What are the golden rules of sitcom?

I’ve been asking myself this, because, well, I’ve been asked this recently. I’ve been working with some folk from a country where sitcom is not really a thing, apart from American and British imports. So I’ve been re-evaluating what a sitcom is and how they tend work. I made a list. I checked it twice (but I’ll bet there are still typos). But I thought it might make a good last blog post of the 2015.

These are not golden rules.

They’re not even silver rules. Maybe somewhere between silver and bronze. (Brilver?)

And some of them aren’t even rules, but merely ‘things that tend to work’. So this is Thirteen Brilver Things that Tend to Work.

It’s a bit of amalgam of stuff I’ve been writing about on this blog for ages. And some new stuff. And they’re in no particular order.

There are exceptions to these rules. Of course there are. The exceptions are often good episodes because they go against the convention, but you couldn’t do it every week. Sometimes, however, they really don't work.

Oh, and I’m taking for granted that we all know my patented sitcom formula, that Character + Conflict + Confinement = Comedy.

Enough already! Let’s just start the list.

Rule 1: Your Characters and Situation Don’t Change

A sitcom is, to some extent, the same show every week. The same characters make the same mistakes. They don’t learn. They don’t change. Your character is not moving to Nepal, even if they talk about it for the whole episode. Your character won’t start listening to advice, even if the moral of the story is that the character should listen to advice. And even if though they do ‘learn their lesson’, they’ve forgotten by next week. In one sense, it’s more true to life than any art form.

Rule 2: You’ve Got 48 Hours!

Execs hated the idea of this episode

Sitcoms normally take place in a 24 to 48 hour time span. For some reason, three days feels too long, even if it’s a bit more plausible. It means that people end up throwing parties and giving people a few hours notice and they still turn up. But that doesn’t seem to matter. The audience implicit understand the compression of time because they're smart. And they've watched a lot of TV. The glaring exceptions to this timeframe are the episodes that are ‘real time’, like Miranda at the psychiatrist or Seinfeld, Elaine and George waiting for a table at a Chinese Restaurant.

Rule 3: Start Your Story ASAP

Given you’ve only got 48 hours, and about 32 pages, start your story as soon as possible. It’s amazing how many scripts I read which have the characters talk and talk and talk, but not actually do anything or even threaten to do anything until about page 14. Give your main characters achievable goals as early as possible. Show who they are by having them do stuff.

Rule 4: Give your Characters HELL

Having given your characters achievable goals, make their lives an utter misery. Make the goals suddenly seem very far away or impossible. But don’t just throw your characters under a bus. Give your characters good reasons to go in completely the wrong direction - or step into the path of a bus. Give your main character characters conflicting goals. Ask yourself why this day of all days is the worst possible day to pursue that goal. And read THIS on the subject. And also read THIS brilliant blogpost by Chuck Wendig.

Rule 5: Keep it Simple

Stories can get very complicated very easily. Remember you’re writing comedy, not complex boxed-set drama. You want the audience to laugh. And if they don’t know what’s happening, or are struggling to keep up with the plot, they won’t laugh. And one of the mantras of this blog is that Confusion is the enemy of comedy. If you want brilliant clear plotting, watch The Goldbergs.

Rule 6: Don’t Get Caught by the Logic Police

Make sure every action taken by your characters has a good reason, rather just being a convenient contrivance. Everything must make sense to your characters at least. It undermines the alternative reality you're trying to build if the audience are saying 'No-one would ever do that'. Read more on that HERE. Having said that:

Rule 7: Go Big at the End

At the very end of the script, it’s surprising how far you can push things, even if they overstep the bounds of logic for a moment. This probably isn't your character doing something unbelievable, but more of a sequence of events which act as a topper to the main story. Your main character could walk into their living room after the big moment and find it full of mini-wind-up robots that were mention a while ago. How the robots were unpacked and wound up, we don't know but it's right at the end so it's probably fine. In the last two minutes, you can get away with an awful lot. Having said that:

Rule 8: No Coincidences

A chance event cannot solve your character’s big problem. It has to be something they or another character does, ideally at great cost to themselves, that gives you the resolution. You don’t want any new information in the last third of the show. Often, a good plot is resolved by having a regular character do something that was staring them in the face all along, but they – and the audience – just couldn’t see it at the time.

