NG: What was your experience of The Royal and Holby Blue? Although both were new series they were spin-offs and were very different in tone. How do you ‘tune in’ to a show’s tone?
MP: Ken Horn, who was my producer on The Street, went on to do The Royal, which had been running for a while (The Royal Today was the new one) and called me up and asked would I like to write for the show. It had a great charm to it and reminded me of High Road and it was great to be working with Ken again so I said yes. The thing I found was it was quite gentle and not all action-packed so I had to calm down and remember my High Road days, but it went really well and I did two episodes, but then like The Bill it sadly went off the air. I’d always admired Tony Jordan as one of the greats like Jimmy, and I got in touch with him the night before my episode of The Street went out, saying how much I wanted to work with him and I told him when the episode was on. Days later I got an email from him saying he loved the episode and was putting a cop show together and asked would I be interested. It was great to be part of Holby Blue and working with writers like Jeff Povey, Sarah Phelps, James Payne, Richard Davidson, all names I had seen on screen, whose work I had admired and here I was now part of the same team. Working with Tony showed me just how much fun working in TV could be. He then asked me to write on Echo Beach, which was also a lot of fun. And you get paid too!
NG: From a writing point of view what was the experience of writing for Doctors? Why did you choose to do it? What was the writing process from pitch to screen?
MP: I’ve always liked the idea of a Play for Today type story and thought Doctors would be a great platform to tell some of these stories I had in mind. I also really like being part of a team on a long-running series and I was missing that after River City. The surprise for me was after working on The Street, Holby Blue, Waterloo Road and the soaps that I assumed they would take me on straight away, but I was asked to do a trial. I think part of this is to gauge your knowledge and commitment to the show. I did it, it went well and I then started pitching stories. The editor liked the story I did for the trial script, so when they found an episode that it would fit they commissioned me. It was an enjoyable process and the episode was well received. Again, the minute it went out I had emails from friends who had saw it before I had and said how touching it was. The editor said the people at Doctors were watching it in the office and there wasn’t a dry eye, so that’s nice to know you’ve moved someone. It was quite a poignant story about an old woman with Alzheimer’s who is put into a care home and ‘sprung’ by her old friend who has been secretly in love with her for years. The friend was played by the fantastic Brian Cant, who has Parkinson’s and who is still acting. He stole the show. It was a brilliant piece of casting and really added to the poignancy. It’s the only episode I’ve done but I still pitch them stories.
NG: Would it be fair to say you are a writer that prefers to tell self-contained stories, which is why you thrive on shows like The Street and Moving On? Is it also why you now have had success in feature film projects?
MP: I like both actually. The opportunities are limited for the single stories. I pitched shows after I did The Street that were six self-contained stories like a Play for Today but all on a common theme or in a similar world, but serial drama is still the safe bet and I don’t think The Street has changed that, which is a shame. The Accused fits well into that niche and it’s what Jimmy is great at, so when they do come along it always makes great TV. Moving On is another great example of that and they do a fantastic job on a daytime budget and attract a great cast. I do like to write films, too, and am usually working on treatments for some project or other and there are people chasing the money to get me to write them. I did Act of Grace for the love of it, but that way of working is risky, as it’s time-consuming and doesn’t pay the mortgage, so I can say I’ve done my low-budget feature now, a bit like my graduation film. Even though we are all proud of Act of Grace, I’ve got the wisdom to pass up a project now if it looks like it’ll be done on a wing and a prayer and a million favours from people with no guarantee of ever getting paid. It doesn’t put me off features, though, as I’ve got another couple in the pipeline that are looking like they might fly, so here’s hoping.
NG: You are well-established television writer but it seems it still remains difficult to get your own authored series?
MP: I often feel with broadcasters it’s like that cheese shop sketch by Monty Python. A guy goes into a cheese shop and asks for some cheese, but the shopkeeper comes up with every excuse under the sun not to sell him any. It’s easy to take it personally, and there’s nothing more I’d love than to get my own series, so I keep on pitching. I don’t let it get me down. You’ve just got to keep the faith that the right idea will happen at the right time with the right people involved.
NG: What kind of writer do you think you’re perceived as? Has that helped or hindered you?
MP: I have been labelled the kind of writer who does the gritty stuff well, but also someone who is quite prolific. I suppose like an actor you have to have a bit of a range to get noticed. I’m currently writing a hard-hitting prison drama and loving every minute of it, but I equally love writing comedy or something poignant that will tug at the heartstrings. The Royal was quite gentle, so was High Road. Doctors was poignant. Moving On was also a moving piece. I was also asked to adapt a novel which is a mother’s story about her ability to cope with her disabled baby and how this new addition affects the whole family. The producer saw my past work and knew I would do the story justice so I got hired and got to work with the amazing Paula Milne as script executive and it’s a script I’m very proud of. I might not have got that if I hadn’t done The Street and written a moving family story. In the past I’ve had someone say ‘Oh, well you’re a comedy writer, aren’t you?’ and it’s annoying that people still make those assumptions based on one piece of work.
