Insulation Day Part 1

I have just spent far too long on the phone with some eejit from British Gas. If I wanted to write a plot line that involved frustration, mess, anger, old girlfriends, antique gold and bonfires this would be it.
Here's the outline:

Some weeks ago my mother phoned to tell me, amongst other things, I can get my loft insulated for FREE. She's seen it on a website and the people next door to her are having it done NOW.

I don't believe in a free lunch but when I investigate I discover it's true - as long as your loft/wall space isn't bigger than.... they quote some dimensions I don't recognise.... and I think, that's their get out clause, that probably describes something no larger than a Barbie House. But I fill in the online form and someone rings and books a date for a surveyor to come.

On the appointed day we wait in, he doesn't come.

I get a call mid way through the afternoon telling me he broke his hand, they'll have to rearrange. When would be convenient? Today was convenient, the rearranged date will be inconvenient. They don't follow my logic.

On the rearranged date the surveyor calls. Takes out a laser measuring device and proclaims that I DO qualify. Now I feel like I live in a small house. A date is arranged for the insulation to be fitted. But the loft must be cleared out. Completely.

Whilst some people choose to load the detritus of the lives in their garages we have, over the years, put more and more stuff above us, in the loft. A ton of crap. The Sunday before Insulation Day the loft is cleared. Me, my wife, my kids, humping boxes, tables, lamps, carpets, files, more files, even more files, old scripts, old bags, suitcases, Christmas decorations, more files, curtains, curtains, poles, curtain tracks, boxes full of music, cases full of linen and more files. And so, so much more. Everything we have chosen to forget is now laid out in front of us; filling spare bedrooms, filling the hallway and the landing, filling the conservatory. I'm tripping over things on the stairs, walking into things in the night, this is what our home would look like if we hadn't shifted it to rest, forgotten, above our heads. Don't throw that away, it might be useful has suddenly become why did we keep this crap?

But we don't panic because Insulation Day is almost here. Then it can all go back.

Insulation Day dawns. Excitement in the house. The kids go off to their schools, Mrs Lewis to hers, when they return we can put it all back.

Cut to eight hours later, Mrs Lewis wants to know why it can't go back. Because they brought the wrong depth of insulation. Why? Because the surveyor told them we didn't have any insulation up there. Why? Because he's an eejit. So, when are they coming back. They'll phone, rearrange. And there's one other thing...we can't put it all back without boarding out the entire loft. Why? Because we can't rest this stuff on the new insulation. Why? Becuase it's against the rules. What rules? I look sheepishly and try to remember what the Insulation men told me in the minute detail that will satisfy the forensic mind of my wife. I can't. But I do remember that we will have to board it out and that means we have to raise the joists. What does that mean? Make the joists higher. Yes, I realise that, but how?

I run to the Internet. Raising joists...Christ. I can't do that I had an operation on my arm, ten weeks ago. And even if I hadn't I still couldn't do it. I make some calls. HOW MUCH? Jeeze, suddenly this free insulation is looking like a really bad deal.

We hatch a plan which entails getting rid of two thirds of The Crap, as it has affectionately become known.

That's when we started to go through things, piece by piece, box by box...and wait for the call from British Gas. No call.

To be continued...

A Clever Turn of Phrase

I think if you're going to say fuck on television you should say it. Not freak, as in "What kinda freaking idiot are you?", not feck - for goodness sake why bother? Not eff off or naff off. When the word needs to be used it should be. How could the magnificent Malcolm Tucker (rhymes with Mother....) be the terrifying monster that he is without a lexicon of swear words that would make an old sea-dog blush. It's positively poetic.


But here's my grouch, it crops up so often that its shock value has been devalued. Worse still in some comedy it's used as a word to get the laugh. It's put at the end of a not very funny sentence just to ignite the studio audiences laughter muscle. 
Lazy.

When it's used in Empire Boardwalk it has a nice old fashioned feel to it, in the Sopranos you couldn't imagine any of those Wise Guys saying anything else, it's the rhythm of their speech. But don't use it because you could find a better way of getting your laugh.

