Trials and tribulations of treatments: my forrage into the world of broadcasting

Some of you who know me well will know that over the past year my writing partner (Fil Adamski) and I have been busy lovingly creating two new quiz show formats - Downfall and Time is Money (I've been doing this in my weekends and holidays as a teacher). We've also spent the last year desperately attempting to get broadcasters and production companies (more about them in a minute) interested enough in the ideas that they want to snap our arms off and choke us with an unreasonable amount £50 notes. Below is an account of the process.

It all began last July. I'd read an article that looked at different ways for freelance writers to earn money: one way, it suggested, was to write your own quiz show format. Time waits for no man: four pints of Fosters and a barrage of ideas later, and Fil and I had developed the basic idea for what was to become Downfall.

We spent the next day labouring over this love - crafting and editing our 'treatment' of Downfall until it resembled a decent idea for a quiz show. The basic premise was this: the only way to win each round was to get the questions right; the only to win the game was to get the questions wrong.

Players started with the jackpot prize. This went down with every incorrect answer, but was sustained with every correct one. There was no way to win money, only ever to maintain it. However, the added twist was this: it was the player with the most incorrect answers throughout the game who got to take home the prize, not the one with the most correct answers.

Hopefully you can see the subtle genius of this. Players had to get enough questions right to sustain the prize fund, but enough wrong to stand a chance of winning the actual prize. As the game would get towards its final rounds, players would panic and deliberately get their questions wrong in order to be eligible for the final prize. Massive amounts of money would be lost through greed and dog-eat-dog mentality. We thought of it as a parallel to the 'credit-crunch' society, where we're all desperately trying to hold onto our money, often with limited success. Whilst we usually get enjoyment from shows where people win money, in the credit crunch age, we figured, we would get enjoyment from watching others lose money through greed and stupidity instead. That was our line of thinking, anyway.



The next step was to get this idea out there. How did we even begin to go about it? We'd never done this kind of thing before.

We started by seeking out broadcasters and producers who might be interested in our idea. Broadcasters are your BBCs, Channel 5s, Challenge TVs, etc; producers are the next 'rung' of the ladder down: they are the companies set up to pitch and produce TV shows to the broadcasters. Think of us - the independent writers - as the dirty patch of muddy grass on which this ladder can be placed.

We found this subtle difference out after many months of sending and pitching; too bad - basically pitching to a broadcaster is a little like heading straight to a Jaguar dealership and saying 'Here's the latest engine I've created for you - straight from my tool shed.' Forget it. Producers, then, act as the 'parts dealership' in this process - if anyone's going to offer them a new engine or otherwise, it has to be them.

For this reason, as we went on to learn, 90% or so of broadcasters will 'pass' (in-house lingo for 'no', 'not interested', or 'piss off') to an 'unsolicited' (literal meaning: not asked for) treatment, often without even reading what it is. Producers often have trouble pitching ideas to broadcasters, nevermind the perceived amateur with the pen. So straight away, we ran into problems - a deluge of passes without even a hint of recognition, comment or interest. Emails would often read: Dear Fil and Dan, we have read your treatment of Downfall, and have decided to pass this time. Regards, Bastards (Ok, I added the last bit).

One broadcaster who did accept unsolicited scripts, however, was the BBC: this was surely our best bet, we thought. A keenly crafted letter and treatment later, we spent the next two or three weeks in suspended animation, waiting and hoping for some kind of a response. Eventually, it came. Here's an extract:



A good response (I have it in a frame in my house), but a pass none the less. Undeterred, we began to send to independent (i.e. not affiliated with any one particular broadcaster) producers. By this time, we had set up a joint email account so that process became easier, and, dare I say it, less amateur. One such producer was entitled 'Flame Productions'; I piqued her interest with an email detailing the name of the Quizshow and the basic premise of it. 'Sounds interesting' she replied, 'come down and discuss the idea further with me'

We were fucking excited. This was our chance to finally get our idea out there: to breathe life into our concept with words and explanations and enthusiasm. Suited up to the nines, we headed into Islington for our big moment.



