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2 THE SERIES CONCEPT

In early 2007, when I first began teaching courses on making short-form TV series for the Internet, I was hard-pressed to find even a handful of examples to screen for my students. The early prototypes like lonelygirl15 and Sam Has 7 Friends were around, but not much else. Now, at last count, there are approximately 187 gazillion web series to choose from, roughly one web series for every 18- to 30-year-old in the world currently cruising a bar looking for Mr. or Ms. Right, or at least Mr. or Ms. Right Now. Unfortunately, despite the abundance of web series and barflies, precious few are worth your time. In most cases, you can tell within seconds that your best move is to move on.

In the case of web series, there are two basic reasons why so many are so bad. Reason One: flawed concept. Reason Two: flawed execution. This chapter aims to prevent you from falling into the pit of despair and failure that awaits you if, no matter how slick your execution is, you start out with a flawed concept.

What makes a good web series premise? Although there is no formula for success, it makes sense to study what’s been done and take note of what has worked and what has flopped. As Mark Twain once said, “History doesn’t repeat itself, but it rhymes.” So let’s start by taking a look at some really bad rhymes and try not to repeat them.

FATALLY FLAWED SERIES CONCEPTS

I once asked a former ABC comedy development executive, who spent 5 years hearing thousands of concept pitches from writers, what was the single worst idea for a series that a writer ever brought in. She cocked her head, gave it a few seconds of serious consideration — perhaps trying to choose between hundreds of equally bad ideas — then nodded confidently and said, “Talking drapes.” I responded the only way I could: “Talking drapes? What the?” She said yes, a writer — not a newbie or one who had lost his mind, all evidence to the contrary, but a writer with a solid resume filled with major TV and feature film credits — came in and pitched a series about a man who buys a spooky fixer-upper of a house and soon discovers that the drapes are inhabited by a wise-cracking spirit that speaks to him in one-liners.

Like most writers, I relish all opportunities to mock the competition, so I repeated the talking drapes story to a friend who actually knew the writer who had pitched it. My friend called the writer and said, “You actually pitched a series to ABC about talking drapes?” The talking drapes writer shot back indignantly, “Look, that could have worked.”

When it comes to creativity and art, there’s no predicting what can or will work. And sometimes even the most unlikely notion, in the hands of gifted writers, directors, and performers, becomes successful, possibly even critically acclaimed. (Think Seinfeld, a show that proudly claimed to be about “nothing.”) But some ideas are just so wrong that they deserve to be thrown under the bus like disgraced politicians.

The most common mistake in formulating a pitch for a web series is thinking something is a series when it’s really just a one-shot (or three-shot at best) idea. As the word series implies, your idea must contain characters and a premise that can be mined for subsequent episodes over and over again. So if you attempt to make a series called Zippy and Skippy, about the hilarious things that occur when you smear peanut butter on your golden retriever Zippy’s genitals and he tries to lick it off, you may end up with a humorous 60 seconds of video, but you won’t have a series pilot. Why not? Because there’s no Episode 2. You’ve exhausted all the stories that the Skippy on Zippy premise can sustain. And no, smearing chunky instead of creamy or switching to cream cheese on the cat’s privates wouldn’t count as different stories any more than changing from Little Red to Little Blue Riding Hood would.

A good series concept must have legs — that is, the ability to be used for lots and lots of episodic stories based on that premise, regardless of whether the episodes are 60 minutes or 60 seconds long. The one exception to this rule is if you are doing, in essence, a soap opera or serialized version of a long story. In that case, your series will consist of one long, extended story that is broken up into chapters, each chapter being an episode. But if you go the serialized route, you should probably take a few minutes and jot down what you think the first dozen or so installments might cover, rather than just writing a pilot, then seeing your story run out of gas after Episode 3.

To illustrate the difference between a concept with legs and one without, let me once again cite an example from half-hour network television that most people will be familiar with: Seinfeld. The central premise of Seinfeld (despite its claim to be about “nothing”) is that of four neurotic, dysfunctional friends in New York City and the neurotic, dysfunctional adventures they get into dealing with the everyday minutiae of life — things like coping with your parents, the travails of dating, and the endless parade of bizarre New York characters they encounter, like the Close Talker or the Soup Nazi. Clearly, dozens of episodes or “installments” can be written based on Jerry, Elaine, Kramer, and George and this basic premise. NBC aired 180 of them over the show’s 9-year run, and they continue to rerun in syndication worldwide.

