The odds are always against any spec screenwriter, but we’ve established they are especially hard on the spec drama screenplay writer. People in the industry simply don’t believe us when we say we’re great writers with a great drama screenplay concept (although they might when we say we have a great comedy, horror or thriller to pitch). It’s not that they don’t want to take a punt on a great drama screenplay either; it’s that they have been disappointed, not just tens, nor hundreds, but literally THOUSANDS of times by spec drama screenplays in the following two ways:
• Samey stories. It may be hard to believe, but every script reader or editor, producer or filmmaker has read the same spec drama screenplay, with the same story, by multiple writers in the course of their career. That samey story goes like this: ‘A miserable character leads a miserable life then DIES (or life gets better for some reason).’ Now, of course, this story CAN work (American Beauty, anyone??) but the familiarity with which this story turns up in the spec pile is matched only by the familiarity of its arena (or story world), which typically will be the same as well! In the case of UK spec drama screenplays, we’re talking a working-class environment of sinkhole estates, tower blocks, poverty, teenage mums, drug dealer boyfriends, bad parents, bent coppers and dodgy pub landlords. US spec drama screenplays will be set in trailer parks or ‘the projects’ and 7-Eleven supermarkets; gangs of youths – especially people of colour – will frequent car parks (‘parking lots’), buying and selling bodies and drugs out of seedy bars for the small-time Mafiosi who ‘run this town’. Instances of domestic violence, addiction and rape are common in these scripts and, though the protagonist may attempt to get more from his or her life, nine times out of ten s/he will FAIL dismally, suggesting perhaps that the average spec drama writer believes it’s not possible to change who or what you are.
• Samey characters. Somewhat inevitably, then, if the same stories happen, the same characters turn up again and again as well. What’s more, they’ll have the same sorts of motivations and even do the same sorts of actions! As a result, readers end up in ‘tick-the-box’ screenwriting HELL.
So, is it any wonder industry pros DON’T want to read our specs and go into automatic shutdown when we say, ‘It’s a drama’??
Whilst we may be confident OUR drama spec is the exception to the rest, that producer, agent or script editor you want to read it simply thinks you’re yet another deluded writer with a patchwork mess of movies that already exist, with characters they see so much of that their brains may explode if they encounter yet another one. Think I’m exaggerating? Let’s look at the characters I see most often in drama screenplays in the spec pile.
Due to the samey stories and arenas, male characters in spec drama screenplays have limited role functions, being typically defined by violence, abuse and addiction, though some attention may be given to their jobs, or relationships. Interestingly, crime is an overriding element of many spec drama screenplays, meaning gangsters and cops feature heavily; as does being ‘clever’ and what that means (especially the dichotomy of ‘book smart vs street smart’, and especially when it comes to the chemistry student who can mix and sell drugs!). Check these out:
• Tortured Hero. Tortured Hero has ISSUES, which is not really surprising, considering his wife and family are usually dead (or have at least left him). Cast into a society that measures men by their jobs and what they can provide for others financially, Tortured Hero typically is bitter and must learn ‘how to live again’. Sometimes spec drama screenwriters attempt to write a Tortured Heroine in the same vein who must realise materialism or the beauty industry will chew her up and spit her out in the same way. Whatever the case, both versions of this very familiar character will have to realise their souls are as hollow as a chocolate Easter egg and they’re slowly melting under the pressure of MODERN LIFE. As drama screenplay premises go, this isn’t a terrible start, but has been done rather a lot, and to make it float your characters need to have ‘left of the middle’ motivations or realisations to make, otherwise they will read as ‘same-old, same-old’, which is precisely what you don’t want in an already crowded marketplace.
• Good Guy Gangster. This protagonist may be an actual gangster, or forced to act like one: usually meeting violence with violence (most often to protect a woman and her child). The Good Guy Gangster will feel compelled to ‘save’ those who are vulnerable, usually because his own family was murdered or died in an accident that was his fault, either directly or indirectly. Good Guy Gangster is often a former soldier, who has fallen on bad times financially and/or emotionally, to account for his hermit-style life and his killing skills. He will also be fighting suicidal thoughts and, to ‘prove’ he’s not a two-dimensional hard case, will visit the graves of his dead family and cry a lot.