Rule 9: Avoid Outside Characters

Outside characters feel like they can be very exciting and funny, but the audience really don’t want to know about them. They just love the regular characters, so the only point in having outside characters is to make your regular character do funny things. Where possible, use your regulars. If your character wants to get fit, and hire a personal trainer, have someone we already know volunteer. It’s almost certainly going to be funnier. Sure you can build a big family of characters over time, but think about that on Series 3. In the meantime, there's more on this subject HERE.

Rule 10: Avoid Outside Locations

If you’re a studio sitcom, keep your location shooting to a minimum. You want as much of the action, and especially the denouement, to take place in front of the audience. You're filming a play, not a movie.

Rule 11: Make those First Lines Count

If you’re writing a pilot script, make sure the first line spoken by each of the main characters is really significant for that character, or tells us a lot about them. Given them a prop, or something to wear as well to reinforce that. How we first encounter them makes a deep impression, so make sure it’s the right impression. More on that HERE.

Rule 12: Be Brutal

Don't just be brutal on your characters. Be just as brutal on your script. Every line of your script should either be a joke, a character line or a plot development. Ideally it should be at least two of those three. Either way, once you’ve written your script, forget about it for a couple of days, then print it out and go through it with a pen, and cross every single line that isn’t a joke, a character line or plot development. You just don’t have room for those lines. And you’re better off with a tight 29-page script than a baggy 40-pager. I learned that the hard way HERE. Also there's more on polishing your script HERE.

Rule 13: Do What You Want

You can write about anything you like. Anything. This especially applies if you’re not a writer-performer. Your acting ability and persona are not integral to the piece so you can write about anyone, anywhere at any stage of their life and at any point in time. Make the most of that (more on that HERE) And don’t be persuaded by stories of what commissioners are looking for. Ultimately they’re looking for a show that’s funny. And that’s more likely to be the case if your write in your original voice about things you’re passionate about, rather something cynical and hacky.

Write the show YOU want to write, rather than a show you think you can sell. More on that HERE.

Maybe there should be rules on dealing with exposition (more on that HERE), story lining (HERE), and what to do with your script when you've written it (HERE and HERE). But 13 Brilver Things that Tend to Work is probably enough.

Sitcom Writing

beginning
practice
know your characters
structure
dialogue & visuals
plants & pay-offs
re-writing & reading

Sitcom Writing Advice

So, you’ve had an idea for a Situation Comedy? You need to ask yourself a few basic questions. Is it viable? What are its themes? Who are its characters? Where is it set?

The easiest one to answer is this last one – it is probably the first thing you know. Perhaps you’ve identified a niche, something, somewhere, that no-one else has thought of. Beware, original settings do not necessarily make for brilliant comedy. Some of the best (and most successful) sitcoms do not have original settings – Men Behaving Badly, Only Fools and Horses or Father Ted. What sets them apart is their characters.

But also, and perhaps more importantly, they have clearly defined themes. Men Behaving Badly is just that, laddish blokes and how they affect their own environment. Fools and Horses clearly states its themes: This time next year, we’ll be millionaires. Father Ted is about the foolishness of organised religion.

Again though, these themes are for nothing without engaging characters.

And engaging does not have to mean likeable. In fact, likeable sitcom characters are boring. Gary and Tony, Basil Fawlty, Richie and Eddie, Captain Mainwaring, Del Boy, Alan B’Stard and so on, are all engaging but not entirely likeable.

Judging whether your sitcom is viable may not seem like your job. You might think that that decision lies with a Producer or a Commissioning Editor, but if you don’t know if it is sustainable, then they certainly won’t want to know. Can you outline at least six plots (thumbnail ideas will do)? Or even twelve? Can you design sub-plots around each character, or pairings of characters? But the best way to know if it is viable is to write a series of episodes (for more reasons than one). If you can’t be bothered with this, then you might just as well give up now. To be a writer, you DO need to write (duh!).

