NG: What about Holby Blue because that was a show that was generated from an existing franchise?
TJ: That was really interesting for me. A lot of people were surprised that I did something like Holby Blue because I’d never written Holby or Casualty. I haven’t got anything against them; I just never had a feeling that it was my kind of thing. I liked the fact that people are surprised with everything I’ve done. People in the media love you to be something. They love you to be a really serious drama writer or a lighter drama writer. They love you to be a comedy writer or a drama writer or a movie writer or a sitcom writer. I think I want to be all those things. I just think if you write, write. I get a kick out of the fact I’ve written Moving Wallpaper and The Nativity. That makes me laugh. So the fact that people were asking why was I doing Holby made me want to do it all the more. I thought: ‘Wow, this is really cool.’ I created Holby Blue, created characters and just did what I do really. I loved Holby Blue; I thought it was a great show. I formed my production company to make Holby Blue. I was looking for the right project to produce. So making that step into production with Holby Blue seemed a really good idea.
NG: Why did Holby Blue come to an end?
TJ: It would still be going now but what happened was we had a change of BBC1 controller. Whereas the controller who had ordered it thought it was great that there were all these linked series; the new controller who came in thought there shouldn’t be so many of these shows, particularly linked together in that way. Neither of those two controllers was right and neither of those controllers was wrong; it’s just the way the world is.
NG: When Hustle first hit the screens it was so different not just in writing but in the way it looked. Was that all down to you?
TJ: Yes, I think so. Hustle looked so beautiful, so classy, had such high production values with sexy, cool London, because of the director Bharat Nalluri and executive producer Jane Featherstone and Kudos, the company that made it. The other stuff: the freeze frames and the trickery things and the talking to camera and all that stuff were things that I did because they were solutions to problems I had when I was writing the script. I’d read about 30 books on cons and I knew all this information about how cons worked, about the sequence of events and why you did things in a certain way but the audience didn’t. I found characters were having huge chunks of dialogue – exposition – explaining what was going on. I thought: ‘This is terrible but I need to get this information across. I need to find another way of doing it.’ So basically I created all those things to stop it being naff. Instead of one character saying to another ‘You can’t cheat an honest man. You look for someone who wants something for nothing.’ If I wrote that, it would have been naff if one character said it to another. Why would they have that conversation? Don’t they know that? They’re both conmen but I want the audience to know that. So I thought I’ll get one of my characters to tell the audience. I wrote the freeze frame and all the characters came to the front and sat on the desk and did their little speech and then went back to live action and I developed things from there. That’s why my characters talk to camera; that’s why we did the freeze frame things. So all those things were solutions to problems I had writing the script.
NG: Did you see it as a big risk when no one else was doing it?
TJ: None of these things are risks. There’s no such thing as risk in television. It is only a risk if you know what will be a hit. If you look over the edge of a ravine and there is an eight-foot gap, you know if you fall down that ravine you will be smashed to smithereens. You will be dead. Therefore, jumping that gap is a risk because you understand the nature of the problem. The thing with television is I don’t know what the risk is because I don’t know what will happen. I don’t know what works, I don’t know what doesn’t. Instinctively, within an episode I might know what works and what doesn’t and what’s funny and what isn’t, but I might be wrong about that as well. As to whether an audience will love the idea of a series or the way it’s shot – I don’t know. I don’t know of any manual that says this is how to make a guaranteed hit series.
NG: Broadcasters have a perception of risk because they provide the money?
TJ: They have that for very good particular reasons. That’s their agenda and it has nothing to do with creativity. I deal in the creative world. The BBC has an agenda. The agenda is that they have to be careful about what they put on screen and what criticism that may attract and for what reason. They have to be seen to be spending the money on things which are for the public good. The reason they have that agenda is because of the licence fee; they’re a public service. So they are absolutely right to have that. I can’t have those things. I’m not a public service. I’m trying to tell the best story that I can tell. So sometimes when we’re in meetings there is a conflict between those two different things.
I’ve just been talking to the BBC about the best script I’ve ever written, which is about a guy who sells his soul to the devil; I think it is best thing I’ve written and they’ve just turned it down. They turned it down because they said they don’t think they can show this on the BBC. And do you know what? I agree with them. I think they are probably right but that’s fine, that’s cool. I’m not going to change the script. ITV have got an agenda because they have got their advertisers and they want bums on seats because bums on seats equals revenue, which means the channel can stay alive and everyone gets paid at the end of the week. I get that. So if I dream up something that is a bit off the wall, a bit strange or a bit weird, something that three men and a dog are going to want to see, they may turn it down. But that is their agenda. Until I have got my own channel I don’t have to worry about that stuff; I just have to get a story and then find the right home for it. Sometimes the right home is in my bottom drawer because it will never be made in the way I think it should be made.
NG: You did eight successful seasons of Hustle. Why did it end?