• Bad Guy Gangster. The antithesis of Good Guy Gangster, he will turn up most frequently as the antagonist in those stories, though he is sometimes the protagonist of his own. In the former, he will obviously pose the threat to the woman (and/or her child), and his position in the community may vary: he may be a Mafioso or drug dealer, or he may be her (dodgy) boss, especially in a seedy pub or club. He will typically be a rapist as well as ruthless. In the latter, Bad Guy Gangster will grow weary of killing and want a new life, as represented by the woman of the storyline, but will be unable to achieve this, as he will be drawn back into bloodshed, typically getting killed in the process.
• Gangster in Training. Usually a teenager or in his very early twenties, Gangster in Training generally comes from a deprived background and has started off his life of crime as a petty thief or dealer for small-time crooks, in stolen goods or cars, or drugs. From there he will get ‘head hunted’ by Bad Guy Gangster and asked to prove his loyalty and his worth to BGG’s organisation, doing more and more reprehensible things. Gangster in Training may enjoy his descent into depravity, or he may feel he has no choice: often he has a ‘softer side’, looking after an invalid relative or much younger siblings. Frequently he will be forced to inform on BGG by a cop character, who is an Idealist (next).
• Idealist. Idealist will be young and book smart; he has strong opinions, is probably college or university educated and probably ill-equipped for the realities of life on ‘the street’. Despite this, he will learn over the course of the narrative to trust his instincts and will usually be left standing at the end of the story. He provides an obvious contrast in narratives with an Old Timer character (next).
• Old Timer. An Old Timer will be a veteran of life and/or a job and, typically, is paired up with the Idealist. Old Timer is street smart and usually grouchy and out of shape. He relies on gut instinct, yet despite this will frequently get killed in the story; and, when he doesn’t, he’s often Behind It All, especially if there is blackmail or loot involved: he needs it, for his retirement/wife with dementia’s care/disabled daughter when he’s gone, etc.
• Angry Young Man. The Angry Young Man is often entitled and feels life has let him down in some way. He will have a poor-paying job or little direction in life, though he will often have a talent, most commonly sport, music or drawing. Often he will require the services of a Mentor to turn his life around (next).
• Mentor. A Mentor character will often guide the Angry Young Man, though sometimes the Idealist as well. Mentors are often Old Timers, though they don’t have to be; in the best spec drama screenplays Mentors don’t ‘know everything’ and will have their own arcs as well.
• Bad Dad. Most commonly from a working-class background, Bad Dad will be an alcoholic, a gambler, violent, ill-educated and/or a sexual abuser of his children. He will most often be out of work and view his family as his possessions. Power is everything to him, but once our protagonist finally stands up to him and realises how pathetic he is, he will be crushed fairly easily, committing suicide or even handing himself in to the police.
• Dead Dad. Most commonly from a middle-class or privileged background, Dead Dad will appear most often in flashbacks. Unlike Bad Dad, Dead Dad will be a fantastic father but his loss early in the protagonist’s life will create a void s/he can never truly fill (and it usually is a female character, FYI).
• Best Friend/Henchman. A sounding board for the protagonist, or a literal dispenser of hard justice for the antagonist, the Best Friend or Henchman is frequently a two-dimensional character in the spec pile. This is a shame, because some of the best secondaries in produced drama have performed these role functions, but they need their own personalities and motivations to really work.
Produced drama screenplays feature female protagonists almost as often as male, and spec drama screenplays are no different in this regard. However, scratch the surface and it is immediately apparent female characters appearing in spec drama scripts are too often defined by their role as a parent, or their sexuality (or both). Check these out:
• Numb Mum. Often in the place of the Bad Dad or Dead Dad characters, Numb Mum will be present in the narrative, orbiting our (usually, young) protagonist. If she has a working-class background, she may struggle with depression and stay in bed all day, crying or staring into space; in other scripts she will be an alcoholic, bringing strangers back for sex, despite small children in the house. If she has a middle-class background, she will care little for her children’s emotional welfare, preferring instead to kit them out with the latest gadgets and designer labels, believing material goods and ‘keeping up with the Joneses’ are what it takes to be a good mother.
