Writing the TV Drama Series 3rd edition. Pamela Douglas

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       Dexter

      First day in my new cubicle, I waited to be called to a story meeting, or given an assignment, or a script to rewrite. Nothing. I read all the magazines in the waiting room. Second day, I observed everyone else writing furiously on their office computers. Why was I left out? Had I offended someone? My mind fell to dark ruminations.

      Finally, I popped into the cubicle next to me — “What are you writing?” The writer looked up, wide-eyed — didn’t I know? Everyone was working on their features. “He wants to do it all himself,” my fellow staffer said about the executive producer. “He keeps us around to bounce ideas and read his drafts. But he thinks it’s quicker if he just writes the show.” There I was on a TV staff and everyone was writing a movie. Pretty soon the studio pulled the plug on our feature scholarships, and that was the end of that job. But that illustrates an axiom: a writer is a writer, whether television or feature or for any new media.

      Still, the more you know about features and television, the more unique each is. People go to movies to escape into a fantasy larger than life with spectacular stunts, effects, and locations. At $10+ per ticket, audiences demand lots of bang for their bucks. And teenage boys — a prime target for features — relish the vicarious action that big screens do so well. If you saw Avatar rerun on television, or rented a summer blockbuster, the giants of Pandora became toys, and armies of thousands were reduced to ants. Some bubbles are not meant to be burst.

      From the beginning, theatrical features grew out of shared entertainment — think of crowds watching vaudeville. Television didn’t intend that kind of experience. In fact, the parent of TV is more likely radio. A generation before television, families gathered around their radios for vital information, whether the farm report or the war. And radio dramas were character-driven; beloved familiar personalities scrapping and coping with each other, bringing someone (often women, hardly ever teen boys) to tears or laughter every day. Close, personal, at home.

      And real. Before radio, people got their information about the world from newspapers. That lineage continues in what we expect of television. Television became fused with what people need to know and what they believe is fact. So it’s not an escape, not fantasy, but the fabric of daily life.

      Oh, you’re saying what about Star Trek or Smallville, for just two examples — they’re hardly real. Well, I did a brief turn on Star Trek: The Next Generation, and I can tell you the producers were interested in stories about people — people who lived in a distant environment with futuristic gadgets, yes, but the core was relationships among the crew, testing personal limits; and, at its best, the exploration wasn’t distant galaxies but what it means to be human. As for Smallville, the young Clark Kent is a metaphor for every teenager who struggles with being different, figuring out who he is and how to be with his friends. This is heart stuff, not spectacle.

      Which is not to say you should write without cinematic qualities. The pilot of Lost opened with visually tantalizing images that drew the viewer into the mood and quest of the series. But even there, the focus was personal jeopardy: It began on Jack’s eyeball, then an odd sneaker on a tree, then a dog out of nowhere, and took its time placing us in a jungle before following Jack as he discovered were he was, moving without dialogue to the beach. Still tight in Jack’s point of view, only gradually do we see the crashed plane, and the first word from a distance: “Help!” Immediate, direct, close.

      Screenwriting students are taught to write visually and minimize talk — “Play it, don’t say it.” Generally, that’s good advice, so I was writing that way when I started in television. Then a producer pointed to a chunk of description (which I’d thought was a clever way of replacing exposition) and said, “give me a line for this — they may not be watching.” Not watching? That’s my brilliant image up there!

      But come back to the reality of the medium. It’s at home, not a darkened theatre. No one is captured, and the viewers might be eating, painting toenails, doing homework — you know how it goes. As the creator, of course you want to make the screen so beguiling they won’t turn their eyes away, but if the “viewers” have to get a point, put it in dialogue. People may be listening to the TV more than watching it. That’s not such a bad thing. Whereas viewers are distanced from the screen in theatrical films, voyeurs to other people’s stories, television drama has the effect of people talking to you, or at least talking to each other in your home. It’s compelling in a different way.

      When students ask whether I advise them to write for features or television, after I tell them to try both, I ask about their talent. Do they have an ear for the way people speak naturally? Are they able to convey СКАЧАТЬ