Practice

If you are unsure how to write a sitcom or how it should be structured, try writing someone else’s work. Long running, clearly defined series are the best. Try an episode of The Simpsons, or Seinfeld (these will make excellent calling cards if you are trying to get on to a long running show, but do not write an episode of the show you want to write for). American sitcoms are structured differently to British ones, so this is a beneficial exercise for many reasons.

Plot the episode, perhaps using cards, dividing it clearly into plot points, or act divisions if necessary. The act divisions on US shows work in a different way to ours – the end of Act One should present a character with a situation it seems impossible to resolve, and Act Two is generally a set piece of resolution.

The act divisions in commercial UK sitcoms seem to be there for the most part to accommodate commercials. It is not a bad idea to follow the US model, even for a commercial UK sitcom.

Characters that are not part of the main plot, should either be disregarded, or given sub-plots. Sub-plots can serve the main plot, or offer support to it, by showing a different point of view, or just providing extra jokes.

Keep asking yourself questions like: Can I see this as an episode of this show? Or Would Elaine really say that? This way you will get to know these characters, and this will help you get to know your own characters later. When the script is at a stage you are happy with, do not discard it – it will serve as an excellent sample of your writing abilities, and demonstrate that you know how to write for established shows.

Know Your Characters

This all depends on your working method. If you are anally retentive, then you will want to write complicated character bibles, charting each person’s life, which school they went to, who they have or haven’t loved, or even their curriculum vitae. If you are anally expulsive, you will want to pour things onto your blank page and discover your characters this way.

Each way is equally valid, but a word to the anal expulsive – a little planning will go a long way. Even if you just write a short paragraph for each main character, this will help focus you. I find, without focus, characters lack focus. Even if the person on the written page is different from the one in the brief outline, you’ll find the exercise valuable.

Characters should really dictate plot, not vice versa. Pro-active characters are like characters you hate, much more interesting than the passive guy who follows the flow. However, that is not to say plot should not influence character at all. It’s a fine line.

I find that the best way to get to know your characters is to put them in different situations and see how they react. The easiest way to achieve this is to write three of four draft episodes and watch them develop. Then go back and look at Episode One and see how you can implement what you have learnt.

Remember, plot arc in character development is just as important as in plot – so don’t make them exactly the same, allow them development. I would be very surprised if you do not learn anything by doing this. Also, it tests the project’s viability. With four episodes in draft form, you have an awful lot of material to work with – even if you end up distilling all four into the first episode.

You will also find that you prefer writing for particular characters in favour of others. I’m sure Father Dougal was much more fun to write than Mrs Doyle. In fact, I seem to remember Lineham and Matthews mentioning she became harder and harder to develop as the series progressed.

If you find that important characters are pushed into the periphery by the flamboyance of your favourite, try pairing them, and see what develops. You might discover something completely new about both of them. Even if this is just a test scene, it cannot do any harm.

Peripheral characters are very important, so do not under-estimate them. Kochanski in Red Dwarf became a catalyst that developed Kryten. Guests in the hotel make Basil much more funny. Watch an episode of Father Ted, and examine the peripheral characters in that. Bishop Brennan (stern, scary, imposing), Father Stone (the most boring man in the world) or even the Dancing Vicar. Each one has an over-emphasised trait, and this is an excellent tool with which to work.

Indeed, your main characters should follow this model too:- take one trait and exaggerate it. Basil is consummately rude, Lister is a slob, Alan B’Stard is a bastard, Captain Mainwairing is a pompous fool. Indeed, it is always worth studying Dad’s Army. A true ensemble piece, with clearly defined characters throughout.

Make your characters engaging, even if they are not likeable. Also, remember that not likeable does not mean irritating – we must at least be able to empathise with them, if not truly understand them.

It’s also worth looking at John Sullivan’s work, and not just Only Fools and Horses. Dear John has just been released on video, and also try and watch Citizen Smith.

Structure

If you are unsure how a sitcom should be structured, the best thing I can advise is to sit down and watch several episodes of The Young Ones, with a view to deconstructing it. This is a Media Studies tool which means you examine how, and why, certain methods are being adopted. The Young Ones is a deliberate exercise in breaking sitcom conventions. At the time (and still) it broke a lot of the traditional models, and in doing so, invented some new ones.

