HOW THE TV SERIES, THE GREAT, MASTERFULLY BALANCED DRAMA, AND COMEDY
Or Whether A Writer Should View Life As Comedic or Dramatic
Having Zero Expectations Can Be A Good Thing
In my previous life as a lecturer for screenwriting, I often tell my students at the beginning of my class, that any form of writing, especially writing for the screen, demands that the writer be arrogant and humble at the same time. Arrogant in the sense that you are certain your audience will not only be edified by your work but be so entertained that they can leave their worries in the harbor of your writing. Humble in the sense that you are well aware that anyone who sits and watches your work, has already sacrificed a portion of time that he or she could have put to better use. And so you are obliged to ensure that your story is well-told because you know full well that any audience who comes into contact with your work comes with certain expectations.
I am a writer, but I am also a reader, a viewer, and an audience. I do have expectations. If I watch a mystery series with Sherlock Holmes as the title character, written by Steven Moffat, I expect clever plotting, unexpected twists, and delightful banter, and when those expectations are met, the floodgates to my endorphins open, and good feelings flow through my veins.
But there are times when I watch something with zero expectations. And when the show turns out to be surprisingly good, the pleasure felt is transcendental.
Such was the pleasure I felt when I finished the first two seasons of a series titled THE GREAT.
What’s The Great about?
The Great is a period drama that is very loosely based on the rise to power of Catherine the Great, Empress of All Russia. When I say loosely, I mean exactly that. Do not go into the series expecting veracity and enlightenment regarding the Machiavellian Shenanigans in the courts of Old Russia. Go into the series instead with a grasp of this character’s journey.
That of a young lady, Catherine the Great, who comes to Russia to get married to Peter III of Russia but finds herself embroiled in a world of dogmatic beliefs and customs, which she tries to change because she believes Russia must reclaim her reputation as the center of learning and innovation in all of Europe.
I thought, oh it’s a drama. It will be heavy. Then the supporting characters were introduced. The priest fanatic, the sassy lady maid, the horny general, the fearful scholarly aide to the Emperor, and the Emperor himself, who was not only horny, but immature, and blissfully unaware of the ways he treats his friends by sleeping with their wives.
And so I thought, oh it’s a comedy. It is funny. I am laughing. But then in the same scene, I see how Catherine, played by the extraordinarily talented and beautiful Elle Fanning, pleads with passion on why she wants to introduce culture to the courts. And invest in the education of young girls. I felt her passion. And when her schemes were foiled, I was sad for her and felt keenly the blade of her disappointment.
I thought. This is a drama. And a comedy. I am laughing one moment, and then I am empathizing with her when she connives a plot to kill the Emperor. The incredibly fine line between comedy and drama that the show treads on. A scene can pivot from drama to comedy to absurdist and back to drama. And it was all good. There was never a false note. Nary a stumbling in any scene. You, as an audience, have been led through every tonal shift without once falling over or tripping. That was when I knew I was in the hands of sure-footed writers, or in this case, the sure-footed writing of Tony Mcnamara, the Aussie writer.
Of course, he’s not the only one who’s adept in the art of genre-defying writing. The Koreans are masters at this. You only have to check out the films of Bong Joon Ho. Films like Mother. One instance, a poignant mother and son drama, in another, a thriller, and yet in another, a mystery. And yet, in another turn, a social realist drama. And let’s not forget the granddaddy of all drama comedies, or dramedies as they are called — Desperate Housewives. This kind of writing is the equivalent of a high-wire act. It requires years of practice and supreme confidence in storytelling. When done well, the audience is taken on a breathtaking rollercoaster ride of emotions.
The key three words here is WHEN DONE WELL
Stick to One Genre and yet….
So I used to advise students to stick to one genre. Master it first. Have a good grasp of its conventions before tweaking and refining and breaking rules. It is hard enough to do one genre with competence let alone two genres. One has to be equally dramatic and funny. You either view a story through the lens of funny or the lens of drama.
But is that life though?
Life is Painful And Funny — at the same time, sometimes.
Life is never a comedy nor is it a drama. Real-life has both ingredients. The best example I can think of? A scene in Taxi, a comedy series created by the Charles brothers. One of the taxi drivers, Alex, played by Judd Hirsch, had a tumultuous relationship with his father. It was so bad that Alex refused to visit his father and he had not seen his father for many years. One day, his elder sister dropped in with bad news. Dad is dying. He wants to see Alex. Probably for the last time. Of course, Alex refused to visit his father. But his sister convinced him. You’re still his son, no matter what. And so Alex went to see his dad in the hospital. He went into the room and saw the old man on the bed. It was awkward. All those years of anger and resentment. But Alex broke the silence and began a tentative dialogue. First, he was polite, then he got mad, and then he got really angry and went on a tirade about how his father never believed in him, but eventually, Alex remembered that there was a time when his dad was a good father, and Alex did learn a thing or two from his old man. Alex gave in to a flood of tears. Years of resentment finally gave way to a proclamation of love. At this point, I was moved. Judd Hirsh gave an extraordinary performance. Pure drama.
Then there was the sound of a toilet flushing.
Another old man came out.
Turns out this was the real father. And the old man on the bed was just a random patient.
The real father stared at Alex. What the hell are you doing here?
Alex said — I just came to visit. How are you?
Real father — fine.
Alex — fine.
Scene ends.
The audience laughter that came when the real father appeared was deafening. I remembered laughing and crying at the same time. Laughter is a powerful device in dramatic writing. It completely lowers the barricades so that the truth of the scene can drive through like an arrow with a hundred percent precision to the center of your heart. And once a dramatic scene manages to earn your laughter, it will at the same time command your tears. A dramatic scene between a father and son. So poignant. So moving. And yet so funny. So absurd.
So true to life.
And after all these years, I’ve come to realize the key to writing dramedy.
Final Takeaway
The key to doing a dramedy is to ignore the genre. Don’t worry if it’s supposed to be funny or sad or serious. What’s important is the truth of the scene. The peeling away of superficial thoughts until naked raw emotion is left. The truth is at the heart of a scene.
Go for the truth. Play the truth. Be it funny or dramatic, it does not matter. It is not for you or the actor to decide. The actor will play the truth. Funny or sad is for the audience to decide.
There must be drama in comedy.
And there must be comedy in drama.
If you’re a writer, you must do your best to find one in the other.