by Neil Landau
Structural Formats
Each show fits into a particular format that allows it to be easily identified. Dramas are generally classified as either procedurals or serials. Procedurals, such as Law & Order, CSI, The Mentalist, and House, M.D., deal with a new case each week. At the end of the episode, the cops will catch the bad guy, the lawyers will win their case (or not), or the doctors will save their patient (or not). Even though procedurals are much more plot-driven, sometimes they break format and deal with more personal stories. In the season 6 finale of Law & Order titled “Aftershock,” the entire episode showed how the cops and lawyers spent a personal day after witnessing an execution, a big departure from the follow-the-string, investigatory backbone of the series.
Serials contain more complex storylines that span multiple episodes or even seasons. Most serials use a direct pickup (or DPU) in which each new episode starts exactly where the previous episode ended (examples: Weeds, House of Cards, and the latter part of season 2 of Scandal).
Other serials, such as Breaking Bad, Mad Men, and Homeland, are looser and begin new episodes in what might be the next day or week or month. Mad Men jumped ahead a year between seasons. Season 5 of Desperate Housewives made a quantum leap five years after the previous season and used flashbacks to bring the audience up to speed.
In the first season of The Wire, the cops’ mission is to arrest drug kingpin Avon Barksdale (Wood Harris), but they don’t even know what he looks like! It’s not until the third episode that the police are able to locate an old photo of him. In a procedural where plots move much quicker, Avon would have likely been captured in one or two episodes.
Comedies are generally classified as either multi-camera or single-camera sitcoms. Multi-cam sitcoms, the more traditional format, are filmed (but usually videotaped) with four cameras running simultaneously on a stage in front of a studio audience, for example, The Big Bang Theory, 2 Broke Girls, Friends, and Two and a Half Men. (I Love Lucy was one of the pioneers of this format, with Desi and Lucy shooting each episode in chronological order for a live, in-studio audience to enjoy each episode like theater.) Many classic sitcoms (Taxi, Cheers, Happy Days) were shot on 35 mm film for a rich, movie look, but that’s a rarity in 2013 due to efficiency and expense.
Single-cam sitcoms such as The Office, Modern Family, and 30 Rock, employ one camera and tend to shoot more characters, scenes, and locations. Single-cam shows are more prevalent today.
To wrap your brain around the difference between multi-camera and single camera sitcoms, here’s an example I like to use.
On a multi-camera sitcom, we’re generally inside one of two or three main locations: the hangout/workplace, the apartment/house, and one “swing set” (optional interior location) depending on the story. If a character on a multi-camera gets mugged in the park, he will rush into a room out of breath, very distraught with ripped clothing, and explain to whoever’s present what just happened.
On a single-camera sitcom or dramedy, we would probably get to go outside to the park and see the mugging take place, along with the chase, and maybe even the race back to the apartment where he would then recount the story but with far less detail because we would have already seen it—unless it’s revisionist history for comedic effect.
Multi-camera sitcoms are more contained and primarily shot indoors on the same sets week after week. We come to view these places as familiar and iconic. The bar in Cheers was our bar, too. In fact, for the first two seasons of Cheers, we never left the bar. We went into the backroom, Sam Malone’s (Ted Danson) office, and maybe a bathroom or alcove. There were stairs leading up to a restaurant above the bar, but we didn’t actually go there for many seasons.
Single-camera comedies and dramedies (Modern Family, Louie, Parks & Recreation, Weeds, Girls) take us everywhere: inside, outside, up in the air, in the ocean—wherever the story needs to go, we get to go there as well. Animated comedy series (The Simpsons, Archer, Family Guy) can take us anywhere the writers can imagine without limitation; if it can be drawn, it can be done. There is also the hybrid sitcom, which blends multi-cam and single-cam characteristics, such as How I Met Your Mother.
The ABCs of Episodic Structure
The A Story
Primarily services the central concept of the series—known as the franchise. This dominant plotline concerns the principal character(s) and contains the most scenes (or “beats”) within the episode. The franchise also serves as the signature—or “sweet spot”—of the series, and offers the most possible evolving plotlines (known as story engines) from episode to episode.