'We don't produce quiz shows' she muttered, 'Why are you pitching a quiz show to me?' Of all the questions ever asked, this surely had to be the least favourable and most baffling beginning to a pitch we could have hoped for. What we wanted to say, at that point, was this 'well - you bloody well invited us down here after reading the synopsis, you twat!', what we actually said was 'Uh, well...'

So that wasn't as great or spectacular as we'd hoped. In part, it was our own fault: we hadn't done our research enough to realise the fundamental error in our efforts - that their company had never before produced a quiz show. Moreso, perhaps, we had accepted to come down and pitch without the pitchee actually having read the treatment in the first place. In hindsight, failure seems pretty obvious now, but back then it was a sore kick in the metaphorical balls.

We spent the next months continuing to send out treatments to independent producers, again to limited success. Over time we realised the value of direct emails to heads of development teams, rather than generic emails to generic production companies (trust me, there's more chance of tripping over a money-stuffed briefcase than there is of getting recognition from a generic company with a generic letter). We also created another quiz show idea, Time is Money, and began pitching both alternately.



We also decided to see if representational companies might be interested at all; if they could represent us, we might stand a greater chance in getting our ideas heard, we figured. Part of the problem in being amateur writers / pitchers was that no-one had heard of us. No one trusted us. If we had a successful show or quizshow under our belt, production companies would take notice; and there lay the frustrating cycle for us: we wanted to get our treatment noticed and turned into a successful quizshow, but in order to do this, we had to already have a successful treatment and quizshow, but in order to do this... ad nauseum. We were running out of options.

Curtis Brown sent us a little lifeline; it read along the lines of 'Thankyou for sending us the treatment for 'Time is Money'...whilst we believe this is an intruiging idea, we feel ultimately that your idea is not quite right for us at the moment, so it is with regret that we will have to pass on this idea this time...'

So, with words such as 'regret' and 'pass' ringing like 4am alarm clocks in our ears, we were, once again, close but with no cigar. However, with this under our belt, we decided to pick up momentum on our second quizshow, Time is Money. Having sent it out to a number of companies, we were eagerly anticipating a reply from someone soon, even if it was the stock 'pass' we'd come to know and hate.

And then it came. Looking at my phone, I noticed a missed call and answerphone message from an unknown number. Eagerly I dialled the answerphone, and got this message, 'Hi Dan, this is [...] from Two Four Productions; I have received a copy of your quizshow treatment, entitled Time is Money, in my hands... if you could phone me back about it ASAP that'd be great, and we can discuss the idea further.'

I was again, fucking excited. I rang Fil to tell him the news. He too was fucking excited. This could be it. This wasn't simply a 'Flame production' interest, this was a huge and very successful production company which appeared to be interested. Briefly, I imagined our names on the credits of the gameshow, whilst a very important person high up in the production company stuffed unreasonable amounts of £50 notes into mine and Fil's mouths until we choked.

Tentatively, I rang him back, allowing myself a drip of hope and adrenaline that this could, finally be it. 'Hi, is that [...]?' I asked.
'Oh, hi Dan, good to speak to you' He responded enthusiastically 'Yeah, mixed reaction here in the office; the reason I wanted to speak to you was that we're actually producing a gameshow at the moment with the exact same title...'

In my head, I sighed. Whether I did this out loud too I'm not entirely sure, but if I could have replied in expletives, they would have resembled: shit, bastard, c**t, fuck bollocks and arse, most likely in that order. Instead, what I said was, 'Uh, well...'

So it turned out that even though he was intrigued by the idea, that because it had the same title as the one under development at his company, it would be 'legally wrong to pursue the idea any further.' Basically, this meant that he wasn't interested, in case we later sued him for stealing our ideas: fundamentally he was covering his own back.

Sigh. Most recently, still undeterred by ambivalence, ignorance and numerous kicks to the metaphorical balls, we have attracted the interest of another production company, who at the moment sound pretty interested. Expect an update on that in the next couple of weeks.

