Writing TV Drama: The Monologue



Introduction

Author and script writer Paul Cornell, author of Something More and writer on Casualty, looks at the challenges of writing a monologue.
If you want to understand and use this challenging form of narrative, Paul explores the pros and cons whilst drawing on his real-life experiences in TV, online and print.
In particular he will demonstrate how monologues can be successfully constructed.
In this session you'll cover:

Monologue Types
Using TV Ideas
The Reversal
Character and Voice
The Character Point
Verisimilitude
Researching
General Points
Rewrites




Monologue Types

The monologue in TV drama is a challenge, generally something to be avoided if you can. Scripts thrive on dialogue, a monologue is usually a sign of something wrong. It takes an Alan Bennett to make a signature style of them.

But if that's your challenge let's take some of the basics of script and start applying them to the monologue form.

You don't know it yet, but in writing a monologue, you'll seek to put together a string of interesting beats, taking your character on a journey, with a good number of reversals, establishing a strong voice for your central character, illustrating a number of character points, showing not telling and conveying a sense of verisimilitude (having done your research) while performing your exposition in a subtle way.

I'll explain each of those underlined words as we get to them.

What kind of monologue are you going to write?

The obvious choice is: breaking the fourth wall. That is, the character talks directly to us in the audience as if neither they nor us should be surprised about that. As in Talking Heads.

One variation on that is the audience being put in the position of a specific person the character is talking to. We are watching through the eyes of an unseen but specific character. It feels rather old-fashioned or childish now, and leads to horrible lines like:

FRED: [TO CAMERA.] Oh, there you are! Do come in!

One problem with that is that FRED can't ask how we are and get an answer.

Or you could present an interior monologue, that is, the monologue is simply a presentation of the character's innermost thoughts, without the idea that they're talking to anyone:

FRED: Must keep going. Tired. No. Can't stop. Might lose my job.

You could present this either with the actor visibly speaking the words, or as a voiceover, the actor just showing their reactions.

Or you could have your monologue be a case of someone genuinely talking to themselves, either eccentrically, charmingly, or as a sign of mental illness, or just as we always sometimes do in real life.

FRED: Now where did I put?? Ah, there it is. Can't do without that, Fred!

In my BBCi Doctor Who webcast I had the Doctor talking to himself every now and then as he explores a deserted town. His eccentricity allows him to do that, but I had to take great care not to over-use the device. The point where the audience realises that this character is talking to themselves for the use of the writer, and not because it's that character's voice? that's where the writer has to stop the talking out loud thing.

The last three types of monologue are more difficult than breaking the fourth wall, but overcoming difficulty is a creative challenge.

A side note: bear in mind that a monologue isn't a narration, where we seem to be being read someone's memoirs:

FRED: It was on a cold night in July that I first met Jane.

Don't do that!



Using TV Ideas

Now let's consider some general ideas about television scripting, and then apply them to the monologue.

We start with a beat. It's a unit of plot: one thing that happens.

So, beat one of a script:

JANE, CROSSING THE ROAD, SMILES AT FRED AS HE PASSES CROSSING IN THE OTHER DIRECTION.

JANE: Fred was my Dad's best friend in the war. He smells of honey.

(Which, as we've discussed, could be JANE saying that out loud, or as a voice over, to camera or not.

The line is to give the impression that JANE likes FRED, without her just saying 'I like FRED'. We'll talk more about showing not telling in a moment.)

And here's beat two:

BUT SUDDENLY THERE'S A HORRIBLE SCREECH OF BRAKES. JANE SPINS. FRED LIES IN THE ROAD. HE'S BEEN HIT BY A CAR!

Beat three is probably JANE'S reaction. It could be:

JANE: Oh no! Fred's been hit by a car!

But that's a terrible line!

It's a line that doesn't need to be there, because:

1: It tells us something we've already been shown, and -

2: It tells us that JANE'S reaction is exactly what we expect it to be.

So what's it for? Nothing! So cut it.

The less speech the better. Yes, even in your monologue. Action should show as much of the story as possible, with speech telling us only the bare minimum.

This is what I mean by showing not telling.

So if that horrified reaction is what JANE'S feeling, then it would be better to write beat three as action:

JANE DESPERATELY RUNS TO SEE IF SHE CAN HELP FRED.

Fair enough.

But instead of that, and much better, would be:

JANE: [GRIMLY.] Finally!

That's called a reversal.


The Reversal

A reversal is a beat where the audience's expectations are reversed. We thought JANE liked FRED. We were wrong. And something intriguing is going on. Which makes us want to keep watching.

A good number of reversals, within reason, is one sign of a healthy plot.