When you know what’s being broken, then you have learnt the traditional model. Look out particularly for the role reversals, the non-linear narrative, the irrelevant sketches, the lack of closure.

Don’t just break conventions for the sake of it. Your format and structure should be true to itself.

Last Of The Summer Wine (or any Roy Clarke comedy) has a very defined format, and even if you hate the shows, you should look at them and deconstruct them.

If you are writing specifically for a commercial channel, I do suggest you try and adopt the US model (it is not imperative), but I think there seems to be a swing towards it at the moment (at least on the ITV networks, and this isn’t necessarily wise either).

Dialogue & Visuals

Good dialogue is extremely important. Voice is even more important.

By this, I mean each character should have a distinct voice, should speak slightly differently to every other character. I don’t necessarily mean accents, or different level of intelligence, more they should have a different rhythm, a different means of delivery.

Listen to the characters on Father Ted. Ted himself is quite lucid, Dougal won’t use long words, Jack barks monosyllabically, and Mrs Doyle is fond of repetition.

Dialogue should be as realistic as possible, or at least as realistic to its own situation. The surreal fantasy world of Bottom demands a different kind of dialogue and voice to Is It Legal?. If you want to use ‘bad’ language, do so, so long as it is relevant. The restrictions on swear words are crumbling by the day (good thing) as we become less sensitive to everyday language on TV. However, there are ways around it, if it becomes a problem. Invent unique words and phrases that serve your purpose. Look at smeg. Before Red Dwarf who had heard it? I’m particularly fond of Pump as an exclamation, or Vas Deferens as a truly derogatory term (look it up in a medical dictionary).

Keep it simple. If you can use two words to say it instead of seven, then do so. Succinct is sacrosanct. Unless of course, you have a long winded character. Keep it relevant to the moment. Again, this does not mean you should not have lucid characters, but don’t bore us with over-written poetry.

One liners are great, but don’t live for them. The comedy should come first from the characters, then from the situation. If you can write one-liners that seem natural, that’s the best thing. Don’t write around a great line. A great line should be hilarious, but only in context. If the joke is good on its own – fine, but if it is better because of what sandwiches it, then that’s best.

Do not overlook the importance of visuals. That doesn’t just mean slapstick violence, but more subtle visual jokes can be funnier than your best-constructed line. Remember, TV is a visual medium, and so use it to your advantage. If you can say it with pictures, do so. If your character is a slob don’t inform us of this through the mouths of your other characters, demonstrate it to us. Have him eat his own armpit gunk. Demonstrate, don’t explain.

Nuances – perhaps this should really be in the characters section. However, nuances, I think, are very important, and will make your
characters seem more real. You could let an actor discover the nuance, but it may help them if you write it, even if they subsequently reject it. Try not to let your people just sit there and talk. Make them be doing something. Even if they are eating, try and make it unique to that character. Have her eat chocolate spread from the jar with her finger, or make him contort in his chair for no reason. Perhaps she has an irritating habit of sniffing a lot. Even if you only mention it in your first character description, it will be taken on board by actors.

The same goes for description of visual style – directors will take note, even if it is to disregard it as a possibility. More and more sitcoms are moving out of the studio, and so directors may have a free hand with which to play (oo er).

Plants & Payoffs

These are as important in comedy as anywhere else. Flatter your audience by making them remember things. Dramas with a good twist will always have had the plant, and the pay-off comes when you realise what’s going on.

This is a good tip if you want a strongly plotted episode, but it works equally effectively as a joke. For excellent examples of this look at Fawlty Towers, in particular, an episode like The Hotel Inspectors.

Plants and pay-offs are paramount to any farce. See also Joking Apart or Some Mother’s Do ‘Ave ‘Em. They can be much more subtle as well. Be creative.

Re-Writing & Reading

No matter how much you hate it, or how lazy you are, re-writing is of utmost importance. Identify weakness in plot, badly written characters, unintentional lulls in the action, jokes that could be improved or just plain boring spelling mistakes. Make the script a joy to read, and you have won half the battle.

