Meh-dea Mogulling – Commonly Pitched Comedy Ideas

 

Most great ideas start with a great idea (I’m amazing at this, I should do a workshop and charge one million dollars). But they also start with an absolute bucketload of terrible ideas. Or average ideas. Let’s call them meh-deas and that could become another brilliant media term for tossers like me and you to use. What may come as a surprise is that there are some very commonly pitched meh-deas. 

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I had an email from someone recently with their idea for a sitcom. I won’t say what it is or who it came from as that would be unfair and just because I didn’t like it doesn’t mean they aren’t capable of brilliance. You should see my folder ‘Awful Pitches of Yesteryear,’ it makes for terrifying reading.

What I don’t want to do is tell people is they’re wasting their time and not to darken my door again. Working on the characters, story and script can be a useful exercise, but to get any interest in an idea it has to have something unique about it. Does it generate a genuine reaction of interest when you mention it to someone? If so, that’s a good sign. You have to be a good reader of facial expressions or learn which friends or family members actually give you an honest opinion.

So here are a few concepts or settings that seem to occur regularly…

  1. An amateur dramatics society.
  2. Struggling actors in some way shape or form. I have a lot of sympathy for actors, it’s incredibly hard, the constant rejection is possibly even worse than it is for writers. Still, write about something else. No one cares. Except me. I care.
  3. A struggling indie band (or other genre, but indie bands seem to be a common one. Maybe that’s because the writer was once a songwriter in an indie band who wrote moderately amusing lyrics in a sub-Jarvis Cocker style. That was the kind of band I was in, anyhow) or a once successful band whose members are now living ordinary lives.
  4. The open mic comedy circuit. Loads of wannabe comedians are also wannabe writers, so it makes sense that they’d come up with this idea and there are loads of crazy characters on the open mic circuit, but… no one cares. I’m happy to admit that when I was a factual television producer and doing open mic stand up in London I thought it would be a good idea for a documentary series. It was not a good idea. It was quite dull and I quickly gave up on it.
  5. Two guys in their late twenties or early thirties who are getting nowhere in life. They probably share a flat and one of them has an ex-girlfriend who has moved on, but is still around. Or there’s a girl they’ve known for years they both fancy.
  6. A bar or pub. This is one where, of course, several comedies of various quality have been made. I really liked Early Doors, for example, and I have vague fond memories of World of Pub, which I should refresh. I also remember getting a script set in a bar which had something different in the writing — funny, weird and slightly surreal. I did develop and pitch it and it did pique the interest of a commissioning editor, but ultimately didn’t get through.
  7. A hotel or guest house. The legacy of Fawlty towers over this one (see what I did there, I should work in comedy). The really annoying thing about this setting is that, like the pub, it does frequently reoccur — there was Heartburn Hotel in the late nineties and more recently the children’s comedy All At Sea and comedy drama Edge of Heaven. Even more annoying for me is that I’ve got one. Yes, commissioners, I’ve got a guest house comedy and it’s, like, totally brilliant and I grew up in a guest house and then a small hotel, so it’s authentic and everything. I think mine is an interesting take on the situation (of course I do), but I’ve held back on pitching it at times because of all the above. Anyhow, you can see that I feel your pain.

There are probably many more and if anyone can think of any then do let me know. It’s not surprising that many of the ideas above get pitched frequently. Several involve links to other creative fields; so an actor, comedian or songwriter is probably more likely to want to create a sitcom than someone else. Others are simply recognisable, everyday places.

It can be a tricky conversation to have, because the writer might wonder why they haven’t seen the idea on screen. I think it’s a kind of self-fulfilling vortex of doom; because that concept has been pitched before and rejected, it’s more likely to be rejected when it comes through the door again. That doesn’t mean to say it can’t and won’t happen, but (and I know this is vague) it has to have something amazing about it. Eddie Redmayne has decided he wants to star in a sitcom set in a Plymouth guest house? Yes! (‘Oh, hang on, mine has a female lead character. No, it’s okay, we can change it. Or you can wear a dress, Eddie, it’ll be fine. Oh, you want to? That’s great Eddie, it’ll work perfectly.’).