• Oblivious Wife/Mother. The Oblivious Wife/Mother is as her title suggests: she’s so focused on herself and her own problems, she hasn’t a clue what’s really going on under her nose. Oblivious Wives/Mothers from middle-class backgrounds will concentrate on their jobs to the detriment of their children, not noticing they are being bullied in school (and, more recently, online via social media), which will often lead to a young character’s suicide. If from a working-class background, Oblivious Wife/Mother will not notice her husband sexually abusing one or all of the children in the house, or will turn a blind eye and make excuses for his violence towards them and/or her.
• Teen Mum. Teen Mum turns up in many spec drama screenplays and nearly always in the negative: too often she is stupid and/or ‘slutty’, suggesting she ‘deserves all she gets’ (most often violence, especially rape). Even when Teen Mum is portrayed as smart, the overriding message from many spec drama screenplays is this character is now ‘doomed’ to failure and caught in the poverty trap forever (as is her child, presumably). As a teen mother myself, this is a particular soapbox of mine: I have met many smart and educated young mothers who’ve worked their way out of poverty and this continuous cycle of negative portrayals of teen mums seems utterly bizarre to me.
• Jealous Mum. Often a Teen Mum herself once, Jealous Mum is now in her late thirties or early forties and the so-called ‘bloom of youth’ has left her, which she bitterly resents. As a result, she and her daughter will be at each other’s throats, with Jealous Mum conspicuously in the wrong nine times out of ten, suggesting in many spec dramas it’s only looks that ‘make’ a woman! YIKES.
• Sassy Friend. Frequently written as a role for the only woman of colour in the screenplay (since her race will be noted, whilst no one else’s is, indicating that they ‘must’ be white?), the Sassy Friend knows how life works and fulfils a kind of Mentor function for the protagonist. This in itself wouldn’t be a major issue if it weren’t for the fact that Sassy Friend’s ‘blackness’ too often marks her out as being obese and hilarious (seriously?). Now, that’s not to say larger women of colour shouldn’t be part of a narrative; of course they should – this is drama, we can write ANYTHING and, frankly, all writers should be thinking of ways to include marginalised voices wherever they can as far as I’m concerned. But too often Sassy Friend ends up as a kind of glove puppet for what the audience is thought to want, which is ‘steering’ the protagonist into nonsensical situations. But this is not what we want. We want characters with depth, whom we can relate to!
• Bitch. Sometimes a Temptress/Moll (next), the Bitch is commonly a cop, wife, mother-in-law or best friend. She epitomises the notion ‘with friends like these, who needs enemies?’ which could be great for potential conflict if her methods in spec drama features were not so obviously catty, making us wonder why the protagonist puts up with her and ultimately impacting on the reader’s suspension of disbelief. Also, the Bitch usually does little to push the story forward, being present only to say Bitchy lines.
• Temptress/Moll. Often the girlfriend of Bad Guy Gangster, she may seduce Good Guy Gangster, either falling for him for real or as a honey trap. All tits and ass, she flaunts her sexuality and uses it as a weapon, but is usually more caricature than character.
• Little Lolita. Usually under 17, but not younger than 13, Little Lolita has become aware of her developing body and uses it to get what she wants from much older men. Frequently an orphan and/or runaway, she’s smart and older than her years, often already ‘tainted’ by the streets and/or her situation, which forces her to do what she does, even if she does not actually have sex. If she is from a privileged background, she will have been raised by a succession of nannies, rarely feeling the love of her parents, an orphan in all but name. She is cynical, lost and unaware of the concept of ‘normal’ childhood.
• Precocious Child. Bright and full of life, the world holds many wonders for Precocious Child, who has a few things to teach the adults in the narrative. Often the child will have a special talent, skill and/or disability, so the adult in the story must access the Precocious Child’s world view via other means and, in doing so, learn what is ‘important’.
• Bully. Bullies are nearly always present in a spec drama narrative when there is a child protagonist, and since nearly everyone gets bullied at school, the Bully could be a good character, especially if the reasons for why s/he is the way s/he is are explored. However, this is hardly ever the case and the Bully is too often a two-dimensional stereotype in the spec drama screenplay.
