Pitch Perfect

I need to get back in the habit of writing.

I'm working on a script at the moment.

I haven't finished it yet. Or started it yet.

I haven't sketched out an outline of the series yet. Or an episode.

I haven't really got a premise as such.

Or any characters.

I don't really have a name for it, or any conception of what I want to be.

Is it a radio sitcom or a TV sitcom?

Is it a sitcom?

Is it a sketch show?

Is it even a script?

I don't know.

All I know is I've got 100 blank pages that need to be filled with writing.

...

OK, I haven't got any paper.

But I have hypothetical paper.

I need to put down some hypothetical words on hypothetical paper to form some coherent hypothetical whole.

So I have nothing.

But I'm working on it.

***

Let's workshop a sitcom scenario:

Ankles

Ricky Ankles is a snake with delusions of grandeur. Despite his lowly status, he hopes to slither his way into a position of authority - perhaps a city councillor or an archdeacon. Just one thing is missing: legs.

That's two things. But they are joined by the pelvis.

Together with his disapproving mother Esssther, and his dim-witted sidekick Mouthful (a frozen mouse he didn't have the heart to eat), Ricky tries to acquire some legs. Each week he gets close to his aim but is thwarted by bad luck and the ghost of Steve Irwin.

---

OK, let's see what we've got so far.

Pros:

Well defined characters
A strong, original premise
Jeopardy
Snakes

Cons:

Difficult to film
Derivative of hit HBO sitcom Danny Triceps (about a worm who wants arms)

The question we need to ask is: does this series have legs?

Then we need to laugh.

Gaaaahahaha.

Frankly, I think this would need a lot of work.

But that's what Tolstoy thought when he wrote трицепс (the original inspiration for Danny Triceps).

Let's try a sample scene. There are many ways of making a scene effective. The most common one is to have it take place in a hot air balloon.


INT. HOT AIR BALLOON - DAY


RICKY slithers back and forth, whilst MOUTHFUL chews on some straw.

RICKY
I wish I could pace. This
doesn't convey my pensive mood.

MOUTHFUL looks through a hole in the basket.

MOUTHFUL
Do you reckon I could survive falling
from this height?

RICKY
What? Of course not.

MOUTHFUL
I reckon I could. What I'd do right,
is just as I'm about to hit the ground,
yeah, I'd just jump upwards.
Then it would cancel it out.
Up plus down equals... uh... mouse.
Alive mouse.

RICKY
Can I borrow your phone?
I need to arrange to have your
mother killed.

MOUTHFUL
Yeah, sure.

He hands over the phone, but it just falls to the floor.

MOUTHFUL (CONT'D)
You don't have any hands.
D'you want me to dial?


RICKY
I want you to cover yourself in
thousand island dressing, and
just sit quietly until I'm hungry.


MOUTHFUL
When will that be?


RICKY
I don't know. I ate a horse
and baked potato earlier.

The GHOST OF STEVE IRWIN appears.

GHOST OF STEVE IRWIN
G'day mates! How's about
we boomerang ourselves a
reef and cork hat koala knife?

The balloon catches on fire and everyone in the world wakes up from a dream, sweating.

I'm not saying it couldn't work. But the concept needs some development.

I might put this one on the back burner until it has been completely consumed by the flames.

***

More screenwriting tips tomorrow.

I might not write them down, but you can look some up or just invent them.

Inlet Jump

I'd like to begin with an apology.

Unfortunately I've never done anything wrong. And a disingenuous apology is tantamount to a slap in the the face.

So I'd like to apologise. For slapping you in the face with this deceptive apology. I'm sorry for offering a baseless apology.

But of course, it now has a base (perhaps one filled with melted cheese), and so I don't really have anything to apologise for after all.

Sorry.

I've been a bit slow on the uptake lately (and the upload, and the upstairs, and the upset). I haven't had many thoughts.

I mean, I've probably had quite a few thoughts. Probably in the hundreds. And that's not taking into account conjoined thoughts (which some would consider equalling two or three regular thoughts).

But they are mostly unblogworthy.

Unlike the stuff I've written so far.

Which is.