Think of a plot without reversals: JANE goes to work. It's a normal day. She goes home.

It couldn't even be funny along the way, because a joke is a reversal in itself: the vast majority of jokes are verbal surprises.

A monologue, especially, needs a healthy plot with lots of reversals.

But not a lot happens in Alan Bennett's Talking Heads plays, does it? How can those have lots of reversals?

Well, Julie Walters' first line in 'Her Big Chance' is: 'I shot a man last week with a harpoon gun.' It's a few lines before we realise she's talking about acting.

Let's examine the whole plot of one of those monologues. ROSEMARY (Penelope Wilton) in 'Nights in the Gardens of Spain' visits her neighbour FRAN in jail after FRAN is convicted of murdering her (FRAN'S) abusive husband. ROSEMARY only learns about the abuse from the court case (reversal one), and realises that her husband was one of a group of men who used to abuse FRAN (reversal two). FRAN never knew who else abused her, though she recognised one man from the way he whistled under his breath... just like ROSEMARY'S husband does, ROSEMARY realises (reversal three). ROSEMARY visits FRAN in jail telling her husband that she's doing charitable work at the hospice. In an ironic reversal four, FRAN is taken from the jail to that hospice, where she dies.

Reversals make interesting plots, even in recounted action.

That reversal, (in the earlier monologue example), that it turns out that JANE not only didn't like FRED, but that she might even have had a hand in his accident, is the first step of JANE'S journey.

We're not talking about a physical journey. Your character should not be exactly the same person at the end of your monologue as at the start. That's a dramatic journey.

Your central characters change as the result of what happens to them. RICK, in Casablanca, goes from being a selfish loner to being an altruistic freedom fighter, because he meets his lost love again.

In the monologue, your character probably won't go on a journey as big as that, but think about what they're like at the start, and what's changed for them at the end, and what the beats are that change their mind on the way.

If you can see that clearly, then you've got another element of a healthy plot in place. The Talking Heads example would be Thora Hird's character in 'A Cream Cracker Under the Sofa', who goes from wanting to be rescued to electing to die with her dignity intact. During her monologue we see her arrive at those thoughts which change her mind.



Character and Voice

Let's talk more about character. In drama, that's revealed through a character's voice. That's not just their particular speech habits, it's their attitude, their beliefs, what they're after.

We all know how James Bond or Bugs Bunny or Den Watts talks. The sort of things they say:

DEN: I say, old bean, what larks!

Isn't right.

BOND: He disagreed with something that ate him.

Is. (I cheated. That's actually a line from another Ian Fleming character.)

Your absolute dream is to give the character who delivers your monologue a voice as distinctive as that, one that shows, every moment, who they are.

But take note that sometimes the most satisfying examples of such voices take a while to make an impact on us. Those are cases where the character is an everyday person, whose voice convinces us of that, so that we listen and believe them when it turns out to have an interesting story to tell. They, at least initially, might have a very non-distinctive voice. But even then it mustn't be dull.

We'll come back to the matter of believing in a voice in a moment. First let's play with a few ways voice can demonstrate character.

NICK: I love fishing. Every chance I get I'm down the pier with my rod and line.

It doesn't show not tell, and if we had the budget to film outside we could just show NICK enjoying his fishing.

But what if we're stuck inside like in Talking Heads, with just him and his sofa?

NICK: Line in the water. Nothing for hours. Then? yes! Go on! Go on!

It's showing, not telling, even though it's speech of the monologue itself. What we're showing is character, and we're doing it through his particular voice.

You could do the same thing with a completely different voice:

FRANK: Smooth. It's about me and the ocean, baby. Then a fish wants to get frisky with my line and ring a ding ding, we're dancing!

That's Frank Sinatra at his most swinging (or okay, a bad Sinatra impersonator) and is a bit silly, but that's a very distinctive voice.

The character isn't just telling us what he likes, he's taken us into the action itself, and given us an insight into his (rather predictable) emotions. It's the start of finding a voice for him.



The Character Point

One part of voice is the character point. That is, an item of information that tells us something about who this person is. RICK in Casablanca never lets his pianist SAM play a particular song (because it reminds him of his lost love). That's a character point.

In one of my Casualty episodes, I had to demonstrate that new paramedic COMFORT was a Catholic. I had her cross herself in front of the altar during a resuscitation in a church, after which her partner NICKI asked her:

NICKI: Are you religious?

COMFORT: No. I'm a Catholic.

In this beat a character point is revealed as first a reversal ('No'?!) and then a joke.

A joke that conveys information is a very useful sort of beat. It makes exposition, that is, telling the audience necessary information, fun.

