; what’s more, they know it; and yet, there is a sexual tension between them that they can’t resist. They are built to conflict. Even when Diane, in an early episode, “Let Me Count the Ways,” grieves over the death of her beloved cat and is finally comforted by Sam in his office, he can’t resist exploiting her vulnerability to turn the moment to sex. Sam’s attitude toward romance compels him to take advantage of the situation. Diane’s attitude compels her to question Sam’s real motives. A tender moment quickly turns awkward and funny.
Another great pairing is Liz Lemon (Tina Fey) and Jack Donaghy (Alec Baldwin) in 30 Rock, which is set behind the scenes of a fictional live sketch comedy series based loosely on Saturday Night Live. Liz, the smart but highly insecure writer, must answer to Jack, the ends-justify-the-means company man, who just oozes entitlement. Despite her outward dislike for Jack’s methods, Liz knows she has a lot to learn from him, and Jack in turn knows how to push her buttons and loves doing it. Their relationship is strictly professional but the way they spar plays like a great romantic comedy.
That dynamic is on display in a wonderful early episode called “Jack Meets Dennis.” Dennis is Liz’s sometime boyfriend, an immature lout if there ever was one. She puts up with him because her romantic expectations, like all her expectations outside of the job, are low. As Jack says to her, “Lemon, what tragedy happened in your life that you insist on punishing yourself with all this mediocrity?” Jack offers to mentor Liz, show her the finer points of life and make her into a well-rounded person. Her pride won’t let her accept, but Jack will not take no for an answer. Liz eventually realizes that Jack is right, she shouldn’t settle for mediocrity, and in a very funny scene, she agrees that Dennis must be dumped: “He’s not a sandwich I want to eat for the rest of my life.”
Alas, Dennis preys on Liz’s softer side and in the end she reports back to Jack that Dennis has moved in. Liz is not so easily changed. There is inspired madness in the halls of 30 Rock, but the stories are beautifully anchored in the battle of wills between Liz and Jack.
Here are a few more examples of hit comedy series that possess an array of comic styles and points of view but are all built on inherently conflicting relationships:
Mad About You (Jamie vs. Paul)
Frasier (Frasier vs. Martin, Frasier vs. Niles)
Two and a Half Men (the original—Charlie vs. Alan)
Roseanne (Roseanne vs. Dan)
Home Improvement (Tim vs. Jill)
The Simpsons (Homer vs. Bart)
Modern Family (Claire vs. Phil, Mitchell vs. Cameron, Jay vs. Gloria, Jay vs. Mitchell, Jay vs. Phil, etc.)
You’ll notice that most of my choices are marriage/family-based series. By its very nature, marriage is conflict-defined by the personal agenda (attitude, desire, flaw) of its two participants. Most folks back away from a tense situation before things get out of hand, but that’s much harder to do when you live in the same house. Needless to say, family is a wellspring of disagreement.
Modern Family feasts on it. The three couples have their marriage battles, but Mitchell also struggles with Jay, who has yet to fully accept his son’s sexual orientation. Phil feels less than respected by Jay, his father-in-law. Claire harbors resentment toward her stepmother, Gloria, who is Claire’s age and damn sexy to boot. All these issues on the table and we haven’t even gotten to the kids. The creators of Modern Family have a treasure trove of story lines from which to choose.
Character Is Theme
As I mentioned at the outset, I’ve had the good luck and timing to work on some great series. The one thing the various creators had in common was a firm
understanding of their characters’ motivations. On the other hand, I’ve been on series with a complete lack of same (sorry, no names), and we continually struggled with story and ultimately the direction of the series. I’ve learned, many times over, that grasp of character leads to control of theme. When a writer knows his/her protagonist, the protagonist’s worldview (attitude), what that individual most wants (desire), and what is holding him/her back from achieving it (flaw), then he knows what he is writing about.
A great series and a contemporary example of how character drives theme is on display in NBC’s The Office. (Instructor’s note: Like a lot of viewers, I’m a big fan of the British version starring Ricky Gervais and was skeptical of any knockoff, but the writer/adapter Greg Daniels won me over with his distinctly American take on the original concept.)
