Ten favourite scripts of 2021

I read these and didn’t have to. Wait, no, some I did: award shows are back so there were 30 or so scripts I was required to read. But other than that, so far this year I’ve read 500 scripts for fun and that number, plus it being mid-December, means I feel ready to recommend some reading to you, if I may.

Of those 500, 13 were stage plays, 20 were films, 43 were radio and a mere 424 were TV. What I can’t count or even really manage to guess is how many were written or made in 2021. I would have to say that the answer is not many at all.

This reading is done for pleasure and it’s as I find what I can. Some of the scripts are definitely new, but you also know how long it takes scripts to reach the screen so “new” can still mean a couple of years old. And then at least one script is from 30 years back.

So there’s no statistical analysis here, no rule or reason, no rhyme or plan. But I would like you to know that I found these ten to be immensely good reads. Just to avoid having any semblance of a countdown, let me split this all into the medium that the script was for.

Except for radio. There were a lot of really great radio drama scripts but only a couple that could’ve poked up into my top ten for the year –– and those were part of the judging I did so it’s awkward naming them ahead of the ceremony.

STAGE

Fleabag by Phoebe Waller-Bridge
Sweet Sorrow by Alan Plater

Neither is available online, I’m afraid. I got them from my bookshelves and you’re welcome to pop round.

I do keep a note next to each script I read, the very briefest of lines, ranging from “Okay” upwards and really only so I can look back and re-read the best ones.

Next to Fleabag, which I read on February 14, 2021, I’ve just written the word “Fantastic”. And next to Sweet Sorrow, read on November 4, it says “So good I cried.”

FILM

Promising Young Woman by Emerald Fennell

“Left me shaking,” says my note on February 1. “Wonderful.”

TV
Frasier: Dinner Party by Jeffrey Richman
The Handmaid’s Tale: Offred by Bruce Miller
Inside No 9: The 12 Days of Christine by Steve Pemberton and Reece Shearsmith
Press Gang: There are Crocodiles by Steven Moffat
The Queen’s Gambit (Episode 1) by Scott Frank
Schmigadoon! (Pilot) by Cinco Paul & Ken Daurio
Stumptown: Forget it, Dex, it’s Stumptown by Jason Richman

Looking at that list, I think I might go for The Queen’s Gambit, read March 3, as the best. All I’ve written next to it is “So good” but of all the series here, it’s the one I wish I could read the rest of.

I’m surprised to see just how wrenching some of these are. I’d have said I read a lot of comedy this year because a) I needed to 2) they’re quite short and also, er, iii?) they can be so tightly written that it’s fascinating. But apparently I also found time on February 16 for The Handmaid’s Tale which was like reading a knife.

This is the year I finally got into Inside No 9 and I did so because of the scripts. I can remember laughing so much, so very much at A Quiet Night In by Steve Pemberton and Reece Shearsmith, that I felt light headed as I read it on June 4. But it’s their The 12 Days of Christine, June 6, that sticks with me for how moving it is.

Still, speaking of funny, I was elated on September 19 to find that the script to episode 1 of Schmigadoon! was online. This is a musical comedy about comedy musicals and every frame is a loving nod to a genre of movie I did not realise I knew so well.

Seriously, every frame. And every note. The very opening sound of the first episode made me smile and I can’t say I didn’t stop until the end of the last episode, but it was pretty close.

Whereas Stumptown was upsetting on June 10 – but in a different way to the rest. It is a simply excellent detective series and so much so that you realise how rare that actually is. What’s upsetting is that the pilot went to series, the series is superb, it earned a second series commission –– and was then cancelled before production could start.

It was a scheduling thing and a COVID thing, and if I don’t know the details, I know it was pretty much a tragedy. You do not get great detective shows very often.

I look at my note next to Stumptown and how it just says “Excellent”. I am so good at conveying the worth of a script, clearly.

Mind you, you should see the ones I’m not telling you about and that I never will. One had just had the words “Staggeringly shite” next to it, and that was on a pilot script for a show that then ran for years.