The problem many writers have when it comes to characterisation, especially in drama screenplays, is they confuse stereotype with archetype: the difference is subtle, but huge. Stereotypes are perceived negatively, because they are oversimplifications of what people ‘are’. If you take a moment to consider ‘real life’ and apply certain stereotypes to yourself, immediately you can see the problem. For example, I live in Devon in the UK, yet none of the stereotypes associated with living in a rural area – second homes, lots of money, farming, lack of education, blood sports! – apply to me. Not one. And this is why people get angry when they see characters stereotyped on screen, since they immediately feel it is an unjustified slight on themselves and/or others.
In comparison, then, an archetype is altogether different from a stereotype. Originating from the Greek ‘arkhetupon’, meaning ‘something moulded first as a model’, its meaning is clearly much more positive from the offset when considering the operative word in the definition is ‘first’. We’re not recycling old prejudices and assumptions via stereotypes; we are CREATING new ways of looking at characters. How can that be anything but a good thing? In other words, you need to take a character and put your own unique and authentic twist on him or her, instead of simply shoving a character we’ve already seen loads of times before into your work. This aspect is non-negotiable if you want readers (and thus filmmakers, not to mention audiences) to get on board with your spec drama screenplay.
So, with the list of spec characters from the last section in mind, I would ask: where’s the Manic Pixie Dream Girl archetype? Or the Everyman (or Woman!)? Or the spoilt brat? Or the Lost Boy or Girl, who doesn’t have to be literally lost, but lost emotionally? Or the ‘Rock Star’, who doesn’t have to be an actual rock star, but thinks everything is about him or her (usually him)? Or the change agents, who change very little themselves, but end up changing all the secondary characters in some way? Excepting a few, most in the list are okay as starting points, but you have to add to them. The point of drawing writers’ attention to the ‘usual’ characters in the spec pile is not to say they’re all crap and you should completely start again. We don’t want to go from one end of the scale to the other; you don’t have to reinvent the wheel. Instead, figure out who your characters are, what they want and why we should get on board with them by working out what is the ‘same but different’ about them, as producers always say? We want something we can recognise, yet have never seen before, that’s all (!).
Though there is more writing and filmmaking information freely available 24/7 to writers and filmmakers now than at any point in history, it has come at a price. Rather than use this information as a springboard for ideas about what works when it comes to storytelling, many writers and filmmakers pour their efforts into discovering the ‘right way’ to tell a story. NEWSFLASH: there is NO right way to tell a story out there and, even if there was, I wouldn’t want to pay attention to it. The key to good storytelling is in one’s own gut. Anyone who tells you otherwise is at best a div and at worst lying to you so they can part you from your hard-earned cash. There is no ‘right way’, only YOUR way. However, it is also important to remember NO ONE (not even an Oscar-winning screenwriter!) knows how to tell a great story through intuition alone. If you want to be sure the story for your spec drama screenplay really is great, I would recommend asking yourself the following BEFORE you spend X amount of hours writing it:
• What is my concept? Always write an initial logline. That doesn’t mean you need to marry it; you can swap it later. Just remember that if you can’t write a logline, you’ll run into trouble with the screenplay! Doh.
• Does it work? Some writers like to hold their concepts to their chest like jealous kids, sure their ideas are SO AMAZING other people will steal them at a moment’s notice; other writers are simply embarrassed, either because they sense their ideas are underdeveloped, or because they don’t like asking for help (sometimes both). Most writers are somewhere in-between these two extremes. But trust me when I say you NEED to ensure your concept works… so DO tell it to other people whenever you can. It doesn’t have to be other writers if you don’t want; the simple act of talking your concept through with friends, your partner, your dog (!), will MAKE you concentrate on it and ensure it’s not holier and stinkier than that old, mouldy, forgotten sock under the bed.
• What has gone before? Identify the threats, such as those stories that are VERY like the concept you want to write, and again think about what’s different in yours. Don’t forget to also identify the opportunities, not only in terms of produced projects, but potential target audiences. In addition, if you are unable to find produced content dealing with your subject matter, when it comes to drama this can often be a VERY good thing!
• Who are the characters? Characterisation is important in all screenwriting, obviously, but arguably it’s most important in drama screenplays because they are ‘character-led’, via that notion of ‘internal conflict’. This does not mean all your characters have to be ‘likeable’, but equally it doesn’t mean you’ll be able to get away with your characters being total shits either. Great drama screenplays know that people are not black and white, so protagonists may not be ‘good’ and antagonists may not be ‘bad’, but they will all be relatable.
