After considering them, take a look at Treme, for a more recent, brilliant exploration of how to work stories through an extreme historic place and time.
Still, the broadcast networks find it prudent to fill their schedules with reliable procedural franchises. And yet, those are volatile too. For example, the action-adventure franchise that thrived in the days of easy bad guys like The A-Team and Starsky & Hutch has transformed to shows like The Closer, in which a character said “I’m in America observing an empire on its deathbed, a tourist doing charitable work among the addicted and sexually diseased.” In this context, Showtime’s Sleeper Cell was an ambitious attempt to dramatize a range of characters and motives that are unfamiliar to most Americans. The action and adventure in shows like those emanate from the terrain, rather than having the franchise itself control the story.
The Walking Dead
Nor could great drama like The Wire be defined by its franchise, though it obviously had cops and robbers. And obviously a family drama built on personal relationships among the ensemble. And obviously a spiritual quest built on confronting mortality and the will to survive, even in hell. It was all of those and more, which is part of what happens when creative possibilities are allowed to expand.
That’s evident in the range of science fiction — now there’s a genre that has boldly gone where science fiction hadn’t gone before on TV. While the Syfy Channel (owned by NBC-Universal) continues a predictable roll-out of fantasy adventures like Stargate SGI, Eureka, and any number of fright movies (Mansquito, anyone?), which serve its niche audience without extending it, the channel also lucked into the critically-acclaimed Battle-star Galactica, which was sometimes a more searing political allegory than even West Wing was, while venturing into contemporary relationships on the level of premium cable dramas. At the same time, Fringe, using a traditional science-fiction genre, became a network hit, attracting viewers who are not traditional sci-fi fans, and the adventurous programming on AMC is bringing not only Mad Men and Breaking Bad but also The Walking Dead — a quality drama about zombies.
If I had to guess the frontier of science fiction writing on television, I would look toward the characters. In 20th century sci-fi series, the leading edge was technology as used by fantasy heroes, usually “perfect,” in action-heavy battles between good and evil, which tended to play to children and adolescents. Though contemporary sci-fi/fantasy shows are as different as Lost is from Fringe or Battlestar Galactica or The Walking Dead, they all follow flawed human beings, and the questions they explore involve both relationships and serious issues about what it is to be a citizen of this planet; and they’re watched by wide demographics. With so much range in this franchise, if you’re interested in trying it, I suggest reaching up toward real dramatic writing, and leave cartoon-like thinking to the movies.
The vitality of 21st century television drama has re-interpreted traditional franchises. But that doesn’t mean they’ll disappear. When I was a beginner freelancing any show that would give me a break, I landed an assignment on Mike Hammer, a network detective series. At my first meeting, the producer handed me two pages of guidelines. The first was titled “Mike Hammer Formulaic Structure.” On the second were rules for writing Mike, for example, “Mike speaks only in declarative sentences.” To be a strong man, he could never ask questions, you see.
The formula went something like this: At the top of the show, a sympathetic character approaches Mike for help. At the end of Act One the sympathetic character is found dead. In Act Two Mike is on the trail of the killer, only to find him dead at the Act break, and yet someone else has been killed (proving there’s a different killer). In Act Three the real bad guy goes after Mike, and at the Act Three break, Mike is in mortal jeopardy. Act Four is entirely resolution, one-to-one, Mike against the killer. And guess who wins. As I started, I thought such a rigid form would be stultifying, but I discovered it was fun. Relieved of certain structure choices, I felt free to be inventive with the guest cast and the kinds of situations that could lead to the turns and twists.
Years later, an executive of the Children’s Television Workshop (makers of Sesame Street) asked me to develop and write a pilot for a children’s series, later named Ghostwriter, that would be structured like primetime network dramas, complete with long character arcs, parallel stories, complex relationships, among a diverse ensemble cast, and even references to controversial issues. I’d never written for kids, but I was intrigued. In forming the series with the CTW team, we began by identifying a general franchise — in this case detectives, because solving mysteries was a way to involve the whole cast and incite each episode’s quest. Beyond that, we stayed close to what human beings truly care about, how they reveal themselves, and what makes people laugh, cry, be scared, and fall in love — people of any age.
Ghostwriter was originally intended for kids around eight years old to encourage them to read. But CTW was astounded when research reported that the audience age range went from four years to sixteen. That’s not even a demographic. I think the show exceeded anyone’s expectations because the realistic characters rested on a franchise that was so robust it could carry not only a very young cast but also some educational content while moving the stories forward with high tension.
But when is a franchise not a franchise? Dick Wolf, creator of Law & Order, told Entertainment Weekly, “Law & Order is a brand, not a franchise. It’s the Mercedes of television. The cars are very different, but if you buy a Mercedes, you’re still getting a good car. CSI is a franchise — like certain restaurants. CSI is the same show set in different cities, while the Law & Order shows are all very different from each other.” No doubt CSI, which still competes head to head with Law & Order, which is in perpetual reruns, would describe itself as an even bigger car.
Large as CSI and Law & Order may be, the stretch-limousines of franchise enhancement belong to HBO. With the 2011 arrival of Game of Thrones, based on a quasi-medieval imaginary world, the question is if this show will do for fantasy what Deadwood did for Westerns and The Sopranos did for gangsters. Like Deadwood, The Sopranos, Rome, and Boardwalk Empire, Game of Thrones uses history and screen tradition only as a starting point to develop unsentimental relationships observed with such honesty they transcend the prototype. Bluntly realistic, Thrones can be seen as a reaction against fantasy clichés such as the struggle between absolute good and evil. Villains wrestle with scruples, heroes compromise, and moral rigidity will get you killed. It’s a complex narrative that continues expanding the possibilities of writing for TV.
When you’re ready to plan a script as your showpiece for a series, ask yourself what the underlying franchise is. Even if the show is innovative and evolved beyond the tradition, the franchise may give you tips for constructing your outline (more on this in Chapter Four).
READY, SET, GO!
Writing primetime TV drama series is an adventure into an expanding universe. If you rise above outdated ideas about television, and have pride in your talent so that you never write down, you can create for the most powerful medium in the world. In the next chapters you’ll find the tools you’ll need, so get ready to jump on a moving rocket!
SUMMARY POINTS
TV drama series have unique qualities:
• Characters continue over many episodes instead of concluding a dramatic arc as in a two-hour movie. Focus on depth of characters rather than looking for characters to change.
• Storylines may
