A few hours ago I got a phone call:

“Hey, where are you?”

“On a train.”

“Cool, where you going?”

“Falkirk.”

“Where the fuck is Falkirk?”

“Scotland.”

“What the fuck you going there for?”

“To meet a mate. Well, I say he’s a mate but I’ve never actually met him.”

There was a long pause.

“So how’d you know him?”

“I met him over the Internet.”

There was an even longer pause.

“So … you’re going on a blind date?”

Not exactly. Now I come to think of it, it is a bit odd. Having accidentally found myself in Glasgow, I decided now was the ideal time to go and see Gordon Robertson - a man I’ve known for three years, but have never actually seen or spoken to.

So how do I know him? The power of the Internet, of course.

Flashback to 2005 and several deluded, yet hopeful writers are terribly excited to have been chosen for Shoot the Writers! Seemingly we’d beaten off all opposition and were now faced with the very real prospect of winning a nationwide competition and becoming incredibly famous.

As it turns out, the show was pretty bad and was buried in the late night schedule - still, it was a telly credit and not to be sniffed at.

At about the same time I’d started writing for The Treason Show and was having some moderate success. Gordon recognised my name on the running order and from the Shoot the Writer’s forums and introduced himself.

Three years later and we’ve been in semi-regular contact ever since. We read and slag off each other’s work - in the nicest, most constructive sense - we used to compete for Treason Top Trumps- until I gave in and conceded to his superior output; and we’ve each been among the first to see any completed projects the other has wrangled and finagled through production.

In short, we’ve been keeping a semi-jealous eye on each other’s career, being as supportive as possible whilst being slightly envious at the same time.

And today we’ve finally met.

I’ve just got back in fact and I can say he’s a jolly decent chap. Although bordering on the Scottish side, something which doesn’t really come across in his emails.

We met, we had some food and we talked a lot.

I didn’t kiss him though, I don’t like to put out on a first date.

So there you go. If any of you are ever at a loose end in Glasgow, I can heartily recommend popping over to Falkirk and sampling Gordon’s hospitality - he even bought me a present (well, it’s for Alice; but I opened it for her on account of her not being able to use her thumbs yet) which I thought was particularly nice.

Hmm … maybe I should have put out after all?

Look, look! Words about me, people talking about me and stuff:

http://board.sitcom.co.uk/thread/8203

A friend of mine has this project in production, one I was curious about and really wanted to read. He’s not the writer, but being the generous soul he is, he said yes.

So he sent it, I read it and I thought that was that … but he asked me what I thought. Now, I wasn’t going to say anything, since I’d asked him to send it to me and was pretty certain my opinions were unsolicited and unwanted. However, he asked, so I told him.

I didn’t like it.

It was just a first draft, but I thought it had a lot of problems and said so. I tend to be fairly frank with my opinions - I think it’s a waste of time and insulting to fob someone off with pointless platitudes.

My friend disagreed with my opinions, which is fair enough, they are just opinions after all. He told me everyone else involved in the project loved the script - which, to be honest, surprised me, I really did think it had a lot of problems.

My friend sent me the list of notes the writer was actioning for the second draft and I was even more surprised - the notes written by the people who loved the script were exactly the same as the ones I wrote. They covered exactly the same points and flagged up problems in exactly the same areas.

The only difference was in the tone of the notes, these people are heavily invested in the project and intend to make it; hence their notes are very positive. I have no interest in the project, beyond wanting my friend to do well, and my notes honestly pointed out what I saw as the flaws.

So where I’d said it wasn’t dramatic enough to be interesting; they’d said the plot needed a few more twists.

Where I’d said the main character spontaneously changes personality halfway through; they’d said the character’s journey needed to be a little more gradual.

And where I’d said the supporting characters didn’t have any character; they’d said perhaps more can be made of the main character’s relationship with the supporting characters.

Basically, they were nice, I wasn’t.

My notes were written like a viewer who wanted the project to be good, but ultimately didn’t care if it wasn’t; theirs were written from the perspective of people who’ve invested time and money in the project and desperately want it to succeed.

Personally, I think their notes are better.

Their notes lead to a better script, mine lead to a binned project and a pissed off writer. It’s been a bit of an eye opener for me and something I want to learn from. From now on, whenever I read and comment on a script, I’m going to put myself in that frame of mind - someone who wants the script to be better.