And this beat also establishes that COMFORT'S voice makes that sort of joke.

The horrible alternative, by the way, would be:

COMFORT: Yes. I'm a Catholic.

Which is just the sound of information being thumped onto the table. That's bad exposition. It's the opposite of showing not telling. (And it's why Michael York's character in the Austin Powers movies is called BASIL EXPOSITION.)



Verisimilitude


My elderly Aunt Jen used to own a hen which she called Barbara Castle, presumably after the Labour MP of the time. I never found out whether the hen was named in admiration or anger. Barbara was taken care of by Francie, who lived with Aunt Jen. Francie had some kind of psychiatric condition (or perhaps just a speech impediment, I never found out), and said long, wailing things that only Aunt Jen could understand.

I'm just telling you that. You don't know if it's true or not. But I bet it sounds true. That feeling of being told a story that is (or could be) true is called verisimilitude.

It's an important part of drama. We've all seen movies where we become sure that the writers don't know what they're talking about. One thing that says that is cliche. If one has never read about the real old West, one has nevertheless probably seen a few Westerns. So the saloon one writes about is going to have dancing girls and bartenders who whiz glasses of rotgut down a polished bar to gunfighters in Stetsons. One doesn't know if any of those things are real, but one's seen them in other movies so?

That's really not good enough. Think how interesting, in comparison, is the movie where half of the cowboys are black, they wear all kinds of hats, their business is simply moving cattle, and 'gunfighting' is the last act of desperate bandits, not some kind of sport. The audience don't know that's real either, but they guess it is, because it's not full of cliches and because the writers have dropped in a few important research details that convince them of the drama's verisimilitude.



Researching


Research gives you that necessary knowledge of what you're writing about. People say 'write what you know'. That's the easiest course. But take care. Telling your own life might just not be very interesting. 'Write what you know about' is better. And you can find out about your subject from libraries, the internet, public records offices, etc..

Oddly, writers of science fiction and fantasy have to be more careful about verisimilitude than anyone else. They have to construct a world that feels true.

So, in your monologue:

FRED: Worked behind that bar. At that bakery. That fish shop. Until I lost a shoe. Customer found it with his chips, covered in batter. I said you don't know you won't like it until you've tried it.

The exposition here is: I've lived here a long time. The character point of this beat is: I can't hold down a steady job. The voice says: I'm laid back, cheeky, maybe a bit unreliable (although FRED is talking about his past, so we might pull a silly reversal -)

FRED: It's a lot different now, being Chairman of the Bank of England.

And perhaps we can justify that joke with some research, trying to deliver that by showing not telling -

FRED: I used to say to Mr. Finch in 'A' Level Economics, I signed on for Pottery. I was still saying that at the L.S.E.. Not much pottery, a lot of pot.

The research, such as it is, there, comes over not as the clumsy sort of exposition, but as just the sort of thing the character would say, part of his voice.

And a final series of reversals might be the character at his potter's wheel:

FRED: I chucked the bank in on Wednesday. I still can't make anything that's not wonky. But I'll get there.



General Points


You're not going to get any critical acclaim with work like that last example. And I'm not sure it's anywhere near verisimilitude. You'd need to work hard to make that journey feel real, though the beats that motivate FRED'S changes of direction are all obvious. But hopefully it shows how to bring together all the traits of good writing we've discussed.

A few general points that I've picked up over the years:

The last word in a joke is the one that will trigger the audience laugh. Don't go on past that.

When a commissioner or script editor is kind enough to respond to your work with a personalised rejection, you've made an important step. Listen to what they have to say, and resist the human weakness of rejecting it, finding a reason why it's not true. If you accept it and change your work because of it, then you'll eventually get something made.

This sense of apprenticeship, of learning, is particularly important when you're working on an established series like Casualty or Holby City. You not only have to find the voices of the individual characters, but of the series itself, the sort of things the series never does.

For instance: on Holby, phone calls are frowned on, because we should see all the drama, not just one side of it.

A rule of a lot of television drama is: no overhearings. It's too easy to make one character find out something simply by overhearing a conversation.

A rule like that can be learnt only one way: by watching the series.



Rewrites

On an established show, you work will be re-written, at least in part, because there isn't time for you to keep having another go. Your job is to learn from those re-writes and do better next time.

Your relationship with your script editor in such a series is vital. You learn from them, they help you.

It's important to watch your own stuff. It might feel big-headed to be caught watching your play for the tenth time, but you need to get a better and better feeling for how what you write on the page translates to what's on screen.

For instance, you've written that your character drives into town, parks, and then walks to the town hall, and that's cut to her walking into the town hall. Next time you'll just write the meaningful stuff.