Clearly, I know my stuff.

 

Unequal pay for writers

I was once asked to write something overnight, someone had let somebody down, something had changed, I don’t remember. But I do remember being asked to name my price and I doubled what this company usually paid me.

That’s very nice and I felt very good for about a pixel of a second because while they said yes, they said it with such obvious relief that it was clear they’d have gone far, far higher. For the sake of any claim I make of being a professional writer, I need to tell you that I then billed for that emergency rate for every single project I did for them.

Here’s the thing, though. The writer in me can go into paralysed circles over what I should be paid. The human being in me can go into a rage when, for instance, women writers are being paid less than men.

There’s no but in that one, incidentally and obviously. Women, men, equal pay, not one but, not one question, not one ever.

But.

That’s about minimums. And I’ve been in conversations this week where I think there was a belief that it should apply to maximums, too. There was definitely a moment where an idea of capping writers’ pay so no one could get more than some amount came up and wasn’t shot down instantly. These were writers suggesting this and there were circumstances, it didn’t come out of nowhere, but I said to them and I’ll say to you, no.

No caps. Every other bugger wants to limit our pay, we can’t enable them to do it.

There’s something British about this. I’ve been thinking about it all week and it reminds me of how in the UK, you don’t tend to haggle. The price is the price, you pay it or you don’t, it’s not that common to negotiate. I’m the same, I tried it once over a fridge or something and got nowhere.

Anyway. I think the logic was that if you are writing a one-hour drama for primetime television then it’s the same job for everyone. Takes the same time, is physically the same amount of words and pages, of course it should earn the same money.

I’m too polite to say this aloud myself, so please take the rudest word you can think of and prefix it with the phrase fucking bollocks.

Men and women, yes, of course, you must not, you cannot be paid more or less just because of which genitals you happen to have. Age, too, I’d definitely agree that a writer’s age is no more an important factor in fee negotiations than their shoe size.

I hesitate over experience, a bit. There is an increased rate for writers when they are experienced and there are good reasons for it, good and practical reasons, but I’ve also known writers who’ve written for years and just aren’t all that great at it. Still, experience, if I don’t back that as vehemently as I do the men/women equal pay issue, I’m not against experienced writers being paid more.

Where I will stand and if necessary fall is over this presumption that writing a one-hour drama is the same regardless of who you are.

Let’s say that you are not a writer, you’re a producer and you are now producing a series. You commission me to write one episode and you commission Phoebe Waller-Bridge to write another. There are immediately, instantly two very clear things you and I know both about these two episodes.

First, with deep and miserable regret, we both know that her episode is going to be better than mine. She’s a better writer than I will ever be, although I’ll be damned if I’m not going to try.

Second, you also know that she’ll be paid more than I will.

Of course she will be and of course she should be. She’s better than I am. I can’t comprehend an argument where I should be paid the same as her. She’s better, her script will be better, the show will be better, it is worth it to you as a series producer to pay more for her work.

That’s where people get this wrong, I think, and it’s where writers get it wrong, I’m afraid. We talk a lot about how important we are to drama because, well, there ain’t any drama without writers. But at the same time we deeply undervalue ourselves and where minimum rates are fair, maximums are not. It is worth a show paying more for certain writers, just as on a pretty infinitely smaller scale, it was worth it to that company to pay me more when they needed something written overnight.

Writers do feel undervalued and we are, certainly. There are actors who claim to have invented your characters, for instance. Even good actors are more likely to thank a director than a writer, although actually I get that: by the time the cast is on board, writers can be gone to the next project. Of course you’re going to bond more with the people you actually work with.

I just think writers undervalue themselves too. And in making a case for fees that assumes all writers are the same, are of the same talent and worth, is not standing up for our rights. It’s more like being colonised.

I think this is the killer argument and apparently I’m wrong as writers I talked with this week were not even injured by it. Still, it’s this and it convinces me at least: if you don’t pay a great writer more, some other show will and you’ll lose her.