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What Bonekickers Did Wrong


It’s not what you think.

Spoilers follow.

If you’ve talked with me about television recently, the odds are that I’ve told you in some detail about my love of the recent archaeological action-adventure show Bonekickers.

Each episode kicks off with a bit of archaeology, and ends in madness.

For example:

In the first episode, our intrepid heroes find an old coin at the beginning of the episode. By the end of the episode, they are having a swordfight while swinging on ropes thirty feet above the ground of an immense cavern filled with crosses brought from the Holy Land, one of which is the One True Cross, and all of which are on fire.

For example:

In the third episode, our intrepid heroes find an old coin at the beginning of the episode. By the end of the episode they are fleeing to avoid the poison gas drifting down the tunnel behind them – but the tunnel in front is blocked by an explosive minefield made from Roman hand grenades.

Now, I don’t know about you, but I love a good action-adventure show. So I’m perfectly happy with the idea of archaeologists fighting evil. I mean, it worked for Indiana Jones.

Where I think Bonekickers falls down is this: Each episode starts with the ordinary, and leads you into the realm of the bonkers.

Compare and contrast with a James Bond film. Or indeed, an Indiana Jones film. There’s a reason that they always have that huge stunt before the credits: it establishes the sort of world that Bond lives in, and more importantly, it establishes what’s possible in that world.

With Bonekickers, the world begins ordinary, and you’re led into the strangeness.

Now, one of the things that I love about the show is that it does that. Each step on the route from coin to cavern is a small one, with no great leap of faith. And then when you get to the end, you have a big action/adventure. I like that change in pace.

But there’s a problem with doing it like that. You start out thinking you’re watching one show. And you end up watching another.

Let’s take a look at the opening credits.

  • Logo

  • Looking through a cave by torchlight

  • Dusting off a Skull

  • Hieroglyphs

  • Microscope

  • Man with a sword from the past

  • A coin being examined through a magnifying glass

  • An explosion

  • Putting a fragment of something on a microscope slide

  • Lighting a flare and throwing it underwater

  • Looking at something through a microscope

  • Overhead view of a dig site

  • Heroes stand round a table on which is laid out archaeological finds

The first and last shots last about four seconds each, while each of the others lasts for about two seconds.

Let’s break it down.

  • Shots that lead you to expect an action-adventure series (explosion): 2s

  • Shots that lead you to expect an archaeological procedural series (most of the rest): 18s

  • Shots that could go either way (flare, swordsman, cave): 6s

That credits sequence leads you to expect a series that’s about solving the mysteries raised by archaeology. A programme like Bones, or CSI, but with archaeology. And this expectation’s then re-inforced by the fact that the show always starts in the ordinary world with them doing just that.

But the thing is, that’s not what the show’s about. So you can (rightfully, I think) argue that this isn’t the show you signed up for.

I think establishing that world up front, in the credits, or in the first few minutes of the show, would actually have helped Bonekickers become the success that it deserved to be. So the viewer knows what they’re getting when they watch.

Because it’s not about archaeology. It’s about adventure.

And right now, it’s not selling that.

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Letters from America: I have a new favourite cancelled television show.

originally sent 4th February 2004
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Max Headroom.
Ultraviolet.
Firefly.

And now Keen Eddie.

Keen Eddie was a mid-season pickup for Fox last year. That means thirteen episodes. Seven were aired before it was cancelled. It’s also been shown in the UK. (Sky One in a graveyard slot, for those that are interested. Sunday afternoon. Filler material.) All 13 episodes are now being shown on Bravo in the US.

I’m starting to pick up trends over here now. Tapping the zeitgeist, getting into the groove. And based on what I’ve seen, there’s no way that Keen Eddie could have succeeded.

Like the other shows I mentioned, it’s just a little too quirky, a little too ahead of the curve to have been picked up. Eddie’s a New York cop who moves to London to…

Blah-de-blah-de-fucking-blah.