In The Mentalist, the A story revolves around Patrick Jane (Simon Baker) using his exceptional powers of perception and persuasion to help the California Bureau of Investigation solve a case.
In Dexter, the franchise usually deals with vigilante serial killer Dexter Morgan (Michael C. Hall) hunting a vile criminal who eluded justice.
In the sitcom Arrested Development, the A story typically consisted of Michael Bluth (Jason Bateman) attempting to keep his eccentric family afloat after his father plunges the family into financial ruin by committing fraud.
The B Story
If the A story services the case and higher external stakes, the B story is usually a personal story, with more internalized, emotional stakes. The B story serves to make the main character relatable and vulnerable.
In Castle, Richard Castle (Nathan Fillion) is a multi-millionaire playboy crime novelist who shadows NYPD detectives to get research for his next book. These A stories involve mystery, suspense, and danger. However, he’s also a devoted family man, providing for his mother and teenage daughter who both live with him. The B story concerns Castle’s interactions with them.
In Sons of Anarchy, Jax Teller (Charlie Hunnam) is one of the leaders of the felonious Sons of Anarchy motorcycle club. While the franchise deals with club business (murder, trafficking, etc.), the B story follows Jax’s relationship with his girlfriend/wife Tara (Maggie Siff) and his two young sons.
Runners. Shows may also contain less significant C and even D storylines called runners. They might consist of a semi-trivial conflict that’s secondary to the franchise, a personal story involving the supporting characters, or a running gag. In a recent episode of Mad Men, Peggy Olsen’s (Elisabeth Moss) apartment is invaded by a big rat. She struggles throughout the episode to get rid of it. But when the pesky rodent gets caught in a trap and leaves a bloody trail, Peggy desperately calls coworker Stan (Jay R. Ferguson) in the middle of the night for help—even offering him sexual favors in return, but Stan is in bed with another woman and declines. By the end of the episode, the rat problem is solved when Peggy gets a cat. Actually, we don’t see her acquire the cat; it’s just sitting beside a much calmer Peggy on the sofa at the end of the episode—a good example of elliptical storytelling (telling the story “in the cut”). Other Mad Men runners include Don and Betty’s daughter Sally’s (Kiernan Shipka) crush on a teenaged neighbor boy; Don’s new actress wife Megan’s (Jessica Paré) blossoming soap opera career; Pete’s (Vincent Kartheiser) brazenly senile mother. And what about mysterious new colleague Bob Benson (James Wolk)—who may or may not have a crush on Pete—or is he just a passive-aggressive opportunist?
Serials often have several runners because there are more characters to service. In the pilot for The Sopranos, Tony (James Gandolfini) passes out from a panic attack during a backyard barbecue, and soon thereafter begins therapy with his psychiatrist, Dr. Jennifer Melfi(Lorraine Braco). Meanwhile, Tony’s wife Carmela (Edie Falco) and their daughter Meadow (Jamie-Lynn Sigler) grow further apart; Tony tours an assisted living community with his overbearing mother, Livia (Nancy Marchand); and Tony has a tryst with his mistress. On The Sopranos, the A story is usually a mafia crime story that begins and ends with Tony; the B story is usually a personal domestic Sopranos story; and the C and D runners might involve Tony’s nephew Christopher Moltisanti (Michael Imperioli), or sister Janice (Aida Turturro), or Uncle Junior (Dominic Chia
nese) or a more personal story about one of his other relatives.
In a subsequent episode, Dr. Melfi’s personal life becomes more prominent as she starts seeing her own therapist. In a powerful memorable story arc, Dr. Melfiis raped in a parking garage, and even though she would like nothing more than to tell her client, Tony, about her ordeal so he could hunt down the rapist and exact revenge, she maintains her professional distance and keeps her secret. This is also a good example of how the path of characters from different spheres can intersect in surprising or even shocking ways—which leads us to…
Crossover. A, B, and C stories are clearly delineated, but sometimes they intersect. In the two-part season 5 finale of CSI (co-written and directed by Quentin Tarantino), the “case of the week” becomes personal when Nick (George Eads), one of the crime scene investigators, gets kidnapped and buried alive. In The X-Files, sometimes the paranormal “case of the week” deals directly with Fox Mulder (David Duchovny) and his personal journey to find out what happened to his sister whom he believes was abducted by aliens. In The Mentalist, some of the cases lead Patrick one step closer to finding “Red John,” the notorious serial killer who murdered his wife and daughter years earlier.
