Funnies In The Funniest Places

Andy pulls together a little of what makes Rich Teasers tick on the comedy front. And tock. And chime on the hour…

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We write a lot of comedy here at Rich Teasers.  In fact, the only time we’re not squaring off chunky layers of laugh cement with the funny trowel is when we’re writing about people breathing their last to scratchy old Erik Satie records or hideous acts of butchery and cannibalism in the bad-dream backwoods of mid-18th Century America (tease, tease…).

As committed as we are to diverse storylines and styles, funny is never too far from the front of the class with a hand in the air and an apple for Teacher whenever we sit for an earnest, brow-furrowed script brainstorm.  Just turning the briefest of thoughts to any of the following comic staples is enough for us to spray hot, milky tea over thousands of pounds of sensitive and irreplaceable computer equipment:

  • man looking over shoulder tripping on kerb;
  • man falling into canal after being hit on head by plank;
  • jogger ricocheting off lamppost into canal;
  • semi-naked cyclist riding through fence panel into canal;
  • anyone slipping on poo and skidding into canal [funnier if Prince Philip or Bono];
  • woman suffering from dementia in care home.

Hang on… dementia? How’s that funny? Any combination of poo, plank, canal and Bono is a guaranteed, cast-iron giggle winner so why chuck in an inglorious poke at a terrifying, dignity-sapping condition like dementia…?

We recently wrote a comic short called Home For The Bewildered [see LOGLINES] which was inspired by an observation of middle-stage Alzheimer’s during a Sunday lunch with friends. One of the dining fraternity brought along his elderly mother, fully in the grip of the ‘forgetfuls’. She forgot where she was. She forgot why there was food in front of her. She forgot my name. Repeatedly. My mate’s poor old mum. My poor old mate who’s had to sit back and watch the slow draining away of all that awareness and self-possession without the slightest power to stop it. No great glut of tummy chuckles there then.

DOCTOR:  It appears the tumour is inoperable, Mr. Jones.  I’m so very sorry.

[still on the phone, MR. JONES jogs into a lamppost and ricochets into an adjacent canal]

Except we all laughed over roast and pudding that Sunday. Quite a lot as it happened. Not at the condition. Not at the loss of dignity or the frightening appreciation of how it all ends in the long run. We laughed at those moments in isolation when circular conversations, repeated questions and baffling non-sequiturs are just plain funny, regardless of how or why they come about. They make us all a little forgetful with their sudden and inexplicable interjections. A little less self-possessed, caught in the dazzling headlight of the moment. Trying desperately not to express the slightest amusement at the many tail-chasing breaks in proceedings, it took me a while to realise my mate was chuckling through every meandering, yes-but-no-but interaction with his mum. He just didn’t seem like a man at the most sharp, most painful end of this deeply unfunny affliction.


A man laughing at a cycle/plank/canal incident yesterday

It would’ve been easy to part company with a few mumbled fibs about early Monday morning starts then spend the remainder of the weekend hoping to God our own marbles wouldn’t one day file for divorce, but it didn’t end thus. We left instead after a great catch-up, a few good laughs and some wonderful, funny memories of a lovely lady who couldn’t quite put her finger on her lunch.

And that’s where we often find ‘funny’ at Rich Teasers:  stuck somewhere in the middle of the not-so-funny barrel of awkward, collar-tugging titters. Not because it’s deliberately provocative. Not because it’s more worthy than the poo-and-plank stuff or because “nobody’s done it for laughs yet“. Home For The Bewildered came about because a confused old lady in a care home can be as funny as a semi-naked cyclist riding through a fence panel into a canal. And sometimes she might not be as confused as she appears – just have a squizz at the script…

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As always, if you want to know more about our scripts or wish to explore the possibility of filming one, have a browse through our LOGLINES section or strike up a conversation via our contacts in, er… CONTACTS.

RICH Lists: Andy’s 10 Best Films.

So Rich had his moment in the sun, inexplicably missing out ‘Ishtar’ and ‘Sex Lives Of The Potato Men’ – films that’ll be inexplicably missed off this list too…

Andy has a crack at his own “10 Best” after a brow-furrowing, no-particular-order brain trowel through decades of great film. And ‘Cool Runnings’ if there’s nothing else to watch.

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Hackman and ‘that’ pork pie hat. An antithetical New York to ‘Sex In The City’ where police officers fire their guns a lot (sometimes at each other), confuse ‘questioning’ with ‘assault’ and never go to magazine launches with Sarah Jessica-Parker. You get the feeling door-hinge salesmen in early ’70s New York must’ve made an absolute killing judging by the NYPD’s predilection for opening doors with the soles of their Size 11s. I also place the iconic, howling car chase across Brooklyn a notch above McQueen’s cat-and-mouse tyre shredder in ‘Bullitt’: Hackman’s tenacity during the lengthy FC sequence is almost coronary-inducing. Incidentally, both chases were choreographed and executed by acclaimed stunt driver Bill Hickman who makes extended cameos in both films. Hickman was also besties with James Dean who didn’t drive quite as well.

