Writing Comedy, by Ronald Wolfe
A guide to Scriptwriting for TV, Radio, Film and Stage
While this guide covers the above formats, there’s nothing on cereal packets. So if marketing want to sugar coat some new breakfast junk, they’ll actually have to rely on its sugar coating.
Let that sink in… to your gums.
Ronald Wolfe says you can’t teach anybody to write comedy. There has to be a spark.
And since I can’t think of a clever response, I’ll move on.
The book tells you to not worry about layout.
— — — — — -Then
— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — Wolfe
— — — — — gives you
— — a brief rundown of stage, TV, radio and theatre formats. The mindset to adopt for each. I can’t tell you the differences, without spoiling the book, but the script similarities are as such;
Radio — uses words
TV — uses words
Stage — uses words
Film — uses words
I hope that was helpful.
There are three mini bits; one from Ray Galton, an answer from Brian Cooke, and one from Andy Hamilton. Cooke’s advice comes with a useful tip.
The other two? Well, they talk about things. Comedy is mentioned. The book goes on.
Chapter two comes fast, and the book’s nature is revealed. It’s made of pages, paper and ink. Beyond that, these are largely short chapters.
Wolfe says he doesn’t know why things get laughs, but knows what does.
And just seeing those words makes the light bulb go off, and you’ll race to get a job at a comedy club, to be behind the bar, because your writing sucks.
Really, what works for Wolfe is a number of concepts. These are shown through script examples and certain classics, like Monty Python’s The Meaning of Life.
Sketch examples continue with more excerpts when the book shows you how to get ideas. Then at one point, it tells you, Let your mind revolve around the subject.
A bit vague, but if you want to walk, all you need to know is to move one foot in front of the other. No other advice is required… as long as it’s your own feet you’re moving.
Just don’t try grabbing granny’s legs to help her round the supermarket. And if you have, you should be ashamed. The sheer sadness when someone finds her empty scooter.
All that aside, examples continue in small and understandable chunks, with more scripts and pieces. Page 33 leads on to a couple pages TV script.
Then, chapter five is a strong one that shows a situation and develops it. This leads to a part with possible script directions, as well as a powerful question to open topics even further.
A question that reminded me of my own struggles. After writing a 70,000 word script, my agent asked me, “what went wrong?”
I shrugged my shoulders and said, “I sat down to type.”
Hey, at least it got done. With all the smoke coming from it, my laser printer’s finished.
The book follows the powerful question for another couple of pages. It shows how simple ideas can lead to viable stories.
Another good one is chapter seven. It opens with the line, How do you know if a scene is funny?
From my own experience, someone else wrote it.
Then more question, more possibilities, and you get to see an idea developing, with permutations. Always remember the permutations. Which start wavy then go straight.
Wolfe shows you how to lengthen a storyline, a few tricks to add more scenes, and something to use if you’re desperate.
Don’t go there.
The book tells you there is nothing like a good visual gag. Presumably, hearing you choke isn’t enough.
Apparently, the visual gags are remembered long after all the clever one lines are forgotten. That’s why people forget my Medium articles, because…no wait, it’s because they’re rubbish.
This is when I thought a visual gag would be to upload a snap of one of my body parts. Then I thought… no that’s too far.
So that’s that.
But in a contradiction, here it is.
NB Photo blurred in post production to reduce potential excitement.
Chapter eight’s topic of visuals covers Jack Lemmon and his spaghetti tricks in The Apartment. There’s another visual one from On the Buses. The book also takes you through a scene in Carla Lane’s Butterflies.
A couple more funny visual premises move the book into characters.
It’s a flimsy three pages. They don’t quite fall from the book, and there are a few lines to think about, which end with a funny ‘Allo ‘Allo, very short, two character exchange.
To show you format — where your show might be set and about what — Wolfe takes you through the foundations of On the Buses. That’s relayed through an eight step process, which you can copy for your own ideas.
There’s also the one necessary item needed in comedy. Plus, a couple of questions, to see if your creation can be sustained for more than a single episode.
Two episodes! I’m loaded!
The On the Buses series idea is laid out like a pitch to TV bosses, with the chapter closing with ideas for fallback sources of comedy for your show.
Casting is Crucial gives you some ideas on …casting. To make the concept clear, there’s a black and white diagram of a bait caught haddock.
No, there isn’t.
It’s certainly interesting how the cast affects the final production. With the talk of that, there are some tales from the business, how certain stars got into their roles, and why they were made so big by the bakery.
That’s a drum roll (I’m on fire tonight).
In fact, these puns are why I’m barely off the bread line.
Ronald Wolfe was a British comedy writing legend. He was famous as being half the Wolfe and Chesney duo. Wolfe’s credits include The Rag Trade, On the Buses, and its film adaptations. He wrote Take a Letter, Mr Jones, a couple of episodes of ‘Allo ‘Allo, as well as working as a script consultant. He later turned to lecturing and tutoring, from New York, to Barleona & Kent, plus other locations.