It doesn’t matter. It’s a fish out of water programme, and you don’t need to know more than that.

Particularly interesting is the direction and cinematography. The show was shot in the UK, but in a US TV style. It’s a little odd to see suburban semis and council estates shot like New York tenements and LA condos, but if you can get over the shock, there’s a lot to enjoy in seeing a different visual look for London. There’s not another show based in the UK that frames its shots like this, and I think that’s a real shame.

The show’s very stylised. You could think that’s good or bad. Me, I love being transported into a space where strange things happen that are completely normal to the characters. After all, isn’t that what happens in Law & Order every week?

And talking of the characters, they are self-consciously coolstrange (think Buffy or West Wing) but nonetheless lovable (ditto). And if you can deal with this, the show repays a lot. If you’re not, that’s cool. As I say, it’s not easy to get into unless you’re willing to suspend your disbelief.

But it does make me wonder: Alias has scenarios equally as far-fetched all of the cancelled shows I’ve mentioned, and a visual style equally strong. Why does one succeed and the others fail?

I’ll let you know when I figure it out.

Piers

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Song Contest

So I got this request from Dom.

“Find a song that sums up what you think it means to be a writer and post the lyrics on your blog and why you’ve chosen it. NB: It doesn’t have to be your favourite song, it just has to express how you feel about writing and/or being a writer. It can be literal, metaphorical, about a particular form or aspect of writing – whatever you want.”

Hm.

Having had a wee think about this, I’ve been unable to come up with a song that captures how I feel about writing. And I think that’s because of this:

I don’t see writing as a vocation. I think it’s a job.

It’s an interesting job, a great job, one of the most wonderful jobs in the world. But at the end of the day, it’s still a job.

You might as well ask an accountant “What songs, to you, are all about accounting?”

I don’t know. Perhaps if you asked the greatest accountants in the world, maybe they would be able to wax poetical about what accounting means to them, expressed through the medium of their favourite pop song.

Sadly, I just couldn’t think of any songs in which the singer expresses how much they enjoy their work.

So. Nothing from me on this one.

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Letters From America: Things I Have Learned In California

Originally posted 22nd Jan 2004
—

– An undrinkable beer exists, and its name is Bud Dry
– A kerb painted red is the US equivalent of a double yellow line
– Everyone in Los Angeles is working on a screenplay or is in a band
– Parking on a red-painted kerb will cost you sixty-five dollars
– A microwave is considered essential kitchen equipment; a refrigerator is not
– You need a minimum of two completed screenplays to get an agent
– If you are caught in an earthquake, stand in a doorway
– The light on a cloudless day here is more beautiful than you can imagine
– The English accent trick doesn’t work – they’re used to it
– Equipping an apartment from scratch is more expensive than you think
– Installing Mandrake 9.2 on your computer can destroy a cheap CD drive
– Dell computers have excellent customer service, and cheap CD drives
– An RF lead in your apartment is not necessarily connected to an aerial on the roof
– Redcurrant bagels work surprisingly well for mopping up savoury sauce
– Don’t get a haircut from someone who doesn’t speak English very well
– Mullets are back in
– C&C Music Factory’s “Things that make you go hmmm” was recorded before the advent of DNA testing
– Big Refrigerators Are Good
– Few people in California can spell. When a bank can’t spell “Withdrawals”, that’s a warning sign
– Mess is the equivalent of an animal pissing against a wall. It marks your territory

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TAPS

As far as I can tell I’m the third blogger to go on a TAPS Continuing Drama course, following in the steps of Lucy in 2006 and David in 2007. Perhaps they only let one of us in each year lest we contaminate the other talent and they all start blogging too.

Anyhow, here’s what we got up to:

Beforehand, you had to write a one-page pitch of an original drama which would be shootable on the Emmerdale sets (you get a list and pictures) with no more than six characters.