Whilst we're on the subject, I have conversations with people who tell me that today's comedy is far too coarse. It's defended on the grounds that we're all grown up (no we're not) people use that language in their daily lives (not everyone) it needs to sound authentic (why?). Again, 'bad' language used in the right context can be hilarious - when it's part of the character  - but if everyone in your script is foul mouthed you may as well not use it at all.

This criticism isn't born of prudishness - I can curse with the best of 'em -  it comes from watching shows that aren't funny thinking they are because they're hip, on the edge - give me funny over the edge every day. Once you have an open door there's nothing to push against, and the dramatic structure in narrative comedy needs that. If, as heard in a new show on Channel 4 this week, the jokes comes from talking about anal bleaching and a woman who's 'fanny is a tight as a lobster pot' - her description - where's the inventiveness? Aren't we barrel scraping.

I think also we have to put the best bad words into the right mouths. The two instances I cite came from the mouths of characters I didn't like or care about, put them in other characters mouths and well, it makes a difference.

Surely part of a comedy writer's job is to find new (funny) ways to say things, that means being inventive with the language. Look at some of the best American shows that came from networks where once upon a time you couldn't say 'belly'. Cheers, Friends, Frasier didn't need to resort of bad language because they had such good characters. Sometimes it's good to have limitation to what you can say or do, it makes you think harder. The euphemism can often be a joy in a comedy script.

I don't think it's old fashioned to prefer Frasier Crane to Frankie Boyle but then I'm not on the front line of guerrilla comedy, hacking away at the frontiers so we can say what we like. It's not a question of censorship, more  the pleasure a clever turn of phrase brings.

Glee

Anyone else given up on Glee?
That presuposes you were watching in the first place. Let me put it another way, if you were a big fan of the all singing all dancing ratings sensation of last year are you still watching?

What I liked about the show when it first hit the screen was the irony. It knew it was a piss-take on High School Musical and relished its place in the world. Will Schuester had a terrible wife, Terri,  who put him down at home, had a 'special room' in the house for them to experience crafts together and when it looked like he was falling for the weird looking red-headed pop-eyed woman with the cartoon voice she announced she was pregnant - except she wasn't and several different sized pillows later the cat was out of the baby bag.

What was great about Terri was her scheming and controlling. It was something for Schuester to push against, now all he has is Sue Sylvester. Sue began as a demented cheerleading coach with surreal turns of phrase and a weird eye on the world. In season one she was a comic creation to savour.

There were plots that kind of made sense.  Kurt got dumped in the skip at the beginning of every show. Things happened that didn't always involve a production number. There were surprises. Okay, every week another reference to 'regionals' but hey. Quin was a cow, Finn  was getting shafted, Puckerman was the bad boy and Britney the dumbest dumb blonde for a generation.  When the musical numbers came they were fresh and often funny and an antidote to High School Musical. And they had a kid dancing in a wheel-chair, way to go.

Cut to

Season two. Where it's pretty much become High School Musical. The tension and scheming has all but gone - as have most of the plots that don't involve a song. We've had some bullying issues and some lame guest appearances - come back Kristin Chenoweth please - and now I've given up...

Kristin Chenoweth and The Boys

I need some grit in the ointment. Sue's become one note, Terri's disappeared, the strange woman who looks like a rabbit has got married so Will doesn't even have the doe eyed dear to swoon about or croon about. It's all got a bit...boring.

It feels to me like they sat down with the Network after the first season and someone said - everybody loves the songs, next season let's give them more songs. But nobody said 'great, but let's twist and turn the characters and make 'em squeal'. They made too many nasty characters too nice too soon - then went back and tried to make them nasty again. That didn't work.

There's still a big audience and LOTS of kids buying the music - which explains the ratio of songs per show - but wasn't it richer and more fun in series one? Somebody do me a favour, let me know when the show's got it's squeal back.

What a morning!

The light on the answer machine was flashing when I got back from the school run.

"You have six messages" said the nice lady in that flat superior electronic voice she adopts whenever I push her buttons.