Sometimes B stories or runners become bigger stories. In Burn Notice, Michael Westen (Jeffrey Donovan) is a former CIA agent who was framed as a rogue spy. The franchise deals with Michael and his friends (an ex-Navy SEAL and a former IRA member) utilizing their training to help people get out of dangerous situations. The B story tracks Michael’s quest to find out who framed him and why. However, there are a few episodes which deal primarily with the overarching mystery of who “burned” Michael.
In Terriers, private investigator Hank Dolworth (Donal Logue) tells his partner Britt (Michael Raymond-James) that he thinks he’s losing his mind because sometimes things are randomly out of place in his house. It’s a runner that begins as passing dialogue, but then escalates when the audience learns someone is sneaking around his house at night. The runner grows again when the mysterious person is revealed to be Hank’s schizophrenic sister Stephanie (Karina Logue) who’s been secretly living in his attic. The runner grows yet again when the audience discovers that Stephanie is a brilliant MIT graduate who helps Hank solve the big mystery of the show.
In Breaking Bad, DEA agent Hank Schrader (Dean Norris) tirelessly searches for the mysterious meth dealer Heisenberg, who is actually his brother-in-law Walter. The storyline of Hank and Walt’s ironic relationship has its peaks and valleys…until [SPOILER ALERT] mid-season 5 when Hank gets wise to Walt’s alter-ego.
Storyline intersections work best when they occur with thematic links. In Burn Notice, Michael helps people who’ve been wronged while he attempts to rectify the injustice done to him. Family is always a strong thematic link. In The Sopranos, Tony must balance his mob family and his actual family. In Sons of Anarchy, Jax must balance his biker gang family with his actually family. In Modern Family, different portraits of nuclear families deal with similar issues.
Tentpoles. Within these format and pilot guidelines exist various structural models. Each model has a different number of tentpoles, which are teasers, act breaks, and tags (a very brief scene/sequence at the end of the episode). Dramas can be four acts, five acts, six acts or even longer (sometimes pilots are extended to properly set up the show), with or without a teaser and a tag. Comedies can be two acts, three acts, or four acts, with or without a teaser and a tag.
The teaser sets up the hook. The first act establishes the problem that the main characters will face. In the middle acts, the problem complicates, the stakes intensify, and the solution seems impossible. In the final act, the story reaches its climax and resolves. The tag is as an epilogue that puts a button on the episode. It may be a runner that pays off, or it could be a cliffhanger that services the franchise or the B story.
Each act generally has four or five beats, and ideally ends on the A story about the main character’s dilemma. The franchise (A story) tracks throughout every act, while the B story and runners can be sparse. Occasionally, you might elect to end an act on a potent B story. It’s extremely rare to end an act on a C story. If the story is worthy of an act break, then it’s not your C story—it’s probably more of your A or B story.
In the pilot for Breaking Bad, {the teaser} opens with Walter White’s madcap dash through the desert in an RV-turned-meth lab. Amid the growing sound of sirens, Walter prepares himself for a police confrontation {the hook}. Act 1 jumps back three weeks earlier to orient the audience in Walter’s normal world. He’s turned fifty years old, he has a pregnant wife, a teenage son with cerebral palsy, and he needs money {the problem}. He supplements his high school chemistry teacher salary by working at a carwash. His problems complicate when he’s diagnosed with terminal cancer {problems and stakes intensify}. Now Walter needs money for his family before he dies. After watching news footage of a DEA meth lab drug bust worth $700,000, Walter asks his brother-in-law Hank if he can go on a ride-along so he can surreptitiously learn how a drug operation works. During the ride-along, Walter encounters Jesse Pinkman (Aaron Paul), a former student of his who narrowly escapes a DEA raid. Walter convinces Jesse to team up. “You know the business, and I know the chemistry.” Walter and Jesse cook meth, but they have no distribution in place. Jesse goes to former partners in crime to sell the product, but the former partners think Jesse double-crossed them, so they intend to kill Jesse and Walter {impossible solution}. Walter improvises and kills the former partners in the RV with a chemical mixture. A fire begins to rage in nearby shrubbery because one of Jesse’s former partners had tossed his cigarette out the window. Walter drives the RV as far away from the fire as possible, which brings the episode full circle back to the teaser. As the sirens approach, Walter discovers the sirens were from fire trucks racing toward the blaze created by the cigarette, not police cars {climax}. Jesse and he are off the hook—for now {resolution}. The pilot wraps up with Walter withholding information from his wife about his new business as well as his cancer. This sets up the rift that slowly grows in his marriage {the epilogue1}.
