Jeremy joins a television writing course in the hope of turning his sitcom idea into a money-spinnerby Jeremy Clarke / July 20, 1999 / Leave a comment
Published in July 1999 issue of Prospect Magazine
There were 16 of us, plus the two visiting tutors, holed up for a week in an isolated 12th-century thatched farmhouse in north Devon. Miles from anywhere. No television, no radio, no traffic noise; just birdsong and the wind in the trees. Now and then a sleepy-eyed local woman came and dumped a pile of groceries on the kitchen table and disappeared again; otherwise we didn’t see a soul. The only permanent residents were a pair of identical grey cats, whom we deferred to as our hosts.
The course was called Writing TV Comedy, and the tutors were experts in their particular fields. One, a short, Jewish man wearing an obvious cherry-coloured wig, specialised in “gag” and sketch writing. The other, a florid Yorkshireman, had progressed from writing pornography to Z Cars scripts, before achieving critical acclaim with a succession of gentle, northern-based situation comedies. The two of them took it in turns to lecture us in the barn, and while they lectured and we listened, nesting house martins swooped and skimmed over our heads.
The man in the wig lectured in the morning, the Yorkshireman in the afternoon. I preferred the man in the wig. His approach to the process of comedy writing was a wonderfully pragmatic one, in which salesmanship was much more important than “creativity.” He taught us how to bluff our way past a television producer’s secretary to sell our ideas direct to the boss. This was worth the cost of the course in itself.