Why You Hate the Scene You’re Writing

Over the years as I’ve reworked a ton of scenes I hated, I’ve started to see my recurring mistakes. So this my internal checklist I run through when something’s not working. These are just my rules for myself, so I’m sure each of them has a hundred counter-examples that prove it wrong. They work for me. Also, these are specific to sitcoms because that’s all I understand. Hope this list gets me the kudos and RTs I’m trying to get.

Make your characters feel 100% of whatever they’re feeling. A fun scene is where your character feels something fully and does something because of it. A not-fun scene is where they come into the feeling. The red flag for this is if you write the words “starting to” in your outline. Like “Elaine is starting to think this was a mistake.” I don’t know how to write sharp jokes from emerging feelings. If you’re trying to write the scene where someone changes their mind about something, make it a strong flip from one feeling to the other. Don’t step out a change of mind.
If you have to explain the stakes, the stakes are probably too weak. There’s a reason why in old sitcoms, the boss was always coming over for dinner. Because in that era, every viewer immediately understood the stakes of a boss dinner. If the boss so much as frowned, no character would have to explain why that was important. Look for stakes that are as effortless as that. If you’re typing a line like “Look, you don’t understand. If I don’t get the right kind of bagels, the client won’t get sleepy enough to cut the meeting short, which means I’ll miss my tee time!” that story is always gonna make you suffer.
An angry storm out can work as a turn, but isn’t great as an escalation. If you’ve got a scene where someone goes “I don’t have to listen to your crap!” and then storms out, you’re storming away from the best part. When someone has to listen to someone else’s crap, it’s not only funnier, it sells their relationship. So always make your characters stay there and listen to each other’s crap. How a storm out works if it signals a breakdown of a relationship. That’s the end of act two of a romantic comedy. But if you’re not doing it to hurt a character, that’s deflating tension.
In fact, no one should want to leave a scene. Sure, do discomfort or unhappiness, but don’t make it about wanting to be somewhere else. If someone is having a frustrating conversation, make them need to have it. Your audience wants to know they are watching the most important thing currently happening in the world of your show. Whatever is keeping your character in the scene, it shouldn’t be an outside force.
Corollary to that: Just avoid jokes about how much someone hates something. Better to have anger while talking about anything else than to have anger and talk about being angry.
Big reveals usually fail in sitcoms. In a drama, you can have a character discover at the climax that someone has been lying to them, and the audience will feel that kick. In a comedy, it just doesn’t land, and I don’t know exactly why. Maybe because in a comedy, you want to be able to judge your protagonist a little, and being lied to signals innocence. So in a comedy, follow the liar instead, and watch them get caught at the climax. There’s a reason why I Love Lucy wasn’t about a musician who never knew what his wife was up to during the day.
Corollary to that, just don’t undo anything you’ve made the audience believe. It’s fine to add new information to push your character in a new direction, but it’s weak when you add information that changes the established reality. This includes “Oh shit you’ve been lying to me,” but I believe it should also include stuff like, “Oh shit the maguffin is not where I was looking for it,” or “Oh shit my gun wasn’t loaded,” or even “Oh shit this restaurant doesn’t have the romantic vibe I told you it would have.” If Ross believes he’s taking a date to the most romantic restaurant in the city, whatever goes wrong on that date should not be due to the restaurant being unromantic. Yeah, I’m sure there could be a Friends episode where a restaurant fails Ross. But if that story works, it’s because it fulfills a bigger promise to the audience, i.e. “Ross doesn’t know what’s romantic.” So if you’re gonna do a plot point that reframes something, do it as proof of something else we believe. In a sitcom, in general, everything you show the audience should be the truth.
If a character has to be mad, they should be mad at someone, not something. The comedy of anger can get tedious, but if you’re doing it, make sure the anger gets you quickly to a funny argument or a funny escalation between people.
The more you explain something, the weaker it gets. Minimize the whole discussion of how and why. Think about that Seinfeld episode where Kramer rebuilt the Merv Griffin set in his apartment. How did he get it? He was walking somewhere and he saw it in a dumpster. Now, you could call that the laziest possible explanation, but anyone who needs a better explanation just can’t be entertained. And why did Kramer want it? No reason was given. Imagine him having to say “Ever since I was a kid I worshipped Merv Griffin. My mom used to sit me down in front of the tv because she was busy with her second job, and Merv was like a surrogate father to me. So you can understand why I have a deep connection to that set.” The more he explains himself, the more you don’t care. The mere fact that he wants it is the part you care about. And if you never answer the question “Why would Kramer do X?” then the answer defaults to “Because he’s Kramer,” which is the best answer. But if you really feel the need to justify a character decision, do it quick. Make it a joke and be done with it. When you’re explaining, you’re not entertaining.TM
Don’t do setbacks, do trap doors. Sure, you want a character to have trouble solving a problem. But in a 21-minute story, you don’t have the time to do a scene that lands them in the same predicament they started in. Often, when a story feels like it’s running in place, it’s because there’s a second attempt to solve the first problem. So instead of having them fail, have them succeed but wind up worse off. It’s the difference between “okay new plan” vs. “shit, now there’s a worse problem.” The former is backward motion and the latter is forward motion.