TJ: I think it was fuelled by me saying ‘I’ve think I’ve done my Hustle.’ It was tougher and tougher for me to do and also the biggest thing was that I was aware that I wasn’t going to hold on to my cast. They were all out of contract after Series 7. We said we wanted to do one more. We got them all back but you’re not going to hold on to Adrian Lester, Robert Glenister and Robert Vaughn. That’s never going to happen, so you’re never going to have that. So as we were talking about Series 8 I knew we had a choice: we could either lose a couple but I’d have to replace Adrian with someone else and Robert Glenister, who, for me, has always been the rock around which everything else is built. It’s not going to be Hustle anymore. Or I thought should we just go out in a blaze of glory with Robert Vaughan as Albert Stroller. So that was it really. Jane Featherstone, who I started Hustle with, agreed and so we said Series 8 would be the last.
NG: Is it still generally the case you get more noes than yeses?
TJ: Oh yes, completely. You look at all the drama slots and you look at all the drama writers from all over the world; basically, they are all vying for those slots. There will be a lot of noes. I’ve taken enough projects to the broadcasters that would fill all the slots. They’ve got to say no to someone. You hope the best ones get picked up and they turn down the worst ones.
NG: You are philosophical about the fate of your scripts then?
TJ: What am I going to do about it? I don’t live in a world where I’ve got people queuing up outside Red Planet waiting to shoot every word that I write. I do what everyone else does. I get an idea, I pitch it. Sometimes it gets picked up; sometimes it’s bought and sometimes it’s not.
NG: How did the Red Planet Prize come about?
TJ: I was talking to a writer called Danny Stack. We were having a coffee and we were talking about Red Planet and he said I should do a writing competition and I thought yes I should. I dislike writers who get a break and pull the ladder up and shut the door behind them. There are a lot of those about and I just think it’s a shame. Drama in this country is written by the same 1
2 old farts – and I include myself in that – you’ve got to have new blood coming through. You need the next generation of writers, so that was the idea really. The Red Planet Prize is to find the next generation of writers.
NG: You are one of the few indies who accept unsolicited material. You must be inundated?
TJ: I get told off all the time by my people in Red Planet because it puts so much pressure on to the company to deal with it. Sometimes it backfires because you can’t read it as quickly as we want to read it and people get pissed off. You think: ‘What’s worse? Saying no we don’t want to read it or saying yes we will try and read it and then taking six months?’ We do the best we can. We try and make it manageable by asking for the first ten pages. It is easier to read the first ten pages than read a whole script, so we can get through more. I know whether you can write within ten pages. I mean some bigger companies would struggle to get through what we do but it’s an ideological thing with us. We’re a creative company. We love writers. We love making good telly. We don’t get involved in politics. We don’t play games. We don’t do people down. We don’t nick people’s ideas. We don’t do any of that; we just do the best that we can do.
NG: With Death in Paradise do you think that would have been made if you weren’t attached to it?
TJ: No. No, because I was a goalkeeper. Red Planet was able to say to the BBC, if it all goes wrong and if Robert can’t do this and if the scripts don’t work, don’t worry, I will step in and fix them. They needed that reassurance but Robert was fine – he wrote the scripts and got a second series. It’s on the front: created and written by Robert Thorogood. It doesn’t say created and written by Robert Thorogood and Tony Jordan. It is his show; he’s written the scripts. I’m at the end – it’s my company and I’m executive producer.
NG: So do you think new writers need someone like you?
TJ: I think it helps. It’s tough. I am helping with the mentoring scheme and we do the competition. I’m trying to help. You get other writers who get given their break on named writers’ shows knowing they are going to be rewritten. That’s a given. Whatever you write, it can be absolutely genius, but the deal is it gets overwritten by our star writer. I think that’s disrespectful – it’s dishonest, it’s wrong. I don’t mind rewriting other writers because sometimes you need to. Either they can’t do it or they drop out or they’re on the verge of a nervous breakdown and you’re shooting in two days: they are not going to get there and need some help. But to say you just do my first draft and then I come in, swish my cape to one side and give it a little flourish of pixie dust because I’m a genius. Well, you know what, piss off! Why don’t you do the blank page bit? You do the work!
NG: Do you get broadcasters phoning you up and saying ‘Tony, we’re looking for a new cop series or vet series – have you got anything?’? Does that work for you?
TJ: Briefs aren’t my thing, I hate those briefs. I don’t go to the broadcasters’ briefs. I don’t know how that works really. I much rather have a good idea then go find a channel for it. That’s the best way round, I think.
NG: How do you get people interested?
