Pitching, Similar but Different, Happy Valley
This week I’m in the midst of crafting a TV pitch to go out with soon, and, as I think most writers would attest (especially in our most vulnerable moments), I’ve come to the conclusion that THESE THINGS are the WORST. The process of developing a concept and making it a twenty-minute spiel is a painstakingly slow and often discouraging one. For me, it’s one of the most challenging things you can do as a screenwriter.
Pitches contain a lot of moving parts. So does a screenplay of course — characters and themes and plot and mysteries — but at least a screenplay is linear; it proceeds from X to Y to Z. You have time. But a pitch has all these elements that are demanding attention immediately — and managing them all in a straightforward, short amount of space is very difficult.
You’re trying to deliver two things simultaneously: precision and tone. It needs to be succinct, while still conveying all of the information that is necessary. But also, it needs to have a feeling to it; you can’t just deliver the information in the most direct, simple way because you’re also trying to embody what the show is going to feel like. Every element of a pitch needs to be crafted with care in order to ensure that it is both organized and impactful.
That is a pretty daunting challenge, even before you think about the fact that you actually have to stand up and deliver it…
Central to this struggle is a central question: what makes a good TV idea?
Yes, it’s about balancing different elements: the target audience, the story that will be told, the characters and the setting, and the overall message that the idea is trying to convey. But also — somewhat contradictorily — it’s about a kind of alchemy, an alchemy that is often expressed by one of the many paradoxes that our industry loves so much: similar but different.
On the one hand, those in charge of getting your writing made want familiar, predictable results; they want to minimize their risk — they don’t want to stick their necks out. What better way than guaranteeing success than looking at things that have been successful before and mimicking them?
On the other hand, you don’t go into TV commissioning to be an actuary. They’re sitting across the desk from these writers every day; they are creative and intelligent people, and they want to be surprised and delighted. When they make a choice to get behind a project, you want to be seen as Top Gun: Maverick, you want to be Tom Cruise attempting a maneuver that no one expected and that ONLY you can pull off.
Plus, they don’t have complete disdain for their audience. They know that you can’t keep reheating the same old stuff and expect an audience to stand it.
So — similar but different.
As a writer, all of this can leave you scratching your head. WHAT DO YOU WANT FROM ME, you’re tempted to shout, shaking them by the lapels before jumping out the nearest window.
The way I try to square the circle is this: what is it about this idea that really excites me? What would be the best way to bring this concept to life? I look for a deeper meaning, a metaphor that will inspire me. SEVERANCE: what if you had a sort of conspiratorial techno-thriller, but it was about the mundanity of work? WHITE LOTUS: what if it was a sort of soapy holiday drama with a mystery at its core, but what if it was also a class critique, social commentary?
Or, of course, maybe you just execute an ordinary idea very, very well. Happy Valley, which came to an end last Sunday, is a British crime drama that follows the story of Catherine Cawood (Sarah Lancashire), a police sergeant in West Yorkshire. It follows Catherine’s journey as she tries to bring a sense of justice to a world where evil is rampant — a description that could be applied to any British television show for the last fifty years.
But the joy of Happy Valley is in its execution. It’s sort of interested in the procedural element of crime fiction, but in reality, it is just focused on creating a compelling story about family, love, and friendship. More than anything, it is about that central character: the archetype of a Northern matriarch taken to classical proportions, angry and noble and tired.
It is an intelligent and gripping drama. It is a show that is carefully crafted and skillfully written, and its exploration of the human condition is both thought-provoking and emotionally resonant.