• What is learned in the story? If you recall, most drama screenplays place an overt message or theme at the heart of the story and frequently characters will learn something in order to communicate that to the target audience. I call these ‘transformative arcs’, which are frequently demonstrated by the ‘coming out’ and/or ‘coming of age’ tale. But this isn’t the only reason I chose Beautiful Thing as the sixth case study, as you will see, next.
Written by: Jonathan Harvey
Directed by: Hettie Macdonald
Produced by: Tony Garnett
Budget: £1.5 million
Q: What’s good about it?
A: A gentle tale about love, which teens and adults alike can relate to, but which does not indulge in the sensational or the overly sentimental.
MY LOGLINE: When a young teenage boy’s abused school friend comes to stay, the two lads realise new feelings and why they both never quite ‘fitted in’ with their peers.
In the late nineties, the UK was known for romantic comedy and hard-hitting drama. It was a very far cry from the current climate! In this age of austerity, genre can be highly prized, with low-budget horror, thriller and comedy on many agents’, producers’ and execs’ wish lists. Yet when listening to any writer or producing team talk about their produced drama, it soon becomes apparent that getting the green light for drama has always been difficult. There’s nearly always a fear the subject matter is too controversial, or conversely too dull; or that themes are not universal enough; or that audiences will not relate to the content, the characters or their world views. In short, drama is just a hard sell!
So, as I’ve said already, it’s not so much a case of waiting for the ‘right time’, but MAKING that right time yourself: you have to ensure others share your vision and get on board WITH you. One way of ‘making’ that right time for your drama screenplay is by adapting it from another source. In the case of 1996’s Beautiful Thing, it was originally written (and performed) as a stage play. The play is a classic coming of age tale, but unusually (especially for 1996) it does not focus on heterosexual love, but a burgeoning romance between two young, working-class teenagers, the bookish Jamie and ‘lad’s lad’ Ste: ‘I’d never written a screenplay before, so at first I was crap at it,’ writer Jonathan Harvey confesses. ‘It ended up being like a really shit, really long episode of Grange Hill!’ The stage play is set entirely on the estate where its two would-be young lovers live, taking place inside a bedroom and the walkway outside. In comparison, the film takes in a number of locations, including both the boys’ flats (as well as their neighbour Leah’s); the bar where Jamie’s mum, Sandra, works; Jamie and Ste’s school; various walkways, the street and even the flats’ terraces. Even so, Beautiful Thing still has its roots very firmly in its source material, thanks to director Hettie Macdonald: ‘When Hettie was brought on to direct, she encouraged me to make it more like the play and only expand it when I needed to… keeping the claustrophobia of the play helped the screenplay become more focused,’ Jonathan explains. This notion of keeping your own drama ‘focused’ is crucial, especially when it comes to keeping the budget down. Imaginative use of limited characters and locations can showcase your writing ability, especially if you can do this without compromising your story. In comparison, too many of the spec drama screenplays I read feel like potential ‘stages on screen’, with characters walking on simply to speak their lines, before exiting again.
By today’s standards, £1.5 million is a huge whack of money for a realist drama. I’d wager it’s unlikely an ‘ardently British’ drama feature like Beautiful Thing would receive the same amount of funding today: Film Four seems to prefer to fund more ‘global’ (adapted) dramas like Slumdog Millionaire and 12 Years a Slave. It’s also worth contrasting the budget of Night People from this book, which received far less public money. Beautiful Thing and Night People share another element as well: they both cast ‘unknowns’. As with any film, casting is a huge issue for dramas, though for the opposite reason to many other genres, like thriller and comedy, which often thrive on spending money on so-called ‘star power’. Making a realist drama like Beautiful Thing is markedly different in that it will frequently make use of those actors without ‘names’, not only for obvious financial reasons, but also in a bid to ensure audiences don’t get ‘taken out’ of the story. Though Jonathan heard lots of suggestions for stars to play the mum, Sandra, in Beautiful Thing, its producer Tony Garnett said to Jonathan: ‘People need to go to the pictures and see it and believe every second. The minute they think, “Oh look, there’s so-and-so, pretending she lives in a council house”, you’ve lost them.’ Eventually the role went to Linda Henry, famous now for playing Shirley Carter in EastEnders.