I recently bought a present for a Swiss friend of mine who just found out his wife was having an affair. It was a cuckold clock.

I'm not usually good at buying presents, but this was EXACTLY APPROPRIATE FOR THE SITUATION.

Of course, as you know I know, the Swiss didn't invent the cuckoo clock. But it's close enough for the joke to work.

Weirdly, my friend didn't appreciate the gift. Not because it reminded him of his wife's infidelity, but because the horns prohibit the cuckoo from exiting his little house.

That's right, elements of the cuckoo clock have been retained for the cuckold clock. They decided it was best.

I don't really have a Swiss friend.

Actually, I do. But I don't imagine she'll be reading this. Or will she?

In any event, she doesn't have an unfaithful wife. At least, to the best of my knowledge.

(She's not really Swiss anyway)

Maybe I'll spend more time speculating about the marital status of friends that may or may not be reading this.

It won't be of interest to anyone but me and those friends that may be reading this. Those that may not be reading this probably won't be.

Like Greek Andy. I wonder what he's doing now...

He's probably pretty much as I remember him: not a real person.

If there was any justice in the world, a venerable sheep would be wearing a John Motson-skin coat right now.

Because justice is blind. And has an odd sense of humour.

Justice likes watching You've Been Framed!, but only when the people falling over are criminals. Justice is more satisfying with a wry Harry Hill voice over. And then that bank-robbing toddler will understand the error of his ways, as he slips on a cake and sets his mother on fire.

Justice is served.

I'm not going for the little three-asterisk breaks in this entry (***).

They seem slightly pretentious. Like I'm implying each section is a well-honed, self-contained golden comedy sketch nugget.

The three asterisks are like the little comedy drum rimshot. But today, I feel like having everything flowwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwe all make mi[stakes are high]&MIGHTY



That eerie theme is one of the main reasons I don't trust Mighty Mouse.

The other reason is: he's a mouse. I've always found something untrustworthy about mice. I think it's coupled with an awareness that rats are hated and feared by the world at large.

As far as I'm concerned, it's just a kind of rodent apartheid.

Even in the field of cartoon mice (micefield, if you will), I'd much rather have dinner with Speedy Gonzales, Jerry or Minnie Mouse.

They all seem a bit more down-to-earth.

Anyway, it's getting late.

I should probably... you know...

Yeah.

I mean, I'm pleased with what I have here. Genuinely, generally pleased.

I'm going to buy myself a drink, and then...

well, we'll see where things go.

Mint julep is one of those cocktails that seems like an anagram of something interesting, but isn't.

You know the ones.

It's late. Sorry.

Helen, the Queen of Mice, is fiddling with her royal cravat. Her stylist, Victoire, is making pancakes.

Victoire: Oh, Helen! Does not the smell of burning pancake batter not bring back such memories of childhood and alterations of syntax that your very heart doth swell and break and leak into the very frying pan which elicits these emotions?

Helen: Yes. Yes, it does.

Victoire: Why, I remember when, as a child, I...

Helen: Victoire?

Victoire: Yes, Your Majesty.

Helen: Shut your mouth.

Victoire: Hmfff bmmp jfff trfgnn gnnt nff...

Helen: Victoire?

Victoire: Mmmf?

Helen: Open your mouth, stop talking.

Victoire: ...

Helen: Victoire?

Victoire: ...

Helen: When will he arrive?

Victoire: ...

Helen: You may speak.

Victoire: He said he will be here at half-past, as he has to wash his car. And he woke up late because of strange dreams about the past and knives.

Helen: Victoire? Do you think he will mind?

Victoire: Your Majesty?

Helen: Will he mind... that I am a mouse?

Victoire: ...

THERE IS A LOUD KNOCK AT, AND ON, THE DOOR
Helen: Enter!

***
I got bored at this point. I just wanted to write something. Sorry.

Here's an amusing video to make up for it:

[I couldn't find an amusing video. Sorry.

Here's an amusing photo to make up for it:]


{I couldn't find an amusing photo. Sorry.

Here's an amusing pun to make up for it:}


(I couldn't think of an amusing pun. Sorry.

Here's a circular blog post to make up for it:__)