As well as my list, often there are concepts that seem to be ‘in the zeitgeist’ (apologies for using the word and the quote marks, but it seemed the only way). So, you’ll be pitching an idea to a commissioning editor only to find there’s already something similar in development or there are other similar scripts floating around. For example, a few years ago there seemed to be quite a few stories involving young people moving back in with their parents – Hebburn was one of those of course, but a combination of a brilliant pilot script, the North East setting and a couple of other elements, such as the young couple having already married in secret, helped set it apart.

Others can be surprising. There was a period when I talked to a couple of writers who had really good scripts set in an arctic station or a moon base — it turned out there were a few similar scripts floating around and I don’t think any got made. A while ago I had an idea for a comedy set on a submarine. I was thinking about female personnel being allowed on board Naval vessels and how that would be interesting if it was the enclosed space of a submarine. Maybe I’m wrong, but I never pitched it because I started to think that a submarine is probably one of those settings. And I realised I didn’t really care that much about submarines and submariners — screw them and their hilarious life-threatening undersea shenanigans. Maybe I should just go back to the Plymouth guest house thing. Shit.

My advice is to either look outside what’s close to you or examine what’s around you more closely.

And does anyone have a number for Eddie Redmayne? Or an email would be fine.

 

If you enjoyed the post then you can delve further into my oeuvre and support my work by purchasing my music. The lovely Tom Robinson off of BBC 6Music says it’s good. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

How to Approach People…

The title of this blog suggests some kind of self help manifesto.  A quick internet search reveals a gap in the market.  There appears to be plenty of titles aimed very specifically at men who would like to approach women, but none for people who would like to approach people.  I’m not saying you should never approach a woman, but if you do please be polite, avoid unwanted physical contact and take rejection gracefully; smile and walk away.  Also do your research.  No, don’t do that.  Unless you’re Bill Murray in Groundhog Day it’s a bit creepy if you already know everything about them.

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Actually, all those rules apply to approaching people in the media with your idea, but this time include the research.  It is good to know a bit about people before you make your approach.

I’m writing this because I had a message from a gentleman called Marcus Ako asking for advice.  Here it is:

Hello,

Thank you very much for your incredibly informative and witty blog. Would you be able to spare a moment to give some advice?

I am a writer/actor with an idea for a tv show (yes, I know… I am one of those, but please don’t hit delete yet). I have a pilot script written and a synopsis for eleven 30-minute episodes. I believe the idea is solid for a company like Tiger Aspect. What is the best way to approach them or other companies to score 10 minutes to pitch? I know I could stand outside their office with a boom-box, but I’m afraid they may miss the reference and have me arrested.

Any advice short of “give up” would be welcomed.

Marcus

Thanks for the message Marcus, which is a pretty decent example of how to contact someone.  Flattery may get you somewhere.  Try not to cross the line into obsequious brown nosing or continue further until the person you’re contacting starts to worry that they’ve cultivated a stalker.  The opening sentence is good.  It makes me feel good about myself and therefore more receptive to getting off my arse and typing this.  Flattery doesn’t always guarantee a reply.  I’m going to write a separate post about one approach someone made.  It wasn’t a bad example, in fact it was an incredibly good one and I didn’t respond, which I feel immensely bad about, so I’ll rectify that in a blog.

Marcus goes off the boil a bit when he mentions Tiger Aspect1.  Why aren’t you sending it to me at Channel X, Marcus?  What have we ever done to you?   But a quick look on Tiger Aspect website shows they don’t accept unsolicited scripts.  In which case the boom-box may be your only hope.  Please don’t employ the boom-box.  I’ve already demonstrated how these tactics are doomed to failure.

Here are some tips in no particular order of usefulness.

1) Find production companies that do accept unsolicited scripts.  Research them and see if they are producing shows in a similar vein – in tone or type – as some, but not all, companies do lean towards certain styles.  Many, however, are just looking for good scripts and the fact that their last show was a studio sitcom doesn’t mean that is all they want to make.  The PACT website is very useful and The British Comedy Guide is quite a good resource too.

2) It’s not really worth sending an email asking what people want to see.  If you’re not already a contact of the person you’re approaching then the only thing that’s going to get a response is material they think is great.  And if they haven’t read your work before then they want to see a script or at the very least a well written treatment with some sample scenes.  So just write as brief and polite an email as possible with a bit about you and the project and attach the work.  I just want to click on the attachment and have a look.  It won’t guarantee a response, of course.  Not getting a response happens to all of us.  It still happens to me and it is frustrating, but the only answer is to keep trying, but try to avoid showing your frustration.