It should also be noted the making of Beautiful Thing is a tale of perseverance. After it was initially rejected by Film Four, the play’s rave reviews changed everything: ‘Film Four called me back in and said they wanted to make it into a film… they gave me carte blanche to go round interviewing producers and production companies and deciding who I wanted to produce it,’ Jonathan says. ‘I realise now this was very unusual but I had no idea at the time!’ Shot in a real housing estate, there were many issues in getting the film physically produced, in the middle of summer. Having worked there already, Jonathan knew the location and the people well, which helped. Jonathan tells me the night shoots were gruelling and it was hard to keep residents happy at two in the morning; location-wise, one of the flats used in the film is also Thamesmead Rape Crisis Centre, which was apparently ‘shut for August’. The references to existing copyrighted material like Coronation Street (amusingly, Jonathan now works on Corrie) and the songs, such as the Mama Cass records Leah plays, or those which form part of the non-diegetic soundtrack, would have been expensive: some songs can cost thousands in rights! But without Mama Cass, Leah would have been a shadow of her former self from the source material. What’s more, that famous dance scene at the end of the movie proved the biggest challenge: ‘It was nerve wracking for everyone as there were only a handful of extras and the rest were real people who turned up to watch,’ Jonathan says. ‘You’ve got two teenage lads slow dancing to Mama Cass full blast and a crowd watching. In 1995! But they all got into the spirit of it, really.’
Being the ‘outsider’ is a common feeling for teenagers, so even though Beautiful Thing is the best part of 20 years old now (thus practically ‘coming of age’ itself!), the core question at the heart of the story – ‘Why do I not fit in?’ – is still very relevant. We join the movie with Jamie attempting to play football, but being rejected by the other boys who throw homophobic insults his way. Jamie decides to mug off the day and slopes home to the London estate he shares with the other colourful characters who will be the main players in Beautiful Thing, such as neighbour Ste (whom we saw on the football field with the other boys who abused Jamie) and school dropout Leah, who now spends all her time playing Mama Cass records and complaining she’s bored. What’s perhaps most striking for me about Beautiful Thing is that the ‘coming out’ arc is not the protagonist’s. We already know Jamie is gay from the first scene in the movie, and though he’s not really sure yet how he feels or what to do about it, crucially Jamie knows he is gay too. Instead, it is love interest Ste, a secondary character, who must recognise himself as gay. In contrast, though the budding relationship between Ste and Jamie is the ‘catalyst’ for what transpires in Beautiful Thing, I would venture our protagonist’s journey really lies in the resolution of the existing conflict between him and Sandra, his mother.
Jamie is the quiet, thoughtful only child of the brassy, larger-than- life Sandra who works in a bar and wants more out of life, not only for herself, but for Jamie too. The spec drama screenplays I read frequently focus on mother/child relationships (especially those with sons), often ignoring fathers altogether (who will often be absent from the narrative instead). Those mothers in the spec drama screenplays will often fall into two loose categories:
• Neglectful Mother. She likes booze, sex, drugs, WHATEVER a lot better than her kid. She doesn’t cook, wash clothes or do anything mothers are ‘supposed’ to do; she swears, she smokes and is usually ill-educated. If she works, she works in a bar or club, sometimes as a barmaid, though also a pole dancer or stripper. Sometimes she’s a criminal, handling stolen goods and the like. Occasionally she is well educated and then she’s a workaholic, preferring her work as (usually) an accountant or similar to her child. She smokes a lot and may sweep into rooms to have a go at our young protagonist, who dreams of escaping her cruel grip.
• Depressed Mother. Depressed mother has too many children and can’t handle it. We know this because she will spend a lot of time in bed, or staring out of windows; there will be moments in the screenplay when she screams at everyone about how she can’t cope, and perhaps she delivers long monologues about how different (read: better) her life was before having children. Our protagonist is the eldest and has to look after his or her siblings, taking them to school and picking them up, even cooking their tea and ensuring they get in the bath.
Combined with that very two-dimensional characterisation, the spec drama screenplay mother above will usually have a very peripheral role in the narrative. A favourite storyline is our protagonist stealing money or a car and then running away from their mother, for whatever reason. Occasionally there is a big confrontation between them, where our hero/ine pleads with his/her mother to really see what is going on with their lives that may or may not relate to the story situation they find themselves in. In short, both versions of the spec drama mother character (and even fathers, by their absence) are put under the spotlight and found wanting. I’m sure scribes don’t mean it this way, but the lack of variety here means quite a damning statement is made.