I have had it almost hinder me with a short film I did called Instant Credit. It was a comedy I did years ago. A few years later I got recommended for a comedy feature. The producer took one look at the short film and the soaps that littered my CV and instantly formed an opinion, saying this is totally different from what I’ve done in the past and if this is how I write comedy then I’m not suitable, or words to that effect. Instant Credit was one type of comedy with some bad language in it; the feature was another with no bad language in it. I then had to fight my case and give them quotes from people I’d worked with and the stuff I’d done that countered that argument. I got a crack at it and wrote the opening of the film, as I saw it. I got the gig through the writing and am now working with the same producer on something of theirs they think I am suitable for, now that they know me. The strange thing is that the subject matter is so far removed from anything I have done before, if they’d formed the same opinion of me for this without first knowing me or my range, I wouldn’t be doing this with them.
NG: What is your typical writing day?
MP: I’m quite disciplined. You have to be. I can’t spend a day messing about. If I don’t write something or do meetings that move a project on, I feel like I’m skiving and I don’t like that and will do double the following day to make up for it. A bit like flaying myself! I’m quite hard on myself that way and am always trying to find the right balance. On a typical day I start about nine-ish and work till the kids come in from school. I work from home mainly, so it has its good and its bad points. I like quiet when I work. If I’m on a deadline, I’ll work on, sometimes till late until I’ve made headway. Of course I do still work on shows who are ‘masters of the weekend rewrite’ who will wait all week to give you notes, send them to you on a Friday and need the next draft on their desk Monday morning. It’s quite common, and strangely enough becoming increasingly popular on a lot of shows! It just goes with the job.
NG: What is the best thing about being a scriptwriter?
MP: Seeing your work on screen and that feeling of accomplishment of having your work go out to 9 million peopl
e and having people remember what you’ve done, like The Street for example. It’s great when you’ve done something that isn’t mediocre but sticks in people’s minds. You know you’re doing something right then.
NG: What is the worst thing?
MP: The weekend rewrite or thinking you will be free of a project and because of one reason or another it doesn’t go as planned and you end up having to write it on your family holiday. The amount of insane people who work in TV who quite clearly shouldn’t be there but have a say over your work.
NG: What advice would you give up new writers?
MP: Don’t look for loyalty. Be persistent. Take on board constructive criticism. Learn early on how to spot the timewasters and incompetents from the people who know what they are doing. Remain gracious and try at all times to resist the urge to leap across the table and punch someone! More importantly, have something you can fall back on, because there will be times when you will need it.
10
Storytelling techniques
In this chapter you will learn:
• how to keep the dramatic tension high throughout a TV drama
• how to use plot twists to keep the audience interested
• how to tackle the tricky issue of exposition.
Plot is: The King died and then the Queen died.
Story is: The King died and then the Queen died of a broken heart.
Dramatic tension
Dramatic tension is the embers that keep the flame of any drama smouldering, threatening to erupt into a blazing fire at any moment. It is the heart of the drama where conflict is unresolved. You will need to establish what the unresolved conflict is and create the best scenarios where that conflict turns from an ember into a flame. Inevitably, that dramatic tension as it becomes ever unbearably hotter has to ignite and the flame turns into an inferno.
This conflict has to have the potential to be divisive and painful if brought out into the open. You, as the writer, need to make the audience aware of the emotional turmoil your characters are experiencing over this conflict by conveying this through their actions and non-actions (how they avoid the issue). There has to be a reason why this conflict can’t explode into the open. There has to be some straitjacket that prevents the characters from confronting the issue head on.
Take the example of the wife and the adulterous husband. What keeps that situation from being confronted? It may be that they have a young family and there is a conflict between a need to confront the truth and the need to protect the young children who love both parents. It may be because of the constraints of the social setting – a funeral, for example – where it would be inappropriate to ‘make a row’.
Each scene or sequence needs to fan the flames of the secret your character or characters are keeping. The fan can evolve into a bellows that supplies so much oxygen to the flames that eventually the fire is no longer containable and the inferno is inevitable. Once that particular conflict has reached its climax, there are the inevitable consequences and another source of tension will arise.
The worst thing that can happen in drama is forgiveness. Forgiveness is like throwing water onto the embers. Unless, of course, that forgiveness is not heartfelt or provokes another source of dramatic tension, it should not be seen until the very end of the drama.