3) It’s not really worth emailing with a request to come in and pitch your idea.  It’s very unlikely that I would invite someone who hasn’t already proved their credentials in for a meeting and I’d guess that probably goes for most other execs.  But I have asked people to come in if I liked a script, an idea or a video link they sent me.  

4) You can’t expect feedback.  It’s great if you can get it and I try to give some feedback if I like something and see potential, but there’s rarely time to give detailed notes.  I need to find projects that I think have real potential to be commissioned.  I want to find projects that I find interesting and funny and work with people who are interesting and funny.  I have to be able to look a commissioner in the eye and say that I back that project fully.  I’m a very bad liar.  And I do feel bad about not getting back to people.  I know my guilt isn’t going to help you progress but at least you can take some comfort in the fact.

5) Even if you’re sending your script to an info email address, find a name at the company to address your email to.  The least you can do is have a look at their website.

6) Maybe tell the company that their last show was ace, no matter what the critics or the rating said.  If you hated their last show then don’t go on about how your script is ten times better and how you can’t believe that show got made.  The company will either be well aware that their show went to shit or disagree with you and think it was brilliant.  Have a look through their back catalogue and say that you loved one of their shows that only ran for one series and was criminally overlooked.  For Channel X that might be Snuffbox or for me at Channel X North that might be one of the Comedy Labs we made that never went to series.  At the very least, they had their moments.

7) What is your show about and is there a unique or particularly interesting angle?  It is still the writing that counts, but a timely idea or an area that has not been explored before is more likely to garner interest.  And pitching a show with a similar subject matter to a recent show is always unlikely to work.  So, sending a script to me about a family set in the North East is probably a waste of time.  If you have written that script and it is brilliant then it could still work as a writing sample, but you’ll need to have other ideas.  And write those other ideas.  Hopefully your next script will be even better and cover a subject that hasn’t been done before or at least not in the last ten years, so people might have forgotten about it.

8) Find other ways to bring attention to your writing.  This is probably the thing I try to hammer home at any event where I’m asked to speak.  The series I’ve developed have come from writers who have brought themselves to my attention in different ways.  David Isaac who wrote Lunch Monkeys had been helping a talented director, Jason Wingard, create sketches set in Manchester mini-cabs called Where to Mate? featuring a very funny comic actor, Peter Slater.  I’d seen Peter live, his agent showed me the sketches  and then I met Jason and David.  David asked if he could send me some scripts and because he had already proved he could write funny stuff I said yes.  In the case of Hebburn, I had seen Jason Cook’s stand up and was keen to work with him.  Simple as that (well, plus several years trying to get the thing commissioned).  Also both of them were very nice, polite and a pleasure to deal with.  Obviously the power’s got to them now and, like me, they are insufferable.

9) Further to the above, bring your scripts to life.  One of the great things about working with stand ups and having done stand up myself is that when you perform live you know when something is funny and you know the pain of when it is not.  Find some actors to read your script aloud, ideally with an audience.  Film some scenes.  Do something.  Otherwise you might be sat at your laptop for years going bananas.

10) Take a punt on contacting people – producers, agents, people you are a fan of.  But be polite and don’t expect a response.  Companies may not accept unsolicited scripts, but you can send them a link to something you’ve had filmed or invite them to a showcase.  If your stuff is good enough eventually someone will talk to you.

11) Use social media.  Post links to your work.  But be polite.  Don’t constantly tag Graham Linehan or any other famous comedy tweeters.  But do think before you make approaches and don’t overdo it.  I was once contacted on Facebook messenger by a writer who had previously emailed me material.  I think I had responded to one project, but not to a subsequent one.  He could see that I was online, but when I ignored him he sent several messages asking ‘are you there?  Matt? Hello????’  It was in the evening and I was just on Facebook looking at endearing family pictures of friends and posting sincere comments.  I’m not at work when I’m fannying about on Facebook, unless I’m doing that at work, in which case don’t tell the boss. So do be careful how you use social media.  But if you are funny and interesting on Twitter or Facebook there’s a good chance you are funny and interesting in other ways.  My friend Michael Spicer, who I met because he sent sketches on a VHS, yes a VHS tape, to a company I was working for many years ago, is a great example of this.  He is very funny on Twitter and consequently people go and look at his sketches on youtube which are also very funny.