Michael Scott (Steve Carell), the office manager of the Scranton branch of Dunder Mifflin Paper Company, is a man with no discernible leadership skills, unless you count his desperate need to be liked. His cheery demeanor is in direct contrast to his staff, most of whom reflect the soul-sucking tedium of their work right in their expressions. There is little esprit de corps among the troops but that never stops Michael from trying to live up to the slogan on his coffee mug, “World’s Greatest Boss.” Michael, as ill-informed and dense as they come, is always proactive. No matter the problem, work-related or personal, Michael will throw himself into the fray under the guise of benevolent dictator and find a way to make matters worse.
One of my favorite episodes is “Conflict Resolution,” and it’s a great example of how The Office melds character with theme. Michael overhears an argument between coworkers Angela (Angela Kinsey) and Oscar (Oscar Nuñez) that is being mediated by Toby (Paul Lieberstein), the human resources coordinator. Michael insists on taking command and resolving the conflict himself. Imbued with his newfound mediation skills, Michael then launches into resolving all the personnel conflicts in Toby’s HR files. His meddling opens wounds all over the office, but somehow those wounds are healed despite Michael’s bungling. In the end, his good intentions indirectly save the day.
The brilliance of The Office is its subtle ability to have all the employees of Dunder Mifflin, despite their negativity, show their better nature when it counts. That theme flows through Michael.
Another series I’ve enjoyed, unfortunately short-lived but recently relaunched, is Arrested Development. The need for family is the series’ theme and it flows through Michael Bluth (Jason Bateman), a pragmatic soul who seems to be the only lucid member of his highly dysfunctional family. The Bluths are a selfish, greedy, and pretty unbearable lot, but Michael is determined to hold them together, not just for their sake, but for his son, George-Michael (Michael Cera), who has no one other than his dad. A great exchange between father and son in the pilot episode sums up the heart of the series. Michael: “What have we said is the most important thing?” George-Michael: “Breakfast!” Michael: “No…Family.” George-Michael: “Oh right! I thought you meant in the things you eat.” Michael is fighting an uphill battle in every episode.
For sheer brilliance in melding character and theme I have to refer you to All in the Family. For those of you not old enough to remember the series, it was nothing less than a cultural phenomenon. For most of the early 1970s (in that dark age before viewers could record and download), All in the Family was the very definition of appointment television. It kicked off the CBS Saturday-night lineup at eight P.M. and restaurants and movie theaters stood empty.
The pain of change was the theme at the heart of All in the Family and it was personified in the character of Archie Bunker, played by the late great Carroll O’Connor. Archie was popularly referred to as a bigot, and on the surface he certainly is, railing against African Americans, Latinos, gays, and any other group he feels is encroaching on his neighborhood, his job, and, in his words, “the good ole US of A.” Still, he’s a decent man, certainly loved by his adoring, hilariously innocent wife, Edith (Jean Stapleton).
Beneath it all, though, Archie is frightened. He is scared of change. He is losing his daughter, Gloria (Sally Struthers), who is his only child, to Mike Stivic (Rob Reiner), an angry young man who has little or no respect for Archie’s opinions. The neighborhood he grew up and raised his daughter in is changing economically and ethnically. A world he doesn’t recognize is closing in around him and down deep he’s scared and holds this new world responsible. Needless to say, America at the time was going through the same struggle with social change, and All in the Family reflected that in its theme and in Archie Bunker.
Creating Through Character
Students come to the first class meeting of my UCLA Extension Writers’ Program course with all sorts of TV ideas in every stage of development. Some have the germ of an idea, some arrive with that notion of the funny workplace, and some have sketched a rough outline of their story. A few have already completed a script and hope to prepare for a rewrite by further exploring their characters. Regardless of the concept they bring in, or the stage of development they’re at, we start from scratch and ask, “Who are your main characters and how are they built emotionally?”