Everything happens for a reason
Everything you write in a script must be there for a reason – either to move the narrative along and/or to reveal something about character. It need not be explained in the moment but it should be explained in retrospect at the drama’s end. If the story you’re telling and the characters you’ve created are engaging, the audience will accept a degree of confusion. In some ways you are teasing the audience by saying: ‘I’m not going to tell you the why or how now, but when I do you will appreciate it.’ Defer the audience’s gratification as much as you can about a character or storyline and reward them with a sensational reveal when the time is right.
‘Mystery is the catalyst for imagination.’
J.J. Abrams
Plot twists
Audiences hate being cheated when some totally unexpected and unexplained event occurs to resolve a drama. You should be able to work backwards and figure out all the clever twists the writer has created and the unpredictable turn they have taken us on and it should all make sense.
There is a term in drama called ‘signposting’ which refers to when the audience knows exactly where something is going and is not surprised either how or when they get there. This is a disappointing experience for the viewer. The writer has to know how to surprise and utilize their craft effectively to create what are known as plot twists.
Plots twists, however, shouldn’t come out of the blue, but need to be prepared for. Something seemingly innocuous said or shown earlier in the plot turns out to be incredibly important and affects the outcome of the story in a major way. It could be anything: a piece of information about something or someone, a prop, an idea, a character’s talent. It is something that can be slipped into a conversation or displayed visually early on in the script, but its significance need not be apparent until later in the scene, the act or episode or series arc.
In Marc Pye’s brilliant script ‘The Flasher’ for the RTS/BAFTA/Emmy-winning drama series The Street, created by Jimmy McGovern, the writer seeds the resolution of his story in the inciting incident. His script tells the heartfelt story of an innocent man, Brian Peterson, who is wrongfully accused of flashing when he urinates in the bushes in a public park (see Industry interview 4).
The excerpt in Figure 10.1 is Scene 8 of the shooting script (pages 5–6) and the Inciting Incident of the drama. Buried within the scene is the resolution.
The second excerpt (Figure 10.2) is Scene 60 (pages 61–62) of the script and provides the resolution just as Brian is leaving the street.
In the first excerpt the focus is on Brian and his reaction to being confronted by Carly. This is followed by Carly’s reaction and that of her father, Frannie. Brian makes a choice which makes him look like a guilty man. The Frisbee, the reason Carly was there, is overlooked but is key to the resolution. It’s something innocuous but is the seed that blooms into importance at the end.
The skill is to slip the key things into the script almost unnoticed until their presence needs to be highlighted.
Figure 10.1 ‘The Flasher’, Scene 8, episode of The Street © ITV Granada
Figure 10.2 ‘The Flasher’, Scene 60, episode of The Street © ITV Granada
Dramatic devices
Here are a few other dramatic devices associated with the plot twist:
Plant A plant is a line of dialogue, a character’s mannerism or a prop. It appears early and reappears periodically. It usually pays off at the climax or resolution.
Foreshadowing This is action in the present that intimates future developments.
Reversal This is a plot twist that runs counter to expectation, typically leaving the protagonist worse off than before.
Exposition
Exposition is information that the audience needs to know. It is the biggest bane of scriptwriters everywhere because that information must be conveyed in an accessible way without boring the audience.
Police dramas often have great swathes of exposition to deposit on the audience. Lisa Holdsworth, a writer on New Tricks, speaks about writing everything out and then cutting the dialogue back to its bare minimum and let the actors plough through it. Alternatively, her preferred method is to have the characters engage in banter while incidentally revealing important nuggets of information (see Industry interview 3).
In David Shore’s excellent medical drama series House, there was a lot of medical jargon in the show but the scriptwriters utilized the differing attitudes of the characters coupled with House’s own manipulations to make the necessary exposition more palatable for the audience. In this scene from an episode entitled ‘The Socrates Method’ (Figure 10.3), writer John Mankiewicz adds the extra dimension of the time of nig
ht.
Exposition can often be something that the characters already know and so it would be unnatural for them to discuss it. Some shows introduce a newbie character so stuff can be explained to both the new character and the audience at the same time.
Figure 10.3 ‘The Socrates Method’, episode of House © Universal Television
Writing convincing exposition is often problematic but the best writers find inventive solutions. Tony Jordan, creator of Hustle, researched the world of the conman and knew the audience needed to know information that the characters would never discuss among themselves including the observation that ‘You can’t cheat an honest man. You look for someone who wants something for nothing.’ Jordan’s solution to this script problem was creative and had a profound effect on the show’s look. Read his solution in Figure 10.4.
Other exposition can be portrayed visually without a word being spoken. Family photographs displayed on a mantelpiece or a newspaper headline or a half-seen document may be used to convey key information, for example.
Avoid long speeches – utilize banter or have something else going on that can lead to physical or verbal interjections.
Writing Television Drama Page 9