12) Be resilient. There is a line here.  If people are forever ignoring you and no one ever gives you one iota of encouragement other than your mum, then of course there is a point when you should look at your work and ask yourself, ‘could be improved?’  The answer is probably ‘yes.’  Almost all scripts can be improved.  I’m not going to tell you to give up.  I’d never tell someone to give up.  Several people on youtube have suggested that I give up on life entirely, but fortunately enough people have said things like ‘don’t kill yourself Matt, this stuff is average,’ to inspire me to carry on regardless.

So those are my tips, which have conveniently made a list of twelve.  So there you have my official top twelve tips for approaching people.

I can offer a zero percent guarantee that they will work, but I hope they are useful.  I’m sure there are other things you can do, so if anyone has any suggestions then do let me know.

And finally, as I mentioned in tip 2, it is unlikely that someone will invite you in to pitch face to face unless they like something you’ve written or made.  There are other tips for face to face meetings and maybe I’ll blog about those, but I’m running out of steam now.  I fell asleep in front of the telly in the early hours watching Spiral on Netflix leaving a half eaten brown stew chicken from the local Jamaican take away on the coffee table.  An insight into the glamorous life of the television executive for you there.

Good luck Marcus.

1 I have nothing against Tiger Aspect, which was a lovely place to work when I was with them.

If you enjoyed the post then you can delve further into my oeuvre and support my work by purchasing my music. The lovely Tom Robinson off of BBC 6Music says it’s good. 

The Ice Cream Always Rises to the Top

One day it will come.  That epic day that you have envisaged for years.  The day you have to go into a proper workplace.  When that day comes you’ll be nervous, you won’t know what to wear, you’ll realise that you haven’t got a suit and have to buy one from Top Shop. In the process you’ll be persuaded to get a store card and over time that suit becomes a more expensive investment in your future than you intended.  And it looks shit.

After a period with CSV Media, in spite of the many errors I made, I was starting to make progress.  I would occasionally get paid shifts at BBC Radio Devon covering as a Broadcast Assistant in the newsroom or helping out on shows in the evening or weekends.  I was advised to apply for a Broadcast Journalism Post Graduate Course – this would be a good way to start apparently.  There were only a few courses across the country (there are more now) and it was competitive to get a place as they gave you a great chance of getting a job in radio or television.  I applied for a several including Falmouth College of Art as it was not too far from home and had a great reputation.

At the same time I applied for the BBC Journalism Trainee Scheme.  This was even more competitive, but somehow I managed to get through an initial interview and was shortlisted for a final big scary selection process.  It’d be like the Strictly, X Factor, I’m a Celeb and Bake Off finals all rolled into one massive non-public telephone vote off extravaganza of news.  Who would be the winner?  News?  Or me?  Or another shortlisted candidate?

I knew this was still a long shot.  If successful then I would be paid by the BBC to learn the journalistic ropes instead of having to go back to college for a year and pay about ten grand for the privilege.1  Still, I was hoping to strengthen my applications with more work experience and managed to get a week with Westcountry Television News.

Going into Westcountry was scary.  I’d seen it on the TV, now it was time to get a really long and tortuous bus followed by a long walk to the prime industrial estate location on the outskirts of Plymouth that was clearly designed for people who had a car.  That meant there was plenty of time for nerves to build up and for me to try and think of something witty to say that would then fall flat as soon as I’d walked through the automatic doors.

Scarier than the automatic doors was the fact that they actually asked me to do stuff. I didn’t just sit there and watch as if an episode of Drop the Dead Donkey2 was being performed live around me.  I had to make phone calls and research people who might be interviewed. Thankfully they put me under the wing of a new, young journalist called Sasha Herriman3 who was very tall, which I was not and I imagine both of us are still relative in height terms.  She seemed very capable as well as very kind and helpful.  It was a pressured environment and I feared that I’d get shouted at and marched out the doors if I made an error.  She told me I’d done a good job after I’d set up an interview for that night’s news programme that went well. A bit of praise goes a long way.  Remember that when you get to the top and are looking down on the poor mass of scrambling hopefuls below.