If you feel a joke can be done better, play around with it. If you find a character is doing nothing in the scene, find something for them to do – or delete them if they are totally irrelevant. Read your own work. If you find you are bored with it, try and pep up the reading experience. But always know when to stop. Too much could kill the flow, or detract from the experience.

Try reading other people’s scripts – preferably ones that have been produced. This doesn’t mean transcripts that someone has kindly typed up and uploaded onto the Internet for you. If possible, get hold of shooting scripts (visit Drew’s Script-O-Rama), see what’s been removed and re-arranged. Ideally you should try and see the drafts that lead to the final shooting script, and try and identify weaknesses before moving on to the next draft.

The Bottom scripts are available, as are a selection of Red Dwarf ones. Reeves & Mortimer sketch books are around (at least for The Smell Of … ), and I know A Bit of Fry And Laurie were published too. Even if these are sketch shows, you can still see work in progress. If you have to search for the material, then do so, it can only benefit your writing.

Sitcom Writing

If you’re a comedy writer who wants to break into the television industry, then you will be well aware of the importance of the sitcom. After all, writing a situation comedy offers the promise of belonging to a rich cultural lineage of famous sitcom writers from Johnny Speight to Larry David, so it’s hard to dismiss the allure every generation of writer feels for the genre, despite how much dross has been commissioned on TV in recent years.

That said, there’s a misconception that writers of sitcoms tend to be industry insiders, but the truth is that channels like the BBC have always been enormously supportive of unsolicited material through multiple initiatives and competitions. Though I have never written for television myself, I have dabbled in script writing in the past and submitted some work to the BBC for consideration, so here are some lessons I feel I’ve learnt for those who aspire to start writing a sitcom.

1. Concept vs Character

There are some sitcoms, such as Red Dwarf, which are built around a ‘what if?’ concept. What if a lowly technician on a spaceship was put into stasis, only to wake up 3 million years later to discover all the crew were dead? Let’s consider more: What if a man discovered a time portal to transport himself back to the Second World War and found himself entangled in a cross-dimensional love triangle? Obviously, that idea gifted us Goodnight Sweetheart. What if a suburban housewife actually turned out to be a witch? Abracadaba, we have Bewitched.

The above examples have an elevator pitch which is strongly built around a high concept ‘what if?’ premise, so you may find that’s where your sitcom idea starts. Alternatively, and perhaps more commonly, your idea could also originate with a specific character. Basil Fawlty, by all accounts, was inspired by a real-life hotel owner John Cleese met; a memorable encounter which eventually inspired him to create Fawlty Towers. Ricky Gervais also admitted David Brent in The Office was essentially an amalgam of real-life managers he’d worked under. Very often, real people you meet will indeed spark off an idea for a sitcom character you could happily build a TV show around.

The very best sitcoms, of course, have both bases covered—a high concept premise married with distinctive and memorable characters. Either way, writers should be able to begin writing a sitcom if you have either one of those elements in place, or at least have given it some considerable thought. If you have neither in your head already, then you probably won’t have the hook you need to grab an audience’s attention, let alone a comedy writing agent or a TV commissioner.

2. Conflict = Comedy

Once you’ve considered your concept and character(s), your next step will be to think about conflict. The greatest sitcoms establish relationships between characters from the offset which unearth humour from feelings of inescapability and angst. In other words, if you find a way of ensuring your characters are stuck, trapped, or cannot live with or even without each other, then comedy should naturally follow. It simply has to, frankly, because there is nothing funnier than mutual frustration.

The humour in Steptoe and Son comes from Harold Steptoe’s sheer exasperation that he cannot escape his father Albert Steptoe’s rag ’n’ bone business due to the trappings of familial loyalty. The characters of Lister and Rimmer in Red Dwarf are similarly destined to drive each other insane in deep space, due to Lister’s slobbishness and Rimmer’s pomposity; while Victor Meldrew’s grumpy ramblings in One Foot in the Grave would be nowhere near as funny without his wife Margaret’s constant bemusement.