I've also just spent a week a Zig Zag production company in London on 'work experience' That certainly was an experience, and I'd definitely recommend it to any other budding writers out there: there is no better way to learn the craft than to live it. I spent days researching for a series of sports programmes, developing potential ideas for BBC three in the developments department, and, on the last day, helping out at a shoot.

The latter was especially interesting. Zig Zag were producing a programme for Channel 5 about the American police drama 'The Mentalist', as a prelude to the upcoming second series. As such, they were interviewing various ex policemen, journalists, etc, for documentary on the show, to be screened this month on the 20th (check it out!)

I helped with the placing of the chair for the cameraman, sitting in and helping out his shot until the 'real' interviewee arrived. I was also placed with the dubious and underrated honour of standing outside the door whilst each interview commenced, in order to ensure people did not loudly walk past the room and interrupt filming (we were filming in the top room of a pub in Angel Islington). Who says the TV business isn't glamorous?

However, the highlight of the day came towards the end, when the final guest of the show - Rav Wilding from Crimewatch - arrived downsairs whilst we were still shooting. 'Dan' the interviewee and director called 'Can you go and greet Rav downstairs until we're finished? Buy him a drink and keep him entertained will you?'

After manning the door for the past hour, he didn't need to ask me twice. 'Rav?' I said, 'Dan Thomas from Zig Zag; nice to meet you.'

I bought him a coke and we sat down in the corner of the bar. I asked him a little about what he'd be doing today, and he responded by asking me about my circumstances, 'Well' I said, 'I'm actually a teacher to be honest. I'm down here on work experience because in my spare time I write quiz show treatments with a writing partner; I thought I'd gain some more experience by working inside the industry so-to-speak.'

'Tell me about this quizshow - Downfall is it?'

'Well, it's basically...' I carried on, giving him the brief synopsis of the idea.

'Sounds really good to me'

'Yeah, we're trying to convince companies of that at the moment!'

'Well, if you ever need someone to present your show, just give me a call. Sounds like a really good idea to me'

'I will...thanks.'

Just then, another member of the film crew came down to tell me that I 'was needed to stand by the door again; people are making too much noise!' So off I went, a tad infuriated that I hadn't more chance to sell the idea (and his possible involvement) a little further, but more than a little smug that he'd liked the idea and effectively offered to present it if it ever got commissioned.

So there it is, a year in the life of two amateur but determined independent writers, and their quest for the holy grail (to get a programme commissioned).

I've learnt a heap in the last year about the business, not least that it's damned hard to get anywhere without already having success on your back - but then, that's true of most success stories. Except for the ones which came from good ideas and pure tenacity - which is what we hope to do. I've also learnt that a good idea is worth shit if it's lost in a vacuum of indifference to the person speaking it.

In the meantime, we'll continue developing ideas and getting them out there, not simply because we want to get them commissioned (we do, believe me), but because the process of it all is so damned fun. Now, where's my notebook...

Fruit Punch

The strawberry’s eyes moved menacingly from left to right
A subtle gesture to the otherwise bemused apple
Six long minutes
And then POP
The strawberry struck with feverous blow

Meanwhile,
Quite understandably,
A pack of bananas waited in angst;
Potassium nightmares wrought amongst fibrous opposition

Crunch

That familiar sound;
The apple had bitten it
Lost in a sea of salivation


The strawberry’s eyes moved menacingly from left to right
A momentary release
In an otherwise dire situation

There never had been enough space in this bowl,
Mused the Strawberry

School leaver (misdemeanour)

School leaver,
Underachiever.
Token pens;
A misbeliever

School leaver -
Should have seen her,
Broken hope,
A brash deceiver

School leaver,
Misdemeanour.
Every lesson,
Academically leaner

School leaver,
Non achiever.
Silly games;
A dire nature

School leaver,
Non believer.
Wasted chance -
Another failure

School leaver,
Educational seizure.
Petty girl;
A real day-dreamer

School leaver,
Forever failure;
Vacuous words
On empty paper

School leaver -
Could you believe her?
Polished pens,
Surprising nature.