So how do the students go about getting to know their characters? We start with a simple exercise. I ask for ten words that describe the main character, or protagonist. In the case of a screenplay, it would be the person we will follow on a journey of sharp emotional change as he/she is confronted with challenges and obstacles to a specific goal. For a television series, we are dealing with a more incremental open-ended journey, but the main character grows nonetheless.
Here’s an example of how this exercise works. I’ll use a character fairly well known to common television-watching culture: Dr. Frasier Crane.
Frasier is:
Caring
Proud
Witty
Intuitive
Honorable
Hedonistic
Competitive
Analytical
Sophisticated
Dedicated
Those are just ten descriptors, and given what a complex character Dr. Crane is, I’m sure anyone familiar with Frasier could come up with several more without too much trouble. Nevertheless, these ten words describe Frasier pretty concisely. He’s a dedicated, intuitive psychiatrist, a caring son and brother, a man of sophisticated tastes. He overanalyzes just about everything, but his intentions are honorable. All in all, this is a good guy.
Be aware, though, that for any character to generate story, we need contradictions. A couple of words on the list help there. Frasier is a prideful man, competitive, quick to take exception and offense. In many ways, Frasier’s pride is his flaw. And while he isn’t a hedonist in the extreme sense, Frasier is certainly a man who enjoys his pleasures, including good food, wine, and women. It wouldn’t be out of the ordinary for him, even with his sophisticated knowledge of human behavior, to be compromised over a beautiful woman.
An early episode in the series, “Call Me Irresponsible,” played on that very dilemma. Frasier advises a caller to drop his “on again–off again” girlfriend. When the girlfriend arrives at the radio station to confront Frasier, they end up hitting it off and start dating. When her ex-boyfriend calls back the show and says he’s had a change of heart and wants her back, Frasier tells him that he’s making a mistake. His brother and fellow psychiatrist, Niles, hears this exchange on the radio and lets Frasier know that he is committing a huge breach of professional ethics. Frasier refuses to acknowledge the fact; he wants this woman and he will sleep with her, no matter what.
However, he is hardwired ethically, and when the chips are down, in a very funny final scene, Frasier cannot touch this sexy woman without getting sick to his stomach. That’s generating story through the emotional makeup of a character.
Our second exercise is to generate ten words that describe the antagonist, the person(s) who functions to contrast and conflict with the protagonist through various means, including questioning the protagonist�
��s motives and blocking the protagonist’s agenda with his own. We tend to think of the antagonist as simply the villain, but in any story, there has to be someone serving as devil’s advocate.
Let’s use Frasier’s father, Martin Crane, as an example. The creators of Frasier (David Angell, David Lee, and Peter Casey) wisely built the series on the cornerstone of the Frasier/Martin relationship. The parent and child have little but family ties in common, and yet the son has to suck it up and take care of the father who is no longer able to live independently. In fact, the title of the pilot episode is “The Good Son,” so the show’s primary relationship and theme are made clear right from the outset.
Martin Crane is:
Proud
Sentimental
Loyal
Pragmatic
Unpretentious
Sports junkie
Old-fashioned
Fair-minded
Taciturn
Blunt
It’s easy to see that Martin is built to contrast with Frasier and Niles. The sons are both psychiatrists, trained to scrutinize every bit of human behavior. Martin is a cop, trained to survey a situation and act quickly and decisively. He has little tolerance for his sons’ approach to life, let alone their highbrow interests. Nevertheless, Martin’s a bit of a contradiction in his own right. He’s certainly a no-nonsense fellow with blue-collar sensibilities, but he has a sentimental attachment to friends and family, which he does his best to conceal. His pragmatism, though, provides him with a wisdom that his highly educated sons don’t often display.
Frasier and Martin are the yin and yang of the series down to Martin’s beat-up recliner, which clashes with Frasier’s designer furnishings. Their struggle to connect created a story dynamic that evolved throughout Frasier’s eleven seasons. In “Breaking the Ice,” an episode that deftly combines humor and heart, Frasier and Niles go ice-fishing with Martin, each hoping to get closer to their dad. Frasier, stuck in a fishing shack on a frozen lake, has never been more out of his element, asking at one point, “Couldn’t we just see a performance of The Iceman Cometh?”