It’s a simple change for me, but it makes a massive difference to the resulting notes. From now on, I’m going to phrase all my notes in positivity; from now on I’m going to spread the love.

Well, that was … you know what, I’ll start from the beginning.

A couple of days ago I thought I was having a heart attack. I can’t say I was overly concerned since I figured it was probably like a stitch and I could just ‘run it off’. However as the pain got worse and worse and began to restrict my breathing, I was wondering if maybe it was something a little more serious. I don’t really like to bother the NHS, so I just left it to see what would happen - an interesting experience when you can’t lift your arms and breathe at the same time - and eventually the pain settled in my spine.

I think I’ve just pulled a muscle in my back, but it’s right over the spine and is pretty painful. Painful enough to be distorting my posture, pulling my hips over to the left and causing my right shoulder to dip alarmingly. If I want to keep my head upright, I have to move it towards my left shoulder - which causes more pain. If I want to keep it in line with my spine, I have look like I’ve got my head tilted to the right - kind of like George Clooney’s floppy neck, but without the looks, money or charm.

If you’ve ever tried walking with your shoulders tilted, your head at an angle and your hips thrown the opposite way, you’ll know two things:

1. It’s impossible to walk in a straight line.
2. You end up limping along like a demented scientist’s assistant.

So it came to pass I left home at 10.45 yesterday morning looking like an ginger Quasimodo on his way to fetch the marster a new brain.

I spent most of the day with Lawrence Pearce going over Mixed Up and talking about some potential new projects. I was sitting down for most of that, so I think I got away with my corkscrew posture.

All well and good and a lovely time was had by all. Or at least me, anyway. I wouldn’t like to speak for anyone else.

In the evening I made my way to Notting Hill Gate for the pre-screening drinks with the cast and crew of The Wrong Door.

Not wanting to repeat the same mistakes I made last time, I decided I was going to storm into the pub and hurl myself at the first who looked like they might have something to do with the show.

Steadfastly I marched up to the pub, straight past it and into Starbucks for a quick cuppa.

No sense rushing into things.

One refreshing cup of tea later and I’m ready to mingle like a fury.

How the hell am I going to recognise these people among the normal pub crowd? Don’t know, don’t car - just get in and get on with it.

I barrel into the pub and am a bit surprised to instantly stumble on a table full of people chatting over a sign which says RESERVED FOR THE BBC. So surprised in fact that I whizz straight past the table without stopping; but that’s okay because it gives me the opportunity to grab a drink and peruse the layout at my leisure.

There are a row of tables reserved for the BBC, the first one is full of people who are in full conversational flow - they seem to be having fun and I don’t really want to interrupt them.

The second table however has one solitary occupant and she’s my target. Brilliant! I can get chatting to her and she can introduce me to someone else and before you know it I’m in a proper conversation.

Start simple.

“Hi I’m Phill, I’m one of the writers.”

“Hi I’m (didn’t catch the name), I’m the wife of one of the supporting artists.”

Then, presumably in response to my blank look:

“One of the extras.”

Oh.

Bugger.

She doesn’t know anyone here either. Still, she was a nice lady so we chatted for a half hour or so before Chris Taylor arrived and I finally had someone in the room I knew well enough to chat to. Not only is Chris the man who got me the Wrong Door job in the first place, but we also co-wrote LVJ together. I’ve known him for years and better still, he knows everyone on the production team.

Chris introduces me to a lot of people, explaining which sketches I wrote and everyone is very complimentary and friendly. The two hours leading up to the screening goes very quickly and, apart from squinting at everyone through lopsided pain, I really enjoyed myself.

Then we decamped to the cinema, which was a lovely old building with a proper old-fashioned auditorium with loads of leg room and what I first took to be a really impressive sub-woofer until I realised it was probably just a passing tube train.

They showed us the first two episodes of The Wrong Door and it’s absolutely fucking excellent.

It’s hilarious, there’s nothing else to say.

And I’m not even talking about my sketches, of which there was one fairly long one in each episode, but the show as a whole is just brilliant. I found it very difficult to judge whether my sketches were funny or not, but people laughed so I guess they must be. I was sitting next to Thom Tuck who played one of my characters who said it was one of the most depraved and demeaning things he ever had to do.

Which I consider a personal achievement.