But let’s say, for the sake of illustration, that instead of focusing on Jerry and the gang, you decided that the Soup Nazi is the funniest character in all of New York City and therefore should be the center of the your show. Big mistake. As funny as the Soup Nazi was in one episode, his character and that premise — all the wacky people who come into his soup emporium — does not provide a good central premise for a series. Why not? Because there is basically only one story or episode that would be repeated over and over: The customer comes in, and the Soup Nazi cops an attitude and shouts, “You, no soup, two weeks!” There won’t be stories for Episodes 2, 3, 4, or 44. All you can do is write Episode 1, 1A, 1B, 1C, ad infinitum. And nobody will stick around for any of the subsequent episodes because after they watch your pilot, their reaction to each of the others will be, “I’ve already seen this.”

Another common mistake in choosing a premise is making it so personal and obscure that the only audience that can possibly be in on the joke is you. Even though one of the oldest adages about writing is to write what you know, if what you know is impossible for anyone else to understand or relate to, then what you write may have a potential audience of exactly one.

Let’s say you work at a plumbing supply store. Better yet, let’s say you work as a regional sales rep for a wholesale plumbing supply distributor that sells to the major hardware and big-box home improvement stores in the Mid-Atlantic states. You’ve done this for 20 years, have had a ton of laughs along the way with all the weird characters who have been your customers, and feel certain there’s a great Internet comedy with hundreds of hilarious episodes based on your daily work life. You’ve even got a great title: Flushed! Practically writes itself.

Unfortunately, Flushed! will probably go right down the drain because to understand most of the humor you and your fellow plumbing parts pals have shared, you need to be in the plumbing supply business, or at least be familiar with the names of all the major parts of a toilet. As hilarious as you think it is when Ernie from Ernie’s Hardware of Baltimore says, “Whatever floats your float rod,” or when Del from Home Depot of Dover, Delaware responds to your question about restocking his ballcock supply with a pithy, “That’s what she said,” you, Ernie, and Del may be the only ones laughing. Your series premise doesn’t have to appeal to everyone. But the comedy or drama must be accessible beyond your immediate circle of friends and coworkers if you hope to attract an audience of any significant size.

BE BOLD, FRESH, AND ORIGINAL

The above warning notwithstanding, you must also avoid the opposite temptation — namely to be so “universal” in appeal that all you are doing is recycling pale imitations of old concepts that have been successful. Today’s Internet video consumer has literally millions of options to choose from. If you want to grab his attention, you must begin with a concept that makes him say, “Oooh, that sounds interesting.” Clones and knock-offs don’t do that. “It’s like Cheers, but instead of a bar, it’s set in a Laundromat” won’t make anyone grab anything but his head.

So what has worked? Let’s take a look at a few successful Internet series and analyze what made each premise attractive. To make sure we’re focusing on premise rather than other factors, we’ll exclude series made by known Hollywood players like Ed Zwick and Marshall Herskovitz (Quarterlife) or that include recognizable on-camera talent, like Dr. Horrible’s Sing-Along Blog, starring Neil Patrick Harris. Because of their star power either in front of or behind the camera, these series get press coverage to help promote the show and draw an initial supply of viewers. Most of you won’t have access to that sort of publicity machine and will therefore have to come up with a concept that makes the video surfers of the world say, “I’ve gotta check that out.”

The Guild (www.watchtheguild.com)

Before Felicia Day became an Internet goddess, she was a fairly anonymous actress. She’d had some modest success, including a recurring part as Vi in the final season of the cult TV series Buffy the Vampire Slayer, but she grew tired of waiting for the phone to ring, hoping some unknown producer or director would deign to offer her a part. So she took matters into her own hands and created a TV series for herself. A longtime video game addict (she’s a level 66 gnome warlock and a level 63 priest in World of Warcraft according to www.geeksaresexy.net), Day decided to write what she knew best and created The Guild, a comedy web series about online gamers and their relationships with each other both on and off line. In the pilot episode, Day’s character, Codex (her online gamer name), is fired by her therapist for refusing to admit she has an addiction to video games. Things get even worse for Codex when fellow gamer Zabu shows up at her apartment, convinced that because Codex “winkied” him online, she’s hot for his bod, and they’re destined to be an item.

What makes this a good web series premise? First and foremost, it appeals to an audience that spends a huge amount of time online, namely online video gamers. Whereas humor about plumbing supplies and toilet parts would be met with blank stares by the cyber-geek crowd, this group totally gets what a “winkie” is. And they totally OMG get how addicted you can get to video games LOL, and how your fellow addicts become your BFFs and perhaps more (#stalkers), whether you like it or not.

Day originally wrote The Guild as a half-hour pilot but was told the subject matter was “too niche” for network or cable TV. Probably true. But it’s perfect for the web series world because that’s where the natural audience for a series about online gamers is.