"Message one, Message received at eight eleven"
"Riche boy, it's Alan from Limitless Productions. We love the script. Love it."
Now I'm thinking what do they have of mine?
"Sorry I know it's taken awhile but better late, eh, buddy".
I'm racking my brains now.
"Here's the really good news Channel 4 are thrilled with it. They want to do eight"
Which bloody script - I'm shouting at the machine now like he can hear me.
"One change they want to make, they want to move it from Newcastle...relocate, it'll need a tweak"
Oh, THAT script. Christ. You've had that for two sodding years!
"Give me a ring, talk later"

"Message two. Message received at eight sixteen".
"Richard, it's Mike Prophet. About the sit-com...I know we passed in October but funny sit-coms are back in vogue, we'd like to option. Call me".

Message three. Message received at eight nineteen".

"Richie boy, it's Alan again. Did I say they only want to make the fucking thing in the fucking Bahamas? Can you believe that. Ring me".

"Message four. Message received at eight twenty five".
"(American female) Is that...is this Richard Leslie Lewis's phone? You have some generic message? (long beat)  I'll ring back"

Message Five. Message received at eight thirty three".
"Richard, it's me (my agent) Prince's Picturtes are very, underlined, very interested in your Ken Dodd biopic. Please don't ever make me speak to a machine again. This is money, have your mobile switched on at all times, Ciao."

Message Six. Message received at eight thirty eight.
(American male - a familiar voice)  Hi, is this...(Amerian female in background heard saying 'It's his number') this is Richard right? Okay, this is Stephen Speilberg, we're doing another Indiana Jones, we saw your work on The Last Detective and we like that quirky take...I'm gonna call you back in thirty minutes, okay. We're gonna talk about this, okay?"

Message Six. Message received at eight forty two".
"Dad, can you get off the phone, the bus hasn't come. You've got to take us to school?"

Hope you all had a good April 1st.

Laughing Matters

I've been tardy with my reading (and some will say ' and this blog', apologies, I've been writing) . Even though I get through three books a week, plus magazines, plus newspapers there's always something that falls off the radar, gets pushed to one side, doesn't get read. Larry Gelbart's 'Laughing Matters' is one such book. I wish I'd read it when it came out in '97. I don't know why I didn't but I didn't. It was on my radar, then it went off it and it's taken me all this time - two years after the great man passed away - to get around to it. It was worth the wait.

Gelbart began as a writer at the age of sixteen, his dad go him a job on The Danny Thomas Radio Show "My kid's funny, you should hire him". He wrote for Jack Parr, Bob Hope and famously Sid Ceasar alongside a writing team that reads like a Who's Who of comedy scribes: Neil Simon, Mel Brooks, Carl Reiner, Woody Allen. His movies include Tootsie and Movie Movie, his theatre credits A Funny Thing Happened on the Way To The Forum and City of Angels. And then there was M*A*S*H.

For anyone interested in writing comedy - or drama - 'Laughing Matters' is up there with Adventures in the Screen Trade. It's not an autobiography, though it's autobiographical in part. It's not a 'how to' book - though you'll learn more here than in twenty such tomes. Gelbart knew his patch and knew it well. He thought about his writing, what he was going to write, how and why. That last one is often missed; why am I writing this? Will it improve the human condition, will it throw some light into a dark corner, is it purely an entertainment or is there something deeper to say, something no-one has said before.

For some people Larry Gelbart was just a name, a credit on M*A*S*H 'Developed for television by...', but for those of us who followed his extraordinary career he was much more. I'm sure he would have eschewed such titles as sage and guru, but he was that and more. A mentor to many, a collaborator, a writer who used his pen to make his points. His targets were often wrapped up in a joke but as he grew older he discovered he didn't always need the funny - though he never wrote anything that didn't drip with wit and sophistication.

If you are a student of comedy or have any ambition to write anything pick up a copy of his book. And through the wonders of You Tube you can listen to the words of the great man in an extended fascination interview.

I'm off to finish the last ten pages - I've got  feeling the author did it.