TJ: First of all you need to understand why it’s tough and I understand it completely. If a broadcaster is investing £5 million in you to make a series, they kind of want a safe pair of hands. That’s all it is. It’s not a bad thing. I understand that, I get it. I also understand that if they commission a series from Jimmy McGovern and it bombs that executive can say: ‘How was I to know? It’s Jimmy McGovern.’ Whereas he orders a new series from John Doe or John Smith who no one has ever heard of and it bombs people will say to the executive: ‘Why the hell did you commission that from him? Why didn’t you get Jimmy McGovern?’ It’s not a conspiracy. It is just people watching their arses like they do in every industry, so it is not necessarily a bad thing.
NG: What about agents?
TJ: All I can say to you is that writers generally think they need an agent. My agent has never helped me write the words. The job needs an agent but you need an agent to get a job. You don’t need an agent not to get a job. I know some people won’t read your submission unless it comes from an agent. They’re not going to read it anyway. Basically, what you need to do is write. The clue is in the title. You’re a writer – just write. Write what you want to write with your voice. Write what makes you laugh, write what makes you scared, write what makes you cry and write your stuff. Do your voice, keep writing and write spec scripts. Still now, I write spec scripts. I can phone somebody up. I know some people will say yes; of course they will. I write spec scripts because I have freedom. I have no master because I write the scripts I want to write. You should be at home in your underpants growing a beard writing scripts, end of story. If you do that and you write scripts and keep writing and write with passion and your voice, I believe talent will out. I believe you will get there. I also think that’s the only way to do it really.
NG: What advice you can give to writers on the business of writing?
TJ: As a general rule, try and hit your deadlines if you can. More importantly, try and believe in what you’re sending in and not another piece of crap and hoping it’ll be all right. Be nice to everybody, that’s the most important thing. The number of writers who are rude to the script editor – I can’t believe how stupid they are! The script editor they scream at as being incompetent and who has no right to be in the same room as they are because they’re a genius might be controller of BBC1 one day.
12
Writer’s block
In this chapter you will learn:
• how you can overcome writer’s block.
Writer’s block is the situation where you, the writer, have come to a halt because you can’t think of anything to put down on the page. Here are some suggestions on how to deal with writer’s block:
Always stop writing when you still have something left to write but you know what is going to happen – your own writer’s cliffhanger, if you like. This will mean that, when you sit down for your next writing session, you can go straight into the writing and have had the benefit of thinking about the next phase.
Do something else. Play music, watch TV, read a book, play with the kids, go for a run – anything that relaxes you.
Go somewhere else. A change of scenery can work wonders. Some writers go to public places like coffee shops or the local park or the pub.
Write out of sequence. If you don’t know what happens next, write another scene that takes place later in the story. Look at your plan, if you’ve made one, and see where you can go.
Re-read the script. Writer’s block can sometimes occur because there is a problem earlier in the script.
It is worth noting that writers tend not to get writer’s block when a deadline is looming. They always find a way of getting something down on the page when there’s a limited time available to them.
Key advice
If you get writer’s block, don’t panic! It’s usually just a blip.
Take a break, do something else, go somewhere else.
13
The outline
In this chapter you will learn:
• how you can use an outline to clarify your ideas
• how, by successively honing down your outline, you can produce an effective synopsis, pitch and logline.
Once you’ve created the premise, characters, world and plots, and before you sit down to write the script proper, take your idea and write out the story in outline form, almost as if it’s a short story. Follow the procedure below:
1 In the first instance splurge it all out, so everything is on paper in note form. Look at your notes, then rearrange them into a cohesive narrative order.
2 From those notes write your story in prose form, putting in as much detail as possible including the major plot points and act breaks. Using the four- or five-act structure, break down the prose into mini-chapters and cover all of the storylines. Split the prose into the constituent storylines to ensure t
hat each makes sense as a stand-alone story. Write everything in the present tense and include any important pieces of dialogue.
3 Rewrite this synopsis as many times as you need to until everything makes sense, but limit yourself to no more than 20 pages.
4 Rewrite the story as before but now only in ten pages.
5 Rewrite the story as before but now only in five pages.
6 Rewrite the story as before but now on a single page.
7 Rewrite the story into a single paragraph (this is your pitch!)
8 Rewrite the story into a single sentence – this should match or create a better version of your logline.
This exercise thus provides you with:
a story document to which you can refer when writing the actual script
a brief, single-page synopsis
a pitch that you may want to include in your covering letter to a production company
a solid logline.
Armed with these documents, you can now write the actual script. But remember, you have to finish the script however long it takes. The first draft doesn’t have to be right; it just has to be finished.
Key advice
Don’t start writing your script straight away – write an outline to help you ease yourself into the project and to get to its dramatic and emotional heart
When you start writing the actual script, don’t get too hung up on perfection. This is your first draft and the aim, at this stage, is just to get to the end!
14
Rewriting
In this chapter you will learn:
• the importance of re-reading your script, looking at a different focus each time
• how to rewrite your script
• how to respond to feedback notes.
Look at your script from every angle
Writing Television Drama Page 11