At first glance, Sandra appears to be the ‘classic’ working-class mother who appears in this type of drama: she smokes, she drinks, she swears; she even works in a bar. But unlike the many spec drama screenplays I read, Sandra occupies a huge part of the story and plays a pivotal role in both Jamie and Ste’s emotional growth in the course of the narrative of Beautiful Thing, in the following ways:
• She’s funny. Sandra is not a comic relief character, but she is funny. She mocks Jamie, Leah and even her own boyfriend, the hippy clod Lenny. One of my favourite moments is when she takes the phone to talk to one of Jamie’s teachers, yet again: ‘Hello. I believe you wanted to talk to me about my total git of a son?’ As the mother of a teenage boy myself, I have uttered these words, too – if not aloud, then definitely in my head.
• She’s sharp. Very often, mums in the spec drama screenplays I read are cast adrift by circumstance; they’re poor and have no way out. In comparison, Sandra may not a well-educated woman, but she is ambitious and clever. When she is offered the job at the pub, we can see why; she’s canny enough to get in advance the ‘insider info’ necessary to impress the board of bosses. Jamie has a slight superiority complex when it comes to Sandra; he thinks he’s cleverer than her, like most teenagers. There’s a strong moment when Sandra warns him, a dangerous smile on her face, ‘Don’t make out I’m thick, Jamie.’ We wouldn’t dare!
• She’s emotional. The first word we hear from Sandra’s lips is ‘Slag!’, levied at Leah. Why a grown woman would have a vendetta with a school leaver is up for interpretation. Leah is cited AND shown as being a nuisance predominantly for playing her records at such loud volumes, not to mention she is also a shit stirrer, which is illustrated later when Leah tells Lenny (incorrectly) that Sandra aborted his baby. Incensed and hurt, Sandra does not wait to confront Leah; instead she marches round to the party Jamie and all his friends are at, to tell Leah it was actually a miscarriage (after assaulting her!). Jamie is mortified by his mother’s behaviour, not considering Sandra’s feelings as a human being, earning (rightfully) the sharp side of her tongue as well. This is a recurring conflict between them throughout the movie, in which she defends herself, on one occasion even raining frustrated (albeit light) blows on him. In other words, Sandra does her best and Jamie says it’s not good enough. This is a brilliant touch, because this is something (good) parents and their teenagers face every day: it’s authentic and feels real. So we empathise with Sandra, not Jamie, because Jamie is unduly harsh on his mother, as teenagers are typically wont to be. Yet the spec drama screenplays I read nearly always place a line in the sand between the teenager and the parent the reverse way: the parent is not interested in his/her child, they want it done ‘their way or the high way’, so we want the teen to get away.
• Sandra is still on Jamie’s side. Sandra is on Jamie’s case throughout the movie, whether it’s his truancy, doing his homework, wondering where he’s been or how he’s going to cope as a gay man in a hostile world. But, again, these are all things GOOD parents worry about, even if teenagers don’t see what the big deal is, or think that it’s none of their parents’ business. Despite this, however, Sandra will do whatever it takes for her son, which includes lying to his teachers on the phone… though she will also teach him a lesson for putting her in that position!
• Sandra is a Good Samaritan. Walking home from work one night, she discovers a morose Ste sitting by himself by the water: he’s received yet another beating from his father, Ronnie, this time for burning the dinner. Taking Ste home with her, Sandra announces Ste will be ‘top and tailing it’ with Jamie, before shouting through the letterbox next door to the unimpressed and abusive Ronnie that she’s looking after his son. So, in other words, Sandra is the catalyst for the story: had she not got involved, Ste and Jamie would never have been thrown together so intimately. This is interesting, because in most of the drama specs I read, if mother characters are there at all, they’re usually simply orbiting around the teenagers, not kicking off the story.
