Tips From Tinseltown

It was the late '90s. After almost a decade in advertising—the last two years of which I spent jetting around to places like Bangkok and the Brazilian rain forest, shooting a campaign for IBM—I was thinking I knew everything there was to know about the business. So I quit and moved to Los Angeles to become a sitcom writer. I figured I'd sell a bunch of scripts, make a pile of money and take up surfing.What I didn't expect was to become a better copywriter. As you might imagine, Madison Avenue and Hollywood are worlds apart. For one thing, TV writers are coddled more. Way more. You're given a parking spot with your name on it. The snack room is stocked with more candy and doughnuts than Costco. Lunch and dinner are delivered to your desk. They even give you your own golf cart, so the five-minute walk to the soundstage doesn't tucker you out. In other words, you're treated like an exceedingly well-paid veal. Though a veal is probably let out of its cage more often. The hours on a TV show are horrible. It's like working on a new-business pitch—late nights and weekends—except the pitch lasts nine long months. And the pressure? Just thinking about it makes me want to take up smoking again. Let's say your show's star decides she doesn't like you anymore, or the exec producer thinks you've grown a little too quiet in the writers' room. Poof! You're gone. Not that it really matters, though. Odds are your show will be canceled after a few months anyway. To get staffed on a show that lasts an entire season, let alone makes it to syndication, is practically a miracle. I was one of the lucky ones. So what did I take away from my Hollywood sojourn? Besides the sweet syndication checks and the beginnings of an impressive doughnut gut, I learned a few lessons about survival in a tough creative business. Here are four of them: 12 heads are better than one. When you're watching a sitcom and the credits come on, they usually list one, maybe two writers. Don't be fooled. Sitcoms are written by committee—usually about 12 writers. On a show like The Simpsons, it can climb to 20. Why? Because it makes sense. When a dozen people collaborate, stuff gets done fast. Somebody always has a good idea. And one good pitch inspires a few more, until before you know it, everyone's contributing, and you wind up with a joke or a story line that's more interesting than anything you'd come up with on your own. Which makes me wonder: Why don't ad agencies work like this? Sure, there's something to be said for pride of ownership. But why not stick 20 writers and art directors in a room together every once in a while? Or, at the very least, why not bounce your ideas off the account planners, the media buyers or—gasp!—the account guys? You never know what might happen. And when you're on the stage at Cannes, you'll still to get to hog all the glory. It can always be better. When a writer hands in a rough draft on a TV show, what's the first thing that happens? It gets ripped apart and completely rewritten. Then there's a read-through with the actors, and you rewrite it again. Then there's a walk-through, and you rewrite it again. Then there's a dress rehearsal, and you rewrite the damn thing again. Then you're on set, pitching jokes and fixes between takes—still rewriting. My point? A script can always be sharper. A joke can always be funnier. An idea can always be better.More is always more. A 28-minute sitcom calls for a script that's 44-46 pages long. As a rule, however, TV staffs hand in 10-15 extra pages. In other words, you always shoot a ton more stuff than you'll ever use. Why? Because you never know what will work and what won't. Maybe the bit that's a real gut-buster on the page will fall flat on film. Maybe that line you weren't 100 percent sold on will end up being a comedic gem.Nothing beats a good schtick. On one show, I worked with a writer who wore a 1960s pillbox hat every day. In three years I never saw her without it. At the studio commissary, I'd always see a writer who had big, feathered angel wings pinned to her shoulders. And I've heard of a guy at Disney who's never seen without a priest's collar. What do these people have in common besides an odd taste in clothes? They're all incredibly successful. They've sold a score of shows between them and made buckets of money. And they all know the importance of a good gimmick. In a town with several thousand talented writers and only a few hundred decent jobs, it makes sense to do what you can to stand out. A friend of mine used to joke about wearing an eye patch to the lot and becoming known as "the eye-patch guy." Maybe this wasn't such a bad idea.Perhaps a little flamboyance would work well in your agency. Haven't been doing so hot with new business lately? Why not try wearing a tank helmet to your next pitch? I know, it sounds idiotic, but you'll certainly stand out. And if I see you on the street, I promise not to laugh. After all, I'll be the guy in the nun's habit.

Brand Marketing

Tips From Tinseltown

Charlie Tercek

About

Subscriptions

Events

Publications

WORK SMARTER - LEARN, GROW AND BE INSPIRED.

Subscribe today!

Charlie Tercek