First Annual Caption Competition

Today I bring you our first annual caption competition.  So here are some wonderful old pics along with my efforts.

Please play along at home.

Dr Barnado's merges with Ministry For Fisheries.

No matter how much Mrs Nemo protested the good Captain insisted on bringing his work home.

After the personal cd player and personal mp3 player comes the Amstrad personal satellite receiver.

 

Evidence of crack 'Black Cat' Nazi ballet corpse surfaces. 

Dance night at Sizewell B is always so much fun

Fed Ex reveal new eco friendly double-decker couriers

Contestants at the 1954 'Miss Incognito' Contest   

Phasers to stun - Shatner at 80

Today William Shatner celebrates his eightieth birthday. The first time I saw him I wasn't sure I wanted to. I had two favourite shows as a kid - Lost In Space (check out Series One before it got stupid - ooo scary, well it was for a ten year old) and Dr Who, which most people say they watched from behind the sofa. I watched it sitting on the sofa, and lapped it up. So, when the BBC announcer told me that was the end of the series and next week I could join the crew of the USS Enterprise on their space adventures I was less than impressed - until I saw it. Star Trek opened up a new world of story telling. Phasers, photon torpedoes, the transporter room. There were Green women, Blue women, a race of all Blonde women - all in short skirts. All the men had their trousers tucked into their boots - hmm, where can I get a pair of those boots, I drove my mother crazy, Clarks didn't do them.

And at the centre of all this was the man they called Jim - Captain James Tiberius Kirk. A quip and a smile for the ladies, didn't matter what colour they were he was up for it (the kiss he shared with Uhura was the first interracial smooch ever televised). He had a judo kick or a punch for his enemies - sometimes it was an enormous rock that he'd pluck from the perfectly flat alien ground, using it to crush an alien head. Ouch.

Growing up with the space race and the moon landings Kirk was my hero and by extension Shatner too. His acting style was broad. His - speech - was - quite -odd andthenhe'dsuddenly runallhiswordstogether - and - then - back to - the - staccato - stuff - Bones, Spock, Mr Scott. 

He was the man at the centre of the universe, dispensing good old American values to those far flung M class planets whilst swatting away those pesky Russians, sorry Klingons. Gene Roddenbury's Wagon Train to The Stars was just that, a series that stopped off at a new point each week to have adventures, just like the western series before it. Shatner was its heartbeat.

He's also the star of one of my favourite  Twilight Zone episodes, Nightmare at 20,000 Feet
playing Bob Wilson - no, not the ex Arsenal goalkeeper, that's Bob Primrose Wilson - but a salesman on an airplane for the first time since his breakdown six months before. He spots something on the wing what - is - that - out - there? Every time someone else looks out the window, the thing leaps out of view, so nobody believes Shatner's outlandish claim.

He realizes that his wife is starting to think he needs to go back to the sanitarium, but also, if nothing is done about the thing, it will damage the plane and cause it to crash. He steals a sleeping policeman's gun and - in a fantastic sequence - opens the window marked "Auxiliary Exit" to shoot the gremlin, succeeding despite the fact that he is nearly sucked out of the plane himself. Once the plane has landed, although he is whisked away in a straitjacket. But the final shot reveals evidence of his claims: the unusual damage to the plane's engine —yet to be discovered by mechanics.
I never knew about shows being canceled in those days, Star Trek was repeated ad infinitum, the BBC's planet earth logo mixing through to the stars as Kirk's voice intoned those now classic words "Space, the final frontier...."
Yes, there was TJ Hooker but Bill poured into a uniformed cop's suit didn't look right - it looked like he'd forgotten to say when.
Much better was Boston Legal - and his surprisingly good chat show Shatner's Raw Nerve attempting to probe his guest's most sensitive subjects, quite often capturing celebrities at their most unexpected.
I got to write for him when we did a 'Houseparty' show in New York - but I didn't get to meet him.
Having met some of my heroes who turned out to be less than heroic maybe that was for the best.

So thank you Bill for fifty years of entertainment.
Live a bit longer and prosper.