Friday is getting-to-know-you: introductions, a go-through with a script editor of your pitch document, and a glass or few of free wine.

The course itself started properly on the Saturday with Bill Lyons, a 46-year-veteran of the TV industry telling you about how storylining on a soap works, from story document through to filmed episode, all of which we got to look at. He’s entertaining and full of useful information, and it’s fascinating to see something go from beginning to end.

Main helpful hint: spend at least 25% of your time doing the breakdown. Even if you’ve only got two days, spend the first morning doing the outline.

After lunch, we had an hour to rewrite one of the produced scenes, only without one of the driving characters. They got handed in for later, and the next day, Bill took us through each of the scenes we’d written as they were performed.

Here’s where I fucked up:

I knew that the set we were using wasn’t in fact a set at all, but the interior of a location, and that the exterior of the fictional location was, in fact, the actual exterior of the real building. So I split the scene in two, with a third of it set just outside the front door, thinking that it would be a move of just a few feet.

I was told in no uncertain terms that had this been a real soap, the moment Bill saw EXT. HOUSE, the script would have been binned.

What I’d forgotten is setup time. The entire crew would have had to move outdoors. And all their equipment. And everything would have had to be re-lit. Assuming that the weather’s acceptable.

And, bear in mind, the reason that I’m rewriting this scene at the last minute is because they’ve just lost one of their lead actors and are running behind. So they don’t have time to do that.

Bin. Lesson learned.

It’s more important to be on time and shootable than to be good. A scene can be as brilliant as you bloody like, but if they can’t shoot it, it’s a failure.

At the end of the day we also had to pitch our one-page story in under thirty seconds. It’s a good idea to get a bunch of the other writers together in the bar the night before and practice on each other. Just a couple of go-rounds with live targets makes a huge difference.

Now I’ve got until the 22nd to write up my pitch as a 23-minute script. With an ad break at 11’30”. So that should keep me busy for a while.

I’ve only one real regret about the weekend: I didn’t have anyone with me to take a picture while I stood on the invisible lift in Cardiff Bay.

Ah well.

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Cardiff TAPS

This weekend, I shall mostly be on a TAPS Continuing Drama course in Cardiff.

TAPS is an industry training scheme for writers. For two-and-a-half days you get taught how to write a Continuing Drama (with particular emphasis on Emmerdale), and then you go away and write a short drama using the Emmerdale sets.

Some of these even get filmed and shown to Important People.

But that’s in the future. Or not, depending on how well I do.

More important, is this:

I’m going to be travelling up the night before, that’s this Thursday (the 28th). Should be arriving in Cardiff about 9:30pm – so if you’re on TAPS yourself, or are in Cardiff generally and fancy meeting up on the Thursday night, let me know.

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Screenwriter Training

An interesting post the other day at Tim Clague’s gaff on training courses got me thinking.

In any job you get, there’s a training budget.

If we’re professionals, then we should have a training budget too. For things like screenwriting courses, conferences, residential workshops and so on.

(Or, if you swing that way, on script reading services – that’s part of the training budget too. I don’t bother myself, because I think that money spent on script readers by writers is wasted. YMMV.)

So what’s best practice? If we were in charge of a business, we’d pay for our employees to go on training courses – how much would we spend on them?

Well, Tim’s had an ask around, and best practice in the training industry is 2% of income.

So as a screenwriter, you should be spending 2% of your salary on training yourself. That’s £400 a year if you earn 20k. Or £600 if you’re on 30k.

Obviously you could spend more or less, but that’s a good figure to start from.

Now there’s two ways of looking at that. You can either count your salary as what you earn from your writing, or add in what you earn from your day-job (if you’re not supporting yourself from the writing just yet).

I say: do it from the day-job. After all, a decent company is going to be training you for responsibilities yet-to-come, not just helping you to do the things you’re working at now.

So invest in your own future. Figure out what you’re going to spend your training budget on this year.