• The conflict is not what we expect. It would be very easy to have caused conflict between Sandra and Jamie by having her oblivious, or disapproving of him and/or his ‘way of life’. But Sandra knows her son is ‘not like other boys’ and there’s a poignant moment in the flat’s living room when Jamie challenges her to say he’s ‘weird’: ‘No… you’re alright. YOU’RE ALRIGHT,’ she insists. We sense that Sandra accepts who Jamie is absolutely and this is illustrated perfectly in the resolution of the movie when she dances with Leah, as Jamie and Ste slow dance in front of all the other tenement residents. Instead, the conflict comes from Sandra’s concerns for Jamie, as an out gay man in a world that will not always be as accepting as she is.
On the surface, Beautiful Thing could have been your average nineties depressing drama: we’ve got poor teenagers; a housing estate; single mum; domestic abuse; smoking, swearing and drinking! Yet Beautiful Thing handles all this, plus its gay love story, with a whimsical, almost tongue-in-cheek vibe throughout. Again, it would have been so easy for Jamie and Ste to embark on a doomed love affair, further underlining that being a homosexual in today’s Britain is an isolating and painful experience. Yet Beautiful Thing sidesteps this predictable storyline with ease, instead showing us that acceptance, tolerance and understanding are indeed beautiful things.
• On the surface, Beautiful Thing may look like a ‘typical’ British film set in an urban area, but nothing can be further from the truth. Sometimes we can subvert expectations by seemingly giving producers, filmmakers and audiences what they purport to want, but with our own motivations firmly in mind. So if you feel that a certain group of people is underserved by drama, or are sick of stereotypes or particular ‘kinds’ of stories, go for it. In 1996, there had not been many stories about gay romances, which contributed to the success of Beautiful Thing. Can you think of a real-life issue or topic that has not been covered much (or only in one way) and bring it to life? If you can, you may find your drama story has people queueing up to help you!
• In order to do the above, make sure your characters are not ‘the usual’, but don’t make them so far out of left field that they’re totally unrecognisable either. Sandra works so well because she is what we expect, but in a totally new way. Her boyfriend, Lenny, isn’t the ‘usual’ addict boyfriend and domestic abuser we might expect, either; nor is Jamie the average drama protagonist, agonising over his homosexuality.
• Beautiful Thing is arguably as whimsical as Juno, yet this is a tone and story world script readers and filmmakers see very infrequently in British drama screenplays in the spec pile. Light and shade is SO important to drama, yet that misunderstanding amongst writers over ‘depressing drama’ continues to dominate spec screenplays. Whilst there’s nothing wrong with a good old-fashioned DEVASTATING drama, I’d venture a screenwriter is better off writing optimistic stories in order to get noticed, which means a stack more research is needed by writers in terms of watching them!
• If you want to subvert expectation, you’re probably not the only one frustrated with the current status quo. Remember Gail Hackston’s ‘unusual’ cancer story, or the fact Noel Clarke was angry enough to write a screenplay ‘setting the record straight’ about how young people ‘really’ are… if you feel strongly about something, chances are others do too. So think of a story you’re passionate about and find others who are just as passionate. This is a shared dream, not just yours.
• It’s unlikely a realist British drama would be awarded as much as £1.5 million nowadays, so think of ways you can achieve something similar to Beautiful Thing for much less (i.e. £50,000–£500,000, like Night People and Kidulthood). Casting can be an issue for dramas, but in the opposite way to genre films: you may actively want unknown actors.
• Limited characters and locations are generally a must for a micro-budget to low-budget drama screenplay: 5–6 characters maximum and 3–4 locations is optimum. However, if you can make a few locations seem like more, or use a large cast in interesting ways (such as asking schools, youth groups or estate residents to ‘turn up’ and agree to being filmed, perhaps in return for food or drink), there are always ways round this if your producer is willing to think creatively. And do remember that, if you’re shooting on location, it helps if you know the area and its people well as you can use the goodwill you’ve generated.
• The songs in Beautiful Thing would have been very costly, just as all the snippets and references to Mary Poppins would have been in Saving Mr Banks. If you ‘need’ to include music in a realist drama spec feature screenplay, can you think of an alternative, e.g. a character is a singer-songwriter, who writes his/her own material? If that will not work, make sure you have a rock-solid story reason why your drama screenplay cannot do without it.
• Adaptations of plays can offer very real opportunities for spec drama screenplays: if your play does well, people are more likely to want you to make the film version. Look into staging your own and/or working with small theatre companies, many of which encourage new writers.