Day partnered with Kim Evey, who had co-produced the successful web series Gorgeous Tiny Chicken Machine Show. Day and Evey self-financed the first three episodes of The Guild. The episodes were successful in that they attracted a sizable and loyal audience, but Day and Evey ran out of money to continue the show. Then they got a brilliant idea. Why not see whether the fans of the show would pay for more episodes? They put a PayPal button up on the existing episodes and solicited contributions, and lo and behold the viewers sent in the money. Not get-rich-quick-and-retire-to-Tahiti money, mind you. But enough money to finance production for the rest of Season One.

There can be no better proof that you are doing something right than to have an audience that has been receiving something for free voluntarily send you money so you can keep doing it. And in the end, both the audience and Day were rewarded further. The Guild’s grassroots success became a story covered by the national media, one that caught the attention of Microsoft, who agreed to sponsor the show for Season Two (and later more) and to put it on its newly launched Xbox Independent Video Channel online.

The bottom line is this: Know your potential audience. If your audience is online, then your premise should appeal to some group of people who spend a fair amount of time online. They don’t have to be gamers or Facebook addicts or other online junkies necessarily, but the show you create should appeal in tone, subject matter, style, or some other way to those who spend a significant amount of time online.

The following are a few examples of what I would consider to be appropriate premises for online series.

Script Cops and Gaytown

Script Cops is a stylistically spot-on parody of the TV show Cops where we ride along with the men in blue as they bust lowlifes for bad script writing. Made in 2007, the series has gotten renewed life thanks to a reissue sponsored by the popular screenwriting software Final Draft. Episodes include a virtual SWAT team assault on a group of students for making a film stuffed with clichés. (A serious-as-a-heart-attack cop tells the wanna-be filmmakers, “Do you realize 83% of all student films begin with a shot of an alarm clock?”)

Gaytown is about a closeted heterosexual man in a predominantly gay world trying to do straight guy things without being outed. Our hero yearns to play basketball (with the girls) because all the “normal” boys just do ballet and will beat the living snot out of you with their designer shoes if they find out you’re a hetero “pervert.” In the pilot our straight hero gets busted by undercover gay cops for secretly meeting other heteros in a public toilet to play fantasy football.

The concepts couldn’t be more different. So why have I grouped them together? Because they share one essential quality: You can explain the premise and give people a sense of where the humor will come from in only a few words. Making the premise easy to understand — and easy to explain — is essential for a short-form series. If each episode is to run about 3 minutes, it had better not take 4 minutes just to explain the basic idea. The online entertainment audience has a notoriously short attention span. If you want to grab their attention, you must do it quickly. Even if the execution of your series will have subtleties, complexities, and nuances, make sure the basic concept can be conveyed simply, quickly, and clearly. With Gaytown and Script Cops, the titles themselves come close to explaining each show’s premise.

Some other examples of simple, clear premises follow.

Black Version (from 60frames.com, now on YouTube)

This series consists of parodies of famous movie scenes, such as the “black version” of the fake orgasm scene in When Harry Met Sally, where the woman’s passion talk during her simulated orgasm is so wildly over the top (including cuts where she’s suddenly wearing a blond wig) and yet the black man still believes it was real and walks away even more cocky about his sexual prowess.

The Ed Hardy Boyz (www.funnyordie.com)

This is a basic mystery premise like Andy Hardy, except the “detectives” are two “dese, dem, and dose” Jersey goofballs who wear Ed Hardy clothing and try to solve mysteries while hitting on any available woman with lines like, “Excuse me, do youse two play for an Anaheim baseball team because you’re both angels.”

What the Buck?! (www.youtube.com)

Imagine if Jack from Will & Grace had his own online celebrity dish program. Michael Buckley took $6 worth of fabric for a backdrop, a pair of work lights from Home Depot, a video camera, and his catty approach to celebrity dish and turned it into 2008’s most popular entertainment program on YouTube with more than 100 million views.

Hot for Words (YouTube or www.hotforwords.com)

Okay, here’s the premise: An Eastern European philologist explains the etymology (linguistic history) of words such as scrumtrilescent and pulchritudinous. Sounds like a complete snooze, you say? Perhaps I left out one crucial detail. Here is your Hot for Words host and instructor (facing page).

Has your passion for philology and etymology just taken a gigantic leap? No, it’s not porn, but Marina Orlova, who holds degrees in teaching of Russian language and world literature and teaching of English language specializing in philology, definitely has the kind of classroom presence that holds students’ attention — at least male students who aren’t residents of Gaytown. She launched Hot for Words on YouTube in mid-2007 and within a year racked up more than 150 million views. Her success caught the attention of cable TV news mogul Bill O’Reilly, who booked her for multiple guest appearances and tutorials, and she was voted fifth sexiest woman on the Web by G4 TV (which makes one wonder just who the heck are the top four).