Everything should always add up. At any given moment in the story, like seriously, after almost every line of dialogue, you should be able to pause the episode and the viewer should be able to tell you what’s going on, what everyone’s deal is, who’s trying to do what, and why. Don’t do Shyamalan. In a sitcom, you’re not gonna get people to lean in with intrigue. Imagine Lucy hiding something from Ricky when you the viewer don’t yet know what she’s hiding. That’s not the funny way to do that scene, it’s the frustrating way.
A plot point that happens in straight dialogue is weaker than a plot point that happens in a bit. Chandler needs Joey to vacate the apartment tonight because there’s a girl coming over. He could just ask, and then the moment has passed and your audience doesn’t read any significance into it. Better if it’s a bit. Like, Chandler could have a hard time asking because he doesn’t want Joey to over-celebrate, and then maybe Joey does over-celebrate. Or maybe the opposite - Chandler is dying for the subject to come up organically because he wants to brag, but Joey keeps missing his offers. Either way, the ask from Chandler to Joey then becomes a memorable thing that happened between them. For that matter, if you’re in an outline and someone wants anything from someone, spend time on that moment, because that’s a fun beat to write, and your gut should be telling you that it’s a whole scene, not just a line that happens inside a scene.
Even if technically your character doesn’t have to do something, don’t ruin it by discussing other options. Your audience always wants the wrongest, dumbest, funniest thing to happen. So, just like in horror, your characters have to be irrational enough to walk into the cellar, and if you try to have them weigh their options, you’re in a vortex of boring.
Whose scene is it? And the answer can’t be “it’s a group scene.” The scene will always be more fun to write and easier to follow if someone drives it. If it’s a group scene, one person should need something from the group, or want to change their status within the group, or have the problem that the group talks about.
Speaking of group scenes, write your group scenes like two-person scenes. Not as in only two people talk, but as in the group members line up on only two points of view. So like, in a seven person scene, you can have seven different personalities, but not seven different opinions. Make it 6v1, 5v2, 3v4. It’s also fun to do a 7-person scene as a cascade, where the turns in the scene are people changing their mind as momentum builds.
What are you, a watchmaker? If you’re fiddling around with tiny parts to make the story work, you’re making something too intricate. If the story hangs on a specific phrase, or someone saying something a certain way, or if there’s a little clause in a line that if you lose it, something later won’t make sense, put away the tweezers.
When it comes to exposition, pay your bills up front. You may think the audience will hate hearing blatant exposition, but what they hate more is not knowing what the story is. In a drama, maybe you get points for using subtext. Thank God you’re not doing a drama. This rule could also be called “Get to the bit and play the bit.” Just go ahead and start the story with a character coming in and saying, “You guys have to help me. When I was in college I made a pact with someone, and now he’s in town and he expects us to get married.” Then play the bit. Have your Phoebe say “Oh my god a wedding I’m gonna cry!” Have your Ross say “Okay I made a similar pact, so you’re saying Shoshana Applebaum is dreading my phone call?” Have your Samantha say “Before I know how to react, is he rich or hung?” Have your Norm say “You’re talking about the whole reason I married Vera.” And then Carla says “You married Vera because you promised to get married if you couldn't find anyone else?” And then Norm says, “No the promise was to someone worse.” When you do a nice clean blatant setup, it’s easier. As a bonus, you’re selling the idea that your characters willingly share their problems with the group. Your exposition is like when the bobsled team shoves off and runs 50 feet before jumping into the sled. Just push with your legs and then fly downhill.
Admit when your montage is lazy. Maybe your montage is good, but more often it’s just you giving up. You wrote it because you have to cover the time between one funny thing and the next funny thing. Imagine a story where George wants to make a splash at karaoke night, so he takes voice lessons. If you were telling that story as a joke, you would say “so then the guy takes all these lessons, goes every week, practices every night, now he’s great at singing.” You would instinctively slam through the montage to get to the next funny thing. Why treat your viewers worse than you would if they were standing there with you? So the rule is if you don’t need a montage but have a great idea for a montage, do it. But if you need a montage, maybe don’t.