This is why phone calls are so straightforward on TV: hardly anyone introduces themselves, you get through to everyone straight away, and answerphone messages are curt. Try writing them any other way and, unless there's a comedic or dramatic reason to do so, you'll find them cut back to that anyway.

Lastly: you can do this. Loads of people have before you. It may look daunting, but if you're willing to work hard, the mechanisms are in place to help you get there.

Like Woody Allen says, ninety nine per cent of life is showing up. A lot of people will have been daunted, and won't have shown up. If you do, you stand a chance.

There's no such thing as talent, only hard work. Good luck.




Further Reading

Paul Cornell says; I've read only two really good books about how to write (out of the thousands that are available).

McKee, Robert - Story
This starts slowly but builds to telling you many, many useful things, all with examples from someone who's actually done it.

King, Stephen - On Writing
A much more personal book, and half an autobiography, but along the way tells you quite a few useful points.

Other recommended GW books include:

Alterman, Glenn - Creating Your Own Monologue
Contains interviews with monologists and solo play directors with insight into writing and developing one-person performances.

Lee Ratliff, Gerald - Millennium Monologs
Editor Lee Ratliff selects works by well-known and less-familiar playwrights, such as Arthur Miller, Wendy Wasserstein, Steve Martin, and Ntozake Shange. The pieces are not for the fainthearted, as many address dark and rough subjects.

Found other great books that inspired you to write? Discuss them at the Round Table.

Useful Links

The Playwriting Seminars - http://www.vcu.edu/artweb/playwriting/structure.html
A useful resource with explorations of structure, including monologues.

Alan Bennett Information - http://www.britishdrama.org.uk/abennett.html
Chronological details of Alan's work and availability on audio and visual material.

Contemporary Writers - http://www.contemporarywriters.com/
Find out more about contemporary writers in this useful database of biographies, reviews and photos.

BFi - http://www.bfi.org.uk/features/tv/100/articles/drama_series.html
The British Film Institute site looks at influential TV Drama Series and Serials.

More on Get Writing

Learn the art of putting words into other people's mouths with Glenn Patterson, as he explains the fine art of Writing Believable Dialogue that can brings stories and characters to life.

You can write and edit your work online at My Portfolio. Don't forget to submit your works-in-progress to a Review Circle for maximum feedback.

Find out more about writer Paul Cornell here.

Good Luck!



Tip: Engage the audience
Audiences are more likely to engage and follow a narrative if the tension or revelations increase as the stakes or dramatic conflict increases, taking them on a journey to the ending and climax.

Tip: Repetition
Avoid repetition of information in terms of plot points - unless there is a genuine need to repeat a point. Otherwise it is usually better to name it once and move the narrative forward.

Tip: Listening
Listen to as much radio drama as possible and really focus on how language and sentences are constructed to convey mood, character, information and detail. Plays on Radio Four are a useful starting point. Develop this listening skill and then take it with you when you are out and about, observing people.

Tip: Exclamation marks!!
Avoid excessively using exclamation marks as a substitute for genuine dramatic or humorous writing. Their over use will lead your writing to appear like copy written for an advert and can be off putting to readers who are unable to discern their inference.

Exercise: Analyse Print Media
Take a number of newspapers, like a broadsheet, a tabloid and a more conservative title and see how the same story has been written about in each edition. Look at the language used by each reporter and how they have constructed their article. Ask yourself: What tone does the piece have? What facts were actually reported? Where there differences in the information? What language was used to convey the mood of the piece? Did you get a sense of the characters' backgrounds or of any people featured in the stories? What impression were you left with? Now take on the role of the reporter and write your own version of the news story, as a monologue in the first person. When you have written the piece review it to see how it compares in terms of the same questions you asked yourself about the original reports. What conclusions can you draw from your writing style and tone?


Exercise: Using Character Voices
A useful exercise is to take three radically different characters and get them to talk about the same topic/premise. Writing a monologue is a pretty standard way to test to see if a character is working properly. This is a basic example, but to illustrate take three different character reactions to, say, a cat being run over. Old Lady: Oh, my dear, I saw this poor kitty run over in the street today. It just ran straight out in the road and the poor driver didn't have a chance. Teen: Check it out. This bad-mother totalled a cat, man. The cat is a mat! All over the street. Businessman: Well that's the end that poor animal's nine lives, I hope that's not a bad omen for me - witnessing it on my way to the board meeting? Now think of a situation or drama you could use as a starting point, use the three characters above, or others of your own choice and create short monologues for each one. Review the monologues to see if you feel the characters are working or get other aspiring writers at Get Writing to feedback on them.