“The Doctor is an angel who aspires to be human. Sherlock Holmes is a human who aspires to be a god.” Here’s a great interview with Doctor Who and Sherlock writer Steven Moffat from 2010:
In April 2008 Benjamin Cook, a writer for Doctor Who Magazine, emailed Russell T Davies, lead writer and executive producer of the series, to ask if he’d consider offering some insight into the actual creation of the show, “the nuts and bolts of the process, from start to finish”. Two years later, as Davies hands over to the brilliant Steven Moffat we have the complete (seriously: this is a 700 page book) transcript of their correspondence, Doctor Who: The Writer’s Tale: The Final Chapter.
Much like his Doctor Who episodes, this book is fast-moving, funny, suspenseful, hugely sentimental and occasionally self-indulgent, but it’s as honest, revealing and self-critical as any writer has ever been in print. It’s also, unlike most of the “how-to” books that try to teach the craft, written by a hugely successful screenwriter at the absolute top of their game, and, with its strict chronological format, by someone who genuinely doesn’t know if it’s all going to work out:
Here’s more [script] … but it’s absolute bollocks … Tonight this feels like a space-opera runaround. I don’t like it much. It’s too big, it’s daft, the Doctor arrives too late and does nothing all episode. It’s lame shit. It feels like we’re going to spend millions of pounds of licence–fee-payers’ money on silly rubbish.
But other than the fact that all writers have moments of self-hatred (no surprises there), what can Davies teach us about how to write TV?
1. On characters: There is a real, vivid selfish streak running through these characters, and that’s very me. I love writing that into characters. Too many TV characters are just “nice”. Make them selfish — naturally selfish, as we all are — and they sing. Allow the bastards to be lovely, allow the heroes to be weak, and then they’ll come alive.
2.On dialogue: Dialogue is just two monologues clashing. That’s my Big Theory. It’s true in life, never mind drama! Truest phrase ever: ‘The opposite of talking isn’t listening. The opposite of talking is waiting.’ Fran Lebowitz said that, and I bloody love it.
3. On making the audience care about the characters: I think what you’re talking about is story, not character. You care about a character because they’re in the story. You’ve chosen this story, you’ve switched on this programme, you’ve picked up this book, you’ve paid to see this film,and that’s where the caring comes from. Your choice. Your investment. From thereon in, it’s up to the story … if the story doesn’t work, the characters aren’t served … I’d just say: don’t think about it. Ever, Don’t sit there thinking, will anyone care about my characters? Put your energy into making the characters real, and honest, and true, and interesting, and three-dimensional — and the caring should follow. Like a dog.
4. On making choices: Any story can go in any direction. It’s not what you write, it’s what you choose — and I’m good at choices. By the time I come to write a lot has been decided. Also, a lot hasn’t been decided, but I trust myself, and scare myself, that it’ll happen in the actual writing. It all exists in my head, but in this soup. It’s like the ideas are fluctuating in this great big quantum state of Maybe. The Maybe is a hell of a place to live. As well as being the best place in the world.
5. On finding your voice: It’s so important to start writing, because then the process never, ever ends. Finding your voice isn’t the last stage, just another stage along the way. You reach the top of that mountain, only to see a whole, bloody endless range of mountains waiting beyond. You’ve a million more things to reach for, a million more variations on your voice to articulate. Because your writing always lacks something. Mine does. Moffat’s does, even Paul Abbott’s does, everyone’s does, and that’s why we spend the rest of our lives, still typing away in the dark, trying to get better. Until we die.
“The senior management at the BBC simply do not understand the creative act. This would be a deficiency in any organisation, but in one for which it is the main raison d’etre, it is crippling. In particular, they do not realise that an artist is childlike, not childish. Good parents will erect boundaries, around personal safety, for instance, but will leave room for the children’s imagination to flourish. The children, with few material resources, will invent elaborate worlds, not knowing from one moment to the next where their actions will lead. No matter if some prove to be cul de sacs. They will start over and go in another direction. This creative absorption needs room and time. The parents should not interfere, preferably not even eavesdrop. The results are magical and satisfying, not least in the healthy growth of the child.
“Anal retentive, anxious parents help and stifle. They know best. They cannot relax and trust. They are prescriptive. Play becomes a duty, imagination becomes second hand, the goal of the children degenerates into guessing what will please the parents and earn praise. It is no fun, but the child has to pretend it is fun, because the parent insists that is what it is. In fact it is a lifeless desert. Spontaneity is dead. But the world is safe from the children’s journey into the unknown. Dictators first kill the imagination. For the people’s good.”
Ouch. This is just a section of legendary producer (Kes, Cathy Come Home, Play For Today, Between The Lines) Tony Garnett’s recent two-fingered assault on BBC drama. Whether you agree with it or not (and BBC drama head Ben Stephenson naturally doesn’t, not to mention a bunch of the BBC’s top writers) it’s a profoundly felt polemic, and an important debate. As the recession bites, and all broadcasters cut back on drama budgets, what do we, as audiences, want to see — and what are we prepared to lose in consequence?
At the end of last year it looked, for a moment, as if even Steven Spielberg couldn’t persuade Hollywood that a Tintin movie was a good commercial prospect. When Universal baulked at funding the trilogy, Spielberg and project partner Peter Jackson were forced to look for other funding. Today, as Variety reports, the project is back on track, and with a largely British cast. The writers too are British, including new Doctor Who showrunner Steven Moffat:
“Steven Spielberg has set his cast for The Adventures of Tintin: Secret of the Unicorn, the first installment in the 3-D motion-capture trilogy that Paramount and Sony are co-financing. “Billy Elliot” thesp Jamie Bell will star as the titular character, an intrepid young reporter whose relentless pursuit of a good story thrusts him into a world of high adventure. Daniel Craig will co-star as the nefarious Red Rackham. Andy Serkis, Simon Pegg and Nick Frost have already boarded the project. Gad Elmaleh, Toby Jones and Mackenzie Crook will round out the cast. Steven Moffat, Edgar Wright and Joe Cornish wrote the screenplay. Peter Jackson is attached to direct the second feature in the series.”
Joe Cornish, of course, is no stranger to Spielberg, having written the director’s moving masterpiece, Saving Private Lion.
PS. There’s a lovely discussion of the Tintin series by a couple of contemporary comic book artists here.
I’m one of the few people who didn’t ask “Matt who?” when the new Doctor was announced, partly because I’d hoped we might be able to cast him in Lady Audley’s Secret. I first saw him in the original cast of Burn/ Chatroom / Citizenship, the 2005 triple bill at the National that also featured Andrea Riseborough, Andrew Garfield and Naomi Bentley and should therefore be awarded some kind of post-dated casting BAFTA, and then in Party Animals and The Shadow in the North. The range of roles that he has played so far promises a mercurial, dangerous Doctor, and as Steven Moffatt is the writer of my favourite episodes so far (The Girl in the Fireplace and Blink), spring 2010 can’t come fast enough.