One summer morning, a couple of years ago, I came to work on the Fox lot to find that a documentary crew was waiting to interview me for a film called Showrunners. I had no memory of agreeing to do any such thing (I still don’t) but that is not odd for me. I agree to do things all the time—especially things that will happen more than two weeks in the future—because I know that day will never come.
But in this case the day had come and it was today. My intention was to blow them off. I had a rewrite to do on a Bones script, I was trying to get another Fox series called The Finder up and running, there was a sound mix, casting, and some sort of kerfuffle on set to do with how realistic a dead body looked—all in all a typical morning on a TV show for a showrunner and I hadn’t even had my coffee.
The mistake I made was to speak to the documentary film crew in person and look the director, Des Doyle, in the eyes. Des has warm and intelligent eyes. Then he told me about his film, told me how hard he was working to make that film, and he convinced me that he was actually fascinated by the process of making “American TV.” (Did I mention that Des and his crew are Irish? Like James Joyce Irish? Historically, these people survived a potato famine and the Troubles, so how the hell was I going to deny them because I hadn’t had my coffee?)
I suspect all the other showrunners that Des Doyle spoke with fell into the same warm pit and decided to cooperate even though they too lacked the time and/or inclination.
Des convinced me that if I told him the truth about showrunning then the other showrunners might do the same thing. That was intriguing to me because when it comes down to it, running an American TV show is like sex… no matter how much you ask around or how many courses you attend there’s no real preparation for the real thing. And when it finally happens for real you know in your heart that you’re doing it in a maladroit manner. Tragically, even years later, you may continue to believe that other people possess some secret knowledge which allows them to perform at a much higher level than you do. (Not just me. Other people too. Ask around.)
Another similarity between sex and showrunning (I have done both. Yes I have.) is that when you actually do see someone else doing it, it’s likely to be accidental and traumatic such as catching your Uncle Buzzy in the tool shed with the lady who cleans his teeth. (Not just me. Other people too. Ask around.)
I know what you’re thinking, “What about porn?” Let me tell you, porn isn’t necessarily a useful learning tool because porn results in self-loathing (I am not equipped like that) and inappropriate moves that have no place in real life (what the hell did you do that for?)
Well, thanks to Des Doyle and his committed group of Irish documentarian filmmakers, you don’t have to pick up your showrunning knowledge from the street or Uncle Buzzy. What they’ve done is make a delightful, suitable-for-work, non-pornographic film called Showrunners. This book is the official companion to that film.
Showrunners tend to be an interesting group of people even if you aren’t in the TV business—probably because they are forced to live in two worlds: the creative and the managerial. They must think equally with the left and right hemispheres of their brains. The technical term for this is “schizophrenia.” Some are witty, some are cranky, some semi-catatonic. Most, but not all, have terrible posture. Some are ineffably cool with tattoos while others are inescapably dorky—some are both at the same time. And now you can see them for yourself, in the film, and in this book.
Would you like to take a look behind closed doors? To get an inkling of something that is usually private? That is not porn? Well, if it’s between this and Uncle Buzzy, then I heartily recommend the book and the movie. You may never watch TV the same way again.
Hart Hanson, Los Angeles, May 2014