The franchise is Walter building his drug business. The B story is Walter’s struggle to balance family life with his secret enterprise. Some of the runners include Walter dealing with his cancer, gleaning (and hiding) information from Hank, and working with his impetuous new partner Jesse.
Some showrunners of premium cable series still use act breaks in their scripts—even though there will be no commercials. Why? Because writing in act breaks can be highly beneficial to telling a story that’s at once riveting on the plot level and fits in the allotted time slot. Pick up a script from the HBO series Deadwood (created/written/showrun by David Milch) and you’ll see four clearly delineated acts. On the other hand, examine a script for the Showtime series Homeland and lo and behold: no act breaks.
Here’s a quick, random sampling of different structural breakdowns.
One-Hour Dramas
Breaking Bad: teaser + 4 acts
CSI: teaser + 4 acts
The Good Wife: long teaser + 4 acts
Grey’s Anatomy: no teaser. 6 acts.
Justified: teaser + 5 acts + tag
The Mentalist: teaser + 4 acts
Once Upon a Time: no teaser. 6 acts.
Parenthood: teaser + 5 acts
Royal Pains: 7 acts
Scandal: 6 acts. Short first act functions as teaser, followed by title card.
Sitcoms
The Big Bang Theory: cold opening + 2 acts + tag
Modern Family: 4 acts (short act one functions as a teaser)
Two and a Half Men: cold opening + 2 acts + tag
The Teleplay: Basic Guidelines
Most half-hour, multi-camera sitcoms are written in double-spaced sitcom format and run around fifty pages.
Most half-hour, single-camera comedies and dramedies are written in single-spaced screenplay format and run approximately thirty pages.
Most one-hour drama serie
s teleplays run between forty-eight and sixty-three pages. However, many pilot episodes run longer and then get cut down during the production process, especially in post-production. Teleplays for Moonlighting, The West Wing, and E.R. could run eighty-five pages or more due to their fast pacing and rapid-fire dialogue. But even at that higher page count, the produced show would fit into its one-hour time slot.
It’s not always easy to gauge the actual length of an episode until it’s shot. The rhythm of the actors’ deliveries, the pacing of scenes, editing styles, and musical interludes (such as on Glee) can impact actual length versus page length. For this reason, once a show is up and running and becomes a well-oiled machine, a series’ script supervisor will read the script and do a “timing” or estimate of the actual length of the episode. For a writer who’s trying to sell an original pilot script, it’s usually best to work within the basic page length guidelines (see “basic guidelines”). Aaron Sorkin gets to break the rules and do his own thing because he’s won Emmys and Oscars and is a genius.
When writing a pilot for a sitcom or one-hour drama, I advise you to study current, successful series that have the same tone, rhythm, and pacing that you’d like your series to have—and study the structure. Does it use a “teaser”? How many act breaks? How many scenes per act? Is there a “tag” or epilogue?
For script formatting—that is, how the words need to look on the page, line spacing, indentation, pagination, please read as many teleplays as you can and emulate the script format. I also recommend an excellent book that delves into this area with specific examples: Write to TV by Martie Cook.
Writing a teleplay without an outline is like going on a road trip without a map. But, in the TV biz, the schedule necessitates the most direct, expeditious route. If you’re hoping to succeed as a TV writer, learn to embrace the outlining process; it’s not only a valuable GPS to keep your script on track, but it’s also compulsory (for the studio and network to sign off on the script). No outline, no paycheck. Never bite the hand that feeds you.