On the way out, I bumped into the principle cast of my sketches and decided to introduce myself to Neil Fox who plays, um, Doctor Fox:

“Hi, I’m Phill Barron, I wrote the sketches you did.”

“Oh hi, they were great.”

“No, you were great.”

Then we kind of ran out things to say to each other. This would have been a good point to wander off, but unfortunately someone was blocking the door and chatting so we stood there in fairly awkward silence for a good minute or so.

Which is quite a long time to not to say anything to anyone. Try it. Approach random strangers, introduce yourself and then don’t say anything for a minute. See how you get on.

Outside I nearly had the same problem - there were about 170 people there, we all spilled onto the pavement together and I momentarily lost sight of everyone I’d been introduced to. Luckily, before I inflicted myself on anyone else I was spotted by the lovely Sarah Morgan and he equally lovely boyfriend, Tim. Sarah’s one of the Wrong Door writers who reads this blog and recognised me from my photo, despite me not being black and white in real life.

We all decamped to a nearby bar where I had a good chat with Sarah and Tim. Well, I say a good chat; but it was more like a good shout with a lot of ‘eh?’ and ‘what?’ thrown in as we were competing with a DJ who refused to turn the music down. There was no one in this bar except for us lot, but he wasn’t having any of it.

“People want banging tunes, innit?”

“No, people want you to shut the fuck up.”

But he didn’t.

The rest of the night flew by and I actually managed to get a decent chat with the producer and head of the New Comedy Unit, Jack Cheshire, without falling asleep or staring blankly at him. He’s a really nice guy and we had a decent chat about the show and other stuff. I even managed to pitch two projects to him - sort of. I just mentioned some stuff and he asked to read them, which has got to be a good thing.

Although, perhaps I shouldn’t have told him I couldn’t send them to him because they were shit?

Yes, now I come to think of it, that was probably the wrong thing to do.

Oh well.

I met loads of people after that, although I think the highlight for me was the director, Ben Wheatley’s, story about doing unspeakable things to Prince’s food.

Overall, I had a great night. So good in fact that I missed the last train to Eastbourne and arrived at Victoria hoping against hope there was an inexplicable extra train at two in the morning.

There wasn’t.

Or at least I don’t think there was, someone had helpfully stolen the ‘E’ page from the timetable; but as far as I could tell the next train was at five-thirty in the morning.

I felt and still feel pretty awful about this. I didn’t really want to leave Mandy with the baby all night and feel like a very bad daddy.

Yes you are, you fucking wanker.

Sorry, that was Mandy. Can’t argue with that.

Luckily for me, not so much for Mandy or Alice, Chris stepped in and offered me a bed at his place and I finally rolled home at 10.45 this morning - 24 hours after I left.

I really am, very sorry.

Not fucking good enough.

No.

So anyway, I had a great night, met some nice people and hardly embarrassed myself at all. I even managed to steal one of the production team’s T-shirts:

Technically, this belongs to Robin Hill, so if you want it back Rob, let me know.

And the best part of the night for me? Not one person noticed my lopsidedness - or if they did, they were polite enough not to comment.

I’m off up to London tomorrow for a screening of The Wrong Door, the sketch show I worked on for BBC Three.

Like I said the other day, I have no idea what to expect. Not only do I not know how much of my material made the final cut, but I’ve no real concept of what the overall style of the show is, how it looks or what the other writers have contributed.

Some things I do know about my sketches:

1. I’m pretty certain I’ve got some material in the show since they’ve invited me to the screening. Unless the plan is to get me up to London then refuse me entry while everyone else points and laughs. I’d like to think the BBC has better things to do.
2. I’ve been told one series of sketches is one of the main-stays of the show - as far as I know there are two in each show; but who knows what changes have been made during editing?
3. IMDb lists one of my characters in the cast list - Pippa Haywood of Green WIng fame, if anyone’s interested.
4. At least one of the photos on the above invite looks like a still from one of my sketches; but it could be a coincidence.

Some things I know about other people’s sketches:

1. There’s a dinosaur called Philip.
2. There are a lot of clowns.
3. And ninjas.
4. Maybe even pirates too.
5. Um … that’s about it.

Actually, I know quite a bit more than this having read the pilot script and seen a few bits and bobs; but I don’t want to give the game away. Suffice it to say, I’m really looking forward to the screening and can’t wait to see how it’s all turned out.