Marina Orlova. Photo by Justin Price.

A picture is worth a thousand words, and when you check out Marina Orlova’s site, you get to learn the thousand words as well. Those of you hoping to learn a new word a day will be thrilled to learn that Marina has a wall calendar.

The point is that Marina Orlova really does have a passion for language and words. But she found a way to package that passion to capture an audience. Her premise is simple to understand, is easy to sell visually (online video is, after all, visual), and has the entire unabridged dictionary as a source for potential future episodes.

And by the way, pulchritudinous, as Orlova explains in coy detail, means beautiful, sexy, hot, gorgeous, alluring — she goes on for a while with the synonyms, each one delivered with the subtext “you want me and you know it.” How in the world did Marina ever find the word pulchritudinous, I wonder?

SO WHERE’S THE DRAMA?

Good question. Although there is no law saying that all Internet TV series must be comedies or reality series, most fall into one of those two categories. The reason, I suspect, is that drama is a much trickier proposition when the average length of an episode is only 3 to 5 minutes. It’s difficult to build the elements crucial to drama, like suspense, tension, and character arc, in that restricted amount of time. In theory, you can just take a longer drama, like a 1-hour network drama series or a feature-length thriller, and break it into smaller parts. But the reality is, it’s a huge challenge to re-establish dramatic elements and the heightened emotions that drama demands for every episode. It would a bit like having to stop your car every block or two, turn off the engine, then pop the hood and break out the jumper cables to get it going again. The journey takes more effort than it’s worth.

That said, there have been some successful (that is, well done and critically acclaimed) short-form dramas on the Net, like Quarterlife or Anyone but Me, both of which featured episodes closer to 8 minutes in length. There have also been some noteworthy examples of high budget dramas like H+, Sanctuary, and The Bannen Way, which were made for the Web but were also designed, if the episodes were edited together consecutively, as feature films or miniseries. If drama is your thing, or you have a premise for a drama in mind that you think can really work on the Internet, have at it. But be aware of the challenges of sustaining audience involvement. One way to address this issue is to shoot lots of episodes before posting any —at least six. That way, the audience can get hooked on the premise, characters, and story lines by watching an entire season, instead of watching the pilot, being intrigued, but having to wait another month for Episode 2, then another month for Episode 3, and so on.

YOU NEED A KILLER TITLE

Although it is technically not part of the premise of your series, coming up with a killer title is just as important to the success of your web series as devising a solid premise. Your title is the first thing that gets a potential viewer to either click through and view or click away and move on. Your goal is a title that both tells and sells — in other words, a title that both clearly communicates what your series is about and makes the audience say, “Yes, I want to see that.” Remember, the Internet video revolution means potential viewers have literally millions of video entertainment products to choose from. Your title has to grab their attention and make web video surfers stop, click, and check it out.

For my money, here are some strong titles that tell me what the show will be about before I even see it and make me want to sample an episode or two:

Boys Will Be Girls

We Need Girlfriends

5-Second Films

Each of these titles gives me a pretty good idea what the show might be about and hints at the type of humor the show will have — the hook that gets me to check it out. A title can also be effective if it’s not exactly clear but is so bizarre that it makes people want to click through just to see what the heck it is. Although it turned out to be a series I didn’t care for, Gorgeous Tiny Chicken Machine Show was certainly a compelling enough title that I had to click through and see what it was all about. The Ninety Year-Old Hooker, on the other hand, is a title for a nonexistent show that, though perfectly clear, may not be the right bait to lure predominantly young Internet video audiences.

FOR TEACHERS

Students can benefit from two types of premise assignments: analytical and creative. The analytical work can provide context and illumination in preparation for the students’ own creative work.

For the analytical assignment, they can write a short analysis of two or three web series and why their premise is effective, or why it isn’t. As in the previous chapter, the key to success in this assignment is specificity. A simple thumbs up or thumbs down is useless. What is of value is developing the students’ ability to critically examine the inner architecture of the video series they see on the Web.

For the creative, they can pitch a premise for an original web series that they will write a pilot script for later in the semester. I usually ask my students to come in with two series ideas, one fully developed, the other less so. Fully developed means they can explain the premise, define the main series characters, and give a sense of the tone, style, and type of stories the series will present.

I require my students to write the idea down on paper and also be prepared to pitch it orally. The verbal pitch is the standard method of television and film, and so even shy writers must learn a bit of salesmanship and some oral presentation skills if they are to succeed in this world. But requiring them to put their pitch on paper as well forces them to examine it more closely than if they just wing it with a verbal pitch, one they might cook up 3 minutes before class if they aren’t required to put something on paper as well.