In fact, once you have a central conflict at the heart of your sitcom—shackling your characters together, essentially—then other, more incidental conflicts will inspire humorous situations you can use in future episodes. If you know, for instance, that Del Boy and Rodney’s father in Only Fools and Horses abandoned them as a child, then when you see said father reappear in a later episode, it only serves to re-ignite those existing conflicts. Put simply, never ignore conflict—before writing a sitcom, you should think about how much humour you can coax out of the dysfunctional relationships you wish to bring to the fore.

3. Plotting and Structure

Each sitcom generally abides by the same Three Act structure.

Act One is all about exposition. Given the time constraints most sitcoms have to contend with (30 minutes for a UK episode), you will need to begin with an inciting incident which sets the plot in motion fairly quickly, basically acting as a disruption to any perceived equilibrium established at the very start of your script. This is what will spring your character into action.

Act 2 is where you should introduce confrontations, allowing your character(s) to encounter complications or obstacles which are a direct by-product of the events in Act 1. It could well be the case that things go from bad to worse, and that the humour arises from any desperate attempts to restore equilibrium.

Act 3 should aim for resolution and finish with a climax. It’s best if the characters are changed somehow by the preceding events.

Given that this outlines a very skeletal framework, it’s understandable for writers to find this a bit cold and clinical. For this reason, I’ve frequently been inspired by Dan Harmon (creator of US sitcom Community) and his Circle Theory to offer a new dimension to the Three Act structure to give you some idea of how you can flesh out what may appear to be a rigid formula. Harmon argues each episode should follow this trajectory:

1. A character is in a zone of comfort
2. But they want something
3. They enter an unfamiliar situation
4. Adapt to it
5. Get what they wanted
6. Pay a heavy price for it
7. Then return to their familiar situation
8. Having changed

4. Scripting and Formatting

The hardest part of writing a script is getting your head around the different templates. BBC sitcoms, for example, use a very different template from US teleplays. Luckily for me, I’ve grown up reading script books of British sitcoms, particularly Blackadder and Father Ted, but I can see why some writers may get frustrated with all the formatting requirements. There is a lot to learn about scripts, it seems, and the best way to do that is to get stuck in and read them.

By their very nature, scripts are intended to be used during filming, so they use much terminology which may seem alien to writers who simply just want to crack on with telling a decent story. For example, each scene intended to be filmed indoors needs to be referred to as ‘INT.’ for interior, and any outdoors sequences are written as ‘EXT.’ for exterior. Transitions from scene-to-scene must ‘FADE TO’ or ‘DISSOLVE TO’ one another; ‘(V.O.)’ means voiceover; you will be expected to specify whether it is ‘DAY’ or ‘NIGHT’ under the scene headings; and if you find your episode has far too many scenes in it, then you should perhaps scale back your ambitions.

The fact that a sitcom writer may be expected to curb their ideas in order to make filming cost-effective may fly in the face of creativity somewhat, but it can be a restriction which helps you to strip your plot down to its most essential elements. When it comes to formatting, however, if you want to learn more your best bet is to visit the BBC Writers Room website. Not only do they have plenty of example scripts for you to read, but there are lots of resources on there for you to learn all about script templates. Once you’ve got an idea of script layouts, you can finally crack on with writing a sitcom with the above considerations at the forefront of your mind.

Obviously, I’m well aware I have missed two key components of how to write a sitcom: how to write dialogue and how to tell jokes. There’s a very obvious reason for this, and that’s that both are very difficult skills to teach. Some qualities are innate, and a sense of humour is certainly one of them. That said, even if the idea of seeing your ideas find their way onto the small screen seems outlandish and improbable—especially given how many hurdles there are to impress a TV commissioner into making you famous—it’s always worth stretching yourself and giving it a try nonetheless.

In my opinion, writers can learn something valuable from attempting to write a situation comedy and crafting a script—at the very least, it will allow you to focus on generating a strong concept; creating remarkable characters; placing them at the heart of your story; realising the importance of conflict; and thinking more like a dramatist. Once you’ve done all of those things, you’ll be able to apply each of those learnings to any genre of your choosing. Let’s face it, we can’t all be Armando Iannucci, but with some effort, we can at least perhaps learn the tricks of his trade.

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