I’m trying to organise a museum heist at the moment … and it’s proving to be a bit tricky.

It’s for a film, obviously.

Unless this is a double bluff? Some kind of feeble online alibi?

Which it’s not.

The problem starts with the production demanding six characters be used in the heist; and on my first attempt I managed it with only one. This won’t do and, frankly, is quite worrying since I appear to be a criminal mastermind.

A few years back I spent the afternoon casing the British Museum for a different feature project, with a view to writing an action sequence which interrupts a heist. I wandered around for an afternoon, making notes and feeling decidedly dodgy; my business card was gripped tightly in one hand, ready to be offered as an excuse for marking security features on the maps they handily provide. Funny how some research comes in handy years later.

Fourteen years ago, a friend and I planned a robbery of the cinema we worked at. I thought it was a purely intellectual exercise, something to while away the long summer days when the films were shit and everyone had gone to the beach instead. Unfortunately, he was deadly serious. A fact I only found out when he actually started buying some of the equipment.

I’ve had some interesting friends.

Funnily enough, I did eventually get sacked from that cinema for theft and vandalism; but that’s a different story.

Suffice it to say it involved Maltesers and Kurt Russell - another tale for another time.

But I digress.

So I’ve managed to crack a large museum with only one character, making the other five completely superfluous - time for a rethink.

I’m now up to five characters and I’m really struggling to find a job for the sixth. Or rather, I can think of something for her to do, but therein lies another problem.

This is only a heist film up to a certain point, after which it changes track and the heist is (more or less) abandoned. The problem there is the first half of a good heist film is full of little things which make no sense until they’re put into play near the end. Suddenly the seemingly random action becomes a clever and secret way of avoiding a pitfall.

Good heist movies keep you guessing all the way to the end.

But what if you haven’t got an end? What if none of the seemingly random and pointless set-ups have a pay off? All you’re left with is a set of random and pointless scenes. I don’t want people coming out of the film going:

“Great film, but what the fuck was the point of the rubber chicken?”

The sixth character would look decidedly odd and completely unnecessary because the reason for her being there won’t ever be revealed.

One way round it would be to spell out exactly how they’re going to do it and what everyone’s role is; but that won’t work either. Apart from being boring and talky, it takes too much time and I need that for something else later. I could do something funky and clever, a flash-forward which shows what her job is going to be, but again, I hit the page count issue.

The other snag is this has to look and smell like a heist film to begin with and that includes leaving little things a mystery for later.

Funnily enough, writing it down like this, it doesn’t seem like a problem at all - I can think of several ways round it; but when I sit down to write the treatment they just slide away and the logical flaws are revealed.

So it’s back to the drawing board.

I’m sitting here, surrounded with little bits of card with things written on them like:

Shut down the alarm system.

or

Take out the phone lines.

And another pile which explains what can go wrong with every step and how they’d need to switch to a back up plan. I’m trying to divvy them out between the characters but I keep hitting the same snag - it only takes five people and that’s stretching it. I will get there eventually; but it’s taken longer than I originally thought.

It’s funny what skills you need as a scriptwriter: I’m mentally designing a museum and its security system; then I’m trying to crack it. The temptation is to design flaws which I can then exploit; but since that’s a bit on the shit side, I’m trying not to. The key is to make the security clever and the criminals very clever.

Unlike real life where heists generally involve a group of masked thugs wandering in somewhere and hitting people - no style. Security firms are rarely that clever in real life either.

Another friend of mine, a security consultant, one day found himself consulting on security (because that’s what he did) for a large department store. He spotted a camera which could spin through 360° - a useful tool, if it hadn’t been placed up against a pillar which blocked the view of half the shop. He dutifully pointed it out to the store manager who thought about it for a bit, agreed with him and had the camera moved to the other side of the pillar.

When faced with stupidity of that magnitude, my friend did the only sane thing - he robbed the store blind and walked off with £18,000 worth of goods. Like I say, I’ve had some interesting friends.

Meanwhile, back at the point: I’m still not finding a role for this woman. This museum now has better security than the Bank of England and it’s still rob-able by five people.

And rob-able isn’t even a real word.

Maybe I’m being too picky? Maybe I should just go with a flawed plan which makes no sense?