School leaver:
Knew-she-had-it-in-her,
Top of class -
Is Miss Demeanour.

Finding our place in the Medium

We live our lives immersed in a world of media; 'media' being the instrument/vector by which we transfer ideas of communication. Traditionally the two major mediums were speech and alphabet; only recently has the term come to mean the electronic medium through which we communicate.

However, we are now so immersed in this media-centred world that we rarely question our role or influence in its continuation and development. Do we hold an influence over the media (as a unified institution, in this case), or does it hold an influence over us? Indeed, the question could be asked: does the media act as a metaphorical mirror (reflecting values), or a metaphorical syringe (injecting them)?

This is clearly a tricky question. Most media outlets claim that they are simply 'holding up the mirror to society' - that they report on, create movies about - such things that we are already interested in and are doing anyway.

Take the 21st Century interest in celebrities, for example. The print media is unlikely to report on something that doesn't sell papers; that in turn will make them unpopular and therefore monetarily weaker. As such, it will only publish articles on matters which it knows we are likely to be interested in (and which we will therefore buy, making them monetarily stronger). Equally, films - or any other type of institutional media - are highly unlikely to create and develop something that is going to be unpopular, because by virtue that will make them a loss, or a minimum return at the very least. Therefore - by definition - the media cannot be the cause of the interest per se, but simply the medium by which the interest can be further channelled. Here it acts as the mirror, reflecting the interests and values that are already there in the first place.

On the other side of the coin lurks the rather more sinister 'hypodermic syringe' model, which sees the media as the aggressor, injecting its values and ideals into our rather hungry veins. This is less appealing, as it suggests we are all passive media-junkies, almost unconsciously begging for the next fix.

In this model, the culture of the celebrity can be seen to operate like this: the media need to find the latest 'fix'; something that will pacify the masses for a while longer and keep them coming back for more. Celebrities clearly have a long shelf-life and are in many way grandiose versions of ourselves: more power, more money, and more sex; therefore, the media can logically suppose that we will be interested in this. It can then test this theory by slowly drip-feeding celebrity news down its syringe, gradually upping the dosage until we are whole-heartedly hooked on the stuff (ring any bells?) By this definition, it is the media who create the specific interest (i.e. celebrities), spotting a generic interest (money, power, sex, love), and giving it a modern twist or counterpart.

Of course, life is generally not that simple. The truth more often than not lies in the middle-ground; the 'grey area' that is naturally harder to define. Both of these models, for example, are built on the idea of the media being a one-way process: they propose that media and audience are two separate identities.

This is clearly untrue; YouTube, Blogging, Fan Forums, etc., all demonstrate a growing interdependence between media and audience. Indeed, newspapers and broadcasters now recognise the influence and importance of so-called 'citizen journalism', whereby news stories can often be picked up by a member of the public (the supposed audience) even before the journalist himself. The use of camera-phone footage before 'real' (i.e. institutional) footage can be given being an obvious example here.

The fact of the matter is that we are much more conscious and savvy to the media than we used to be. We might well have depended on it when it first arose: only those with knowledge and power had the control then (think of the BBC when it first emerged; would Points of View been on its TV listings back then?), but we are now much more active users of the media. They need us, as much as we need them. The 'audience' has grown-up: we are no longer the child blindly obeying its parent; indeed, some of us are becoming parents ourselves.

In many ways, this has a lot to do with how immersed we and the media have become. Media is now wholeheartedly integrated into our everyday lives; the internet has done much to accelerate this. Perhaps we are fast coming to the point where the terms 'media' and 'audience' are nonsensical comparisons: media is the audience and audience the media. We are transcending interdependence, and entering some kind of synthesis between the two. Indeed, Marshall McLuhan may well have been frighteningly accurate when he said that 'the medium is the message'.

Long live the message.