During my week at Westcountry I proudly told Sasha that I had a final interview for the BBC traineeship the next week.  I was excited, nervous.  Did she have any advice?  She didn’t say much apart from expressing how great that sounded, which I thought was a bit odd, but maybe she didn’t want to be too encouraging and make me complacent.

I managed to get through the week without being shouted at by the big bosses. Although there was once incident which could have gone either way.  For someone’s birthday/leaving/promotion/pregnancy (delete as appropriate), they’d bought in a load of gourmet ice cream. It was a big thing back then.  Nowadays there are loads of fancy artisan dairy producers, which is wonderful if you’re not lactose intolerant.  I made my way gingerly to the tubs which were attracting staff members like news hounds to an emotionally vulnerable victim, not wanting to take my turn too soon as I was only on work experience.  As i started to scoop some lovely sorbet into a paper bowl I misjudged my technique, flicking a piece directly onto the trousers of moustachioed news anchor David Foster.  I looked up to his imposing face of news expecting a full barrage of Ron Burgundy.4  Thankfully he laughed off the incident.  I think he said something about it being lucky it hit his trousers, because he always took them off for the show as he likes to feel free and unfettered below his desk while presenting.  Who knows what might have happened if it had hit his top half or if it had landed in his impressive ’tash and remained unnoticed.  It could have been a scandal that brought down the station.  But it wasn’t.

The next week I prepared for my final interview.  It was to be a full day of exercises and a session before a panel of three BBC bigwigs.  On the day I got out my Top Shop suit, ironed my shirt and set out with a ridiculous amount of time to spare to avoid any Plymouth Citybus related disasters.  You could never be too sure with Citybus drivers.  As a schoolboy I once had the doors closed on me as I was getting off trapping me half in/half out of the bus in full view of a group of Plymouth High School for Girls pupils who, understandably, found it hilarious.

As I arrived at the BBC reception, I was taken through to a waiting room where I was greeted by the only two other candidates who had made it through to the final round.  And one of them was Sasha. I knew immediately that I stood absolutely no chance whatsoever.  She immediately apologised for not saying anything before, but she was on a short contract with Westcountry, so she couldn’t mention an interview for another job. It was probably a good thing for me too as I would have spent the whole week thinking I was totally banjaxed.

Still, I gave it the best I could.  We were given exercises such as how we’d compile a news show out of a selection of stories.  We were doing this in front of three important BBC people who would ask us questions throughout.  I remember talking about how I’d cover a story about a hospice for children with terminal illnesses and I told my X Factor style BBC judges that ‘I would emphasise the fun aspects of the place.’ And one of the panel said ‘Ooh, that jarred a bit.’ If Simon Cowell had been invented then I would have compared her to the overly trousered dark master of manipulative pop riches.  I tried to ride out the awkwardness, but it was clear that this was not to be.  Falmouth College of Art here we come (I know I shouldn’t have spoilers in the blog, but I got on the course).

There was a small part of me that felt aggrieved, of course.  Sasha was already making her way in the world and it was a traineeship, but the fact was that she was only on a very short contract with Westcountry and I think that was her first job after some other training and of a 12 month traineeship with the BBC would be a great step forward and getting the place was prestigious.  So I was disappointed, but not bitter.  She absolutely deserved to get that job.

I guess what that taught me, as well as the need to hone my ice cream scooping technique, was resilience.  It is a tough business and you’ll get knock backs at every turn.  I’ve had one this week with the news that Hebburn won’t be returning to the BBC for a third series.  It’s always gutting, but you have to look forward immediately and work on how to make the best of the future.

1 I understand that, sadly, this is a paltry level of student debt these days.

2 If you’re young and don’t know it, this was a great, must watch show created by the brilliant Andy Hamilton and Guy Jenkin.

3 Sasha has carved a career as a news presenter and, as I have discovered using the power of internet search, a star of cabaret too with her outfit The Bluebirds.

4 Anchorman wouldn’t come out for some years, but it gives you the idea. Here’s a link to the news legend David Foster back in the day.