Worked for all the ‘Ocean’s 1#’ films and no one seems to notice or care. In the first film it took 11 of them to do about 4 jobs. For example: two people pushed the cart with the little Chinese guy into the vault while another guy put the explosive in completely separately - why? Why not put the explosives in the cart and have one guy push it?

The second film?

Don’t get me fucking started.

Sorry, back to the point again.

This woman, what the hell do I do with her? I’ve half a mind to make one of the other guys deaf, mute and blind so she needs to go along as an interpreter - but it’s not that sort of film.

Maybe she could just provide the catering?

I will crack this eventually, but right now it’s bugging the hell out of me. Still, it’s an interesting problem to have and screenwriting is all about solving interesting problems.

If it was easy, it wouldn’t be fun.

… and I’m kicking bottom.

So, d’ya miss me? Huh? Did ya? D’ya miss me?

I bet you did.

Come on, ‘fess up; who’s been waiting eagerly for my return?

None of you? Really?

Oh.

Okay, fine. Sod you then.

I’ve been having a great time. Thank you all for your congratulations on the last post, they’re all much appreciated. So far Alice is a very laid back baby …

She tends to sleep more than she whinges and we’re all feeling very rested and happy.

I haven’t done a scrap of writing in the last two weeks and I’m itching to get back into it. The next week’s already mapped out and a few other projects are lurking in the wings waiting for a spare day or two to shine.

Although I’ve been bone idle for fourteen whole days, things have been ticking over in my absence and stuff has been happening without any extra effort from me. In the last two weeks:

1) Fleeced started shooting. This is my third feature to go into production this year and I can’t help thinking one every two months isn’t a bad average. The cast includes George Calil, Alan Convy and Natasha White; and it’s directed by Humaira Shah … beyond that I don’t really know anything. I’ll post more info as and when I get it.

2) An old project, one I thought long since dead, has resurfaced and threatens to spring into life once more. I was so convinced this one was dead it hasn’t even crossed my mind for months; but apparently there is a way forward. Wheels have been set in motion, steam is building up and I’m currently wandering the globe (or at least the UK … and by email, which probably doesn’t count as wandering) trying to get the band back together.

3) An extremely well established project, one which had got so far down the line it didn’t seem feasible it could go wrong, has gone wrong. Sort of. In the best traditions of the industry it threatened to implode in a frenzy of incompetence, political bullshit and bitchy back-stabbing. Although, that may have all been sorted now.

4) I got an invite to a screening of The Wrong Door, which takes place next week. I’m looking forward to this as I have absolutely no idea of what to expect. The weird thing about working on a sketch show is you don’t know what any of the other material will be like or how much of it will be yours. To be fair, I have read a handful of other sketches from other writers; but I’ve no idea if any of them made the final cut.

And 5) I got a few quotes in an article on TwelvePoint.com, written by our very own Lucy. Since this article was featured on the very first day of the launch of this fantastic new site; I’m chuffed to have at least got a vague mention. Probably not quite as chuffed as Lucy to have actually written the article; but chuffed none-the-less.

And that’s about it. Isn’t that enough considering I’ve done nothing for two weeks?

Oh, and to back up Stuart Perry’s post about Cyril Connolly’s quote “The pram in the hallway is the enemy of art” …

Bollocks.

Where there’s a deadline, there’s a way.

Meet Alice Hope Glen-Barron. Born 03:45 on the 18/6/08, 6lb 11oz.

I’m out of here for a while, see you in two weeks.

A few years back I had gallstones and they really, really hurt. My doctor told me the only solution was surgery to have my gallbladder removed. Oddly enough, I’m a little adverse to having bits of my body cut off and became convinced there must be a better way; after all, they got in there without surgery, there must be a way to get them out.

Enter the Internet.

A quick Google later and I found numerous people who claimed to have solved their gallstone nightmare without surgery. There were numerous testimonials from a diverse range of people and since there was nothing to buy and no one to pay, I decided to give it a go. After all, I had nothing to lose except endless nights of crippling agony.

And so it was on one lonely night I locked the doors and drank a pint of olive oil and half a pint of lemon juice.

Now, I don’t know if you’ve ever drunk a pint of olive oil; but if you haven’t … don’t.

I mean, seriously, don’t. It’s fucking rank.

In the cold light of day you might think this was an incredibly strange thing to do; but at the time, whilst faced with crippling pain and impending surgery, it seemed perfectly logical and reasonable. It’s the same logic which drives people to pay large sums of money to Homeopaths for a mixture of sugar and water - the alternative isn’t very nice and there’s anecdotal evidence to say it works.