Why Google's street view could change the world

Not so long ago Google owed its fame to the humble search. It rose, meteorically, from a tanglement of webpages waiting to be streamlined. Once it had done that, it moved onto more important matters.

Google Street View is unabashed in its attempt to streamline the world. It offers, through a nifty camera set-up and a plethora of (no doubt) well-paid drivers, an immersive platform on which to actually explore the real world, virtually. It's a techno-lucid dream; or a liberalist's wet dream, perhaps. Street Snooping, they might yet call it.

And it is, simply, amazing. As a keen explorer, Street View is astonishingly exciting: it is the Virtual Reality we all envisaged years ago. The only difference here is that this time the VR is actually our own planet; our own cities and our own streets. It's like playing the world's most immersive game, but suddenly finding out it's all for real. So why the big fuss? Whilst conservatives have, perhaps rightly, been protesting over the human rights of it all, it seems like a large portion of the planet has missed the point entirely.

100 years ago, we lived entirely in real-time. We saw only what we could, humanly, see; we travelled only where we could humanly go. Such trips took months. We were bound by our own very human limitations. 50 years ago, we travelled not only by foot, but by television and phone line: our human limitations sped-up massively through electronic medium. 10 Years ago, we took a plunge into instant media frenzy: the Internet.

Now we have Google Street. It may not be live streaming (yet), but it is yet another massive leap into the ever-hastening speed of human exploration. Those that deem it another 'invasive tool' have truly missed the point: it is the future we have all been waiting for.

We can now catapult ourselves into hundreds of cities, and at a mousical whim delve into the arteries of the planet. We can satisfy our very human curiosity - not in months or minutes - but in literally seconds. We can start to truly realise the idea of a global consciousness.

Indeed, the only thing that might supersede such an advancement would perhaps be to transport ourselves there in an instant, in a very real literal sense.

For the mean time, we must be satisfied in the knowledge that our eyes and minds can now have a field-day, and that physically transporting somewhere in an instant might now be simply the next thing to look forward to.

Jade Goody and the death of reality TV

Jade Goody was, undoubtedly, a cultural phenomenon of sorts. Something we certainly hadn't seen before, or are unlikely to see again. She was the epitome of the reality generation, in which anything that wasn't seen to be 'realer than real' was more often than not sidelined. She was our 'neighbour' of the 21st century: a dependable face; a slightly susceptible Brit would we could all identify with.

And let's not be deluded here: we all identified with her in some way. Even those who vilified her, invested some of their identity by the very fact that they hated her. She either represented the underdog we all aspired to be, or the very thing we that didn't. For a time, she mattered in some small way.

Her death was an obvious heartbreak to anyone in that first category. Even those that 'hated' her gave their compassion to her two children left behind, whose lives will undoubtebly be a focus of media attention for many years to come. No one likes to think of a mother dying so young, or a pair of innocent children being left behind in the world.

Yet Jade's death marks a very real representative death of reality TV also. The microwaved TV - conveinient packages of reality cooked up by fat execs - has now surely reached its zenith. Would it have been conceivable, way back during the innocent times of Big Brother One, that one of these so-called reality stars would have lived their whole lives in front of the cameras? It is the stuff of Orwellian dystopia or Truman Show satire. Yet suddenly, it's not a joke anymore; nor is it even satire. It is a very real reality, one which we should seriously begin to question.

When does reality TV begin, and a kind of peeping-tom perversion set in? It is analogous to the car-crash on the side of the road; the disaster we never really wanted to see in the first place, but couldn't help catching a glimpse of. Jade Goody's death may come to mark the beginning of the end of this car-crash perversion: a point in time we all began to realise, hopefully, that enough was enough.

Life can sometimes be 'realer' than real. It can throw up horrible surprises that none of us can possibly prepare for, or hope to manage ourselves. But let that be our own problem that we deal with introspectively, and not someone else's, that we feel compelled to do retrospectively. Our 21st Century neighbour deserves to rest in peace.