Those are just some of his highlights.
While the casting chapter is a long one for this book, Writing an episode step by step is even longer.
That relative extra length is good, because it allows space for Wolfe to take you through scenes and script from New Uniforms (a classic On the Buses episode). It’s fun, well laid out, with clear info about certain lines and choices.
Chapter fourteen looks at what to write sitcoms about. These involve your premise, a shortish list of situations to fit most concepts, and disclosure on what will interest viewers. There’s also an excellent tip on how to use characters to fuel storylines.
The book moves on to discuss laugh tracks, there’s short advice on daily routine, and a little trick for writer’s block.
But back to laughs, which are mentioned under a slightly surprising heading… Are those laughs real? More to the point, are there any laughs?
It’s no use listening for crickets when they’re dead from waiting. By the time your script’s any good, you’ll be sweeping away the cockroaches.
You’ll even get to see the final atom bomb fall.
Chapter fifteen is Getting along with your director, the actors and the rest of the crew. I’d rather not, so I’ll skip this part.
But there are tips on how to handle them. Because at some point, you’ll probably want to grab them and shake them, once they’ve destroyed what you’ve written.
And if they eat your on set ice cream, a shake will be the least of their worries. They’ll be too busy enjoying chocolate and walnuts.
There are bits on the set designer, costume designer, directors, and actors.
For those who get this far, these are some worthy considerations. For those who don’t, why did you break into a set? Rob a bank, you fool.
To help with the info on the production team, there’s a couple of amusing real life examples. On one occasion, a director indulged an actor, then chopped him up… on the cutting room floor.
Wolfe talks you through choosing a writing partner — if you want one. Writing alone works, as do a number of partnership methods. But there are some things you want to avoid.
Like sharing a pen.
The stand up chapter doesn’t give you much to think about. How to choose topics, but this was covered earlier with sitcoms.
There’s some redemption with a partial bit written by Wolfe, for Beryl Reid (performed as Monica of St Trinians). There’s also an excerpt from the famous routine from Shelly Berman, and his phone call to Masey’s.
Another thing is, jokes can’t be written by formula. But others say you can.
How would I know? I can’t even write a joke.
Women in Comedy gives a look back at the UK scene, mainly pre 2000. There’s a funny joke by Victoria Wood, and some chat from Beryl Vertue. Director Susan Belbin gets some words in, and there’s a piece with Lucy Flannery.
That ends with “women do approach comedy in slightly different way”.
And it stops.
The analyst in me is disappointed. Please, go on. The reviewer, ecstatic. Less to type.
There’s a bit on censorship, and how restricted things were before the 70s, and particularly before 1960. All UK based, but with developments largely mirrored in the US.
Drama is likened to comedy, there’s mention of James Bond, and there’s a serious film worthy of study. A dramatic classic, which Wolfe says uses the same tricks as comedy. It will help you learn how thin the line is, which the chapter explains by writers who’ve moved between comedy and drama.
A late chapter poses the question, “Should I go to Hollywood?” Well, depends on the price of the tickets. To save money, you could fly in close and drive over for a fraction of the cost. It’s only 1,800 miles from Baton Rouge.
Just remember — writing in America is more pressure and more money. Succeed and it can be life changing. Fail, and it can be life changing. Jump from a helicopter, and …
Before the book ends, there are tips for breaking in, which mostly revolve around staying power. But it’s nice to see people who’ve moved in from different directions; one even got to sitcoms from writing a book.
Wolfe ends with “Keep Dodging and Diving, Trying and Striving, and GOOD LUCK!”
With the book finished, things move on to a tacked on FX chapter.
You get to see the difference between a rehearsal and camera script. It’s uses both sides of the book to present it cleanly.
In discussing technical shots, particularly sounds used for radio, Wolfe explains these are, “done live in the studio or they are on tape.” Presumably, in the example script that has granny shot dead, this was done live.
What a waste. You could have just grabbed her legs.
Verdict
A pretty full book that’s kept moving with mainly brief chapters. You get all the bits from the book’s subtitle, with the best sections being about TV sitcom. Thankfully, these skills transfer to the other genres, which is helped by the constant tips shown throughout.
For:
The sitcom chapters. 5, 7, 11 & 13 are very worthy chapters for people wanting to write sitcoms.
Against:
Some chapters are more a brief history of the UK scene, where comedy might be headed (as of the early 2000s), while other chapters are too short.
Other thoughts
An expanded version of this book based solely on sitcoms would have been a must read.
Length
190 pages, which are quite well packed.
Take 8 pages from the start for the author’s note, contents and the like. Take 8 from the end for TV Companies list and index. Remove a dozen for spaces and blank pages.
Call it 160–164 pages to read.
Quicker readers will be through this in a couple of days.
Slower, more dedicated people will take a couple of weeks.