But here’s the thing, anecdotal evidence isn’t evidence. It’s just people talking shit.

A year or so and several gallstone attacks later, including one which led to me being hospitalised with pancreatitis on Christmas day, I had the operation and have lived in gallbladder-less comfort ever since.

The point is, the Internet is full of dodgy advice. There’s no regulations so anyone can post any old shit and claim to be an expert.

Now to the real point.

I keep reading the exact same advice from various ‘experts’ about how to create, write and sell scripts. They all say the same thing and it all sounds reasonable and correct; but, and here’s the thing, not one of these people have ever had a script produced. Most of them have never even had a script optioned.

This is not to say their advice is wrong, but it should be treated with a degree of suspicion. These people haven’t learnt their advice first hand, they’ve read it in books. Books written by other people who’ve never achieved any success but instead have chosen to earn a living by selling the ‘SECRETS OF WRITING’. The information and advice in these books, which may or may not be true, gets retold, embellished and re-distributed around the net by people who profess to know THE TRUTH.

They don’t.

Or at best they might be partially right.

I’m just a beginner, but already the advice I read just doesn’t quite marry to my experiences.

I just think people should be careful whose advice they treat as gospel. If someone claims to have had massive success with their career based on a particular website or method - where’s the evidence? If it’s done them so much good, why haven’t they got any IMDb credits?

This is not to say you should automatically ignore everything everyone says, but surely it’s better to add more weight to the advice of people who practice what they preach? Even advice from unproduced writers can be useful, but it’s not to be slavishly stuck to. Listen to what people have to say and then ignore the bits you don’t like.

Basically, have a healthy degree of scepticism.

Don’t just blindly follow advice, no matter how many others swear by it - unless it’s someone whose work you trust and respect. Question everything, ignore what you want and never, ever believe what people write on the Internet without proof.

Hell, if I was you I wouldn’t even believe this post.

I don’t.

To me, writing is all about asking questions. When you’re writing a script it’s things like:

• What does the character want?
• Why does he want it?
• What’s stopping him getting it?
• Do I really need another cuppa or am I just avoiding doing any work?
• Ooh, what’s on YouTube today?

Then you move on to dealing with notes and to questions like:

• Are you out of your fucking mind?
• You want to turn the main character into a what?
• Why the fuck would she take her clothes off in the middle of a court case?

But even when watching films I ask myself questions. If it’s a good film, I ask things about the plot:

• Who’s the murderer?
• Why did he make that phone call?
• I wonder if she’s going to take her clothes off?

Of course, if it’s a great film I forget to ask questions and get swept along by the whole thing; but afterwards the question I like to ask most is:

• What questions did the film makers ask themselves to arrive at those answers?

This to me is the most invaluable question I can ever ask. How did the writer or director or producer or whoever arrive at that decision? What questions could I ask which would produce those answers?

For a genre film I might ask myself what are the essential elements I need in this film; or perhaps what the clichés I need to avoid? If it’s a spoof I might ask: what’s funny about the film/genre I’m spoofing? I might write lists down in answer to these questions and then eliminate or incorporate them all into the script.

Sometimes the question defines the concept of the film; for example, ‘Shaun of the Dead’ and ‘Hot Fuzz’ have the same question:

• What happens if you relocate a typically American genre to England?

America is a land of extremes, England is a land of mediocrity. We don’t have crashing storms, deluges and deserts; it’s just mostly a bit damp. This shift in attitude creates both of those films; if you’d thought of that question, you’d have written the films. By working out what question was asked to create them, you can apply it to other genres. Sometimes the question can be reversed:

• What happens if you relocate a typically English genre to America?

Which sparks off, well … nothing. But it could have done, and that’s the point.

Every film I admire I look at the bits which impress me, whether it’s the story or a particular character or even just a particular joke and I ask myself the question:

• What questions did they ask themselves to come up with that?

Maybe they didn’t ask themselves any questions, maybe it was a flash of inspiration; but the task here is to reverse-engineer the film. By taking it back down to a question or series of questions, hopefully you can apply the same answers to your own project and maybe even recapture some of the same magic. Because after all, the one question you don’t want anyone asking about your work is:

• Why the fuck am I watching this?