  1.  THE WILD BUNCH – 1969

A Western with a Schwarzenegger-level body count, made when the big man was still flexing his pecs in his undies and a body count was a yardstick to measure how well you were doing in your South-East Asian dirty war. William Holden, Ernest Borgnine and friends gurn, grimace and growl through a succession of gunfights and questionable business transactions: they kill their own gang members; they kill old ladies who don’t like booze; they kill an entire Mexican army regiment with a machine gun. Sam Peckinpah expends an awful lot of ammunition and propels men and horses through shop windows in slow motion as he crafts an elegiac lament for the passing of the Old West and its dubiously romantic ways… by killing absolutely everyone and everything in it. WARNING: contains Warren Oates.

  1. ’71 – 2014

An absolutely stunning portrayal of The Troubles in microcosm: young army recruits stuck with a thankless and dangerous policing task; Republicans and Loyalists plotting and planning behind the barricades on grim Belfast streets; shady British Intelligence-types playing all sides off against each other. A chase movie at heart as one young recruit finds himself cut off from his unit with the IRA hot on his heels, the film nevertheless subtly – and very eruditely – portrays a bewildering array of attitudes and standpoints that demonstrate just how politically and socially complex the ‘Northern Ireland issue’ was back in the 70s. I’ve never before seen a film display such a breadth and depth of topical knowledge in such a short window.


George A. Romero turned the horror genre completely on its head with his seminal low-budget zombie kickstarter. Young children were in the audience when this first screened in October ’68 as ‘horror’ generally cut through with a pretty blunt, campy edge. There’s nothing remotely campy about the anxious, disbelieving news reports of country-wide mass murders. Or the worrying close-up shots of the windows as darkness falls. Or the sight of an 11-year-old girl tucking hungrily in to her dead dad in the cellar. Romero also plays dirty trickster with the ending, allowing the hero to survive the titular night only to take a sheriff’s bullet square in the physog the following morning and wind up piled on a mini hillock of burning corpses. The guts and gore certainly shocked at the time but the ‘no-one-here-gets-out-alive’ motif genuinely troubled cinema goers used to the triumphant hero staple. “They’re coming to get you, Barbara… oh sh*t, they really are coming to get you, Barbara!”

  1.  PATHS OF GLORY – 1957

Kirk Douglas gets an entire regiment of French soldiers to fritter away on an ill-conceived attack on the German-held ‘Anthill’, a defensive network of trenches tougher than 3 Jet Li-stuffed Jason Stathams. With the attack breaking down for the want of any living rifle-carrying folk to help push it forward, the French high command elects to blame-file the tragic debacle under ‘cowardice’, graciously agreeing to reduce their death list from 100 to 3 randomly-picked rank-and-file scapegoats (one of whom is bodge-faced Hollywood fruit-and-nut, Timothy Carey). A defence lawyer in civvy street, Kirk steps in to sort this objectionable farce out for good ‘n’ all only to find a fait accompli for execution with its fait so entirely accompli-ed that it’s an exercise in frustration just watching the poor sod waste his breath (I genuinely shouted at the telly the first time I watched the court martial sequence). Bodge-faced Tim, Ralph Meeker and spooky barman Lloyd from ‘The Shining’ are duly taken out and shot – to encourage others to go out and be shot voluntarily – leaving an embittered Kirk to square his Spartacun (?) shoulders and ready another hapless bunch of corpses-in-waiting for a second pointless crack. The real power of this Kubrickian (??) classic is its deeper understanding of the abstractive ‘futility of war’ as a consequence of the limitless stupidity and intractability of individuals with the power to advocate and perpetuate it. Better pick a comedy next…

Paul Newman made over 60 films but I doubt I could name half of them.  I could probably name more of his salad dressings at a push.


OK, so it’s not a comedy in the strictest sense, but anything with Dan Aykroyd in it’s bound to inflate a little more chuckle space into the middle of that ‘comic thriller’ Venn diagram. Despite a modest showing at the box-office, the pearl in its oyster is its premise. Put Seagal or Stallone in the role of a disenchanted government assassin and they’d be taking down drug cartels or rescuing retirement-age POWs from the jungles of Vietnam with their serious faces on. John Cusack, however, drags his disenchanted government assassin ass off to his 10-year high school reunion, wisecracks laconically throughout and lets that pearl of a premise carry the joke onwards and upwards: he kills a guy with a pen at his high school reunion!; he disposes of a corpse in a furnace with an old pal at his high school reunion!; he kills Dan Aykroyd with a massive television just after his high school reunion! For me, the plausible implausibility of the whole thing is the cinematic equivalent of a stacked bacon sandwich the morning after a big night out – simply irresistible. Despite Minnie Driver.


Goes great with The Sundance Kid. And pasta.

  1.  ZULU – 1964

The 11-Victoria-Cross defence of Rorke’s Drift given the Technirama treatment and crafted into a polished piece of British cinematic awesomeness. Stanley Baker is a veritable rock. Michael Caine is coolly aristocratic. Nigel Green is shouty and avuncular with an Old Testament wisdom. The speccy Welsh bloke from ‘Please Sir!‘ is… Welshy. Never mind the liberal sprinklings of ‘artistic licence’ throughout (Zulu/Redcoat sing-off anyone…?), the film’s a cast iron blood stirrer and works hard to be even-handed with its positive treatment of all parties involved. Not all individual portrayals were universally adored, however: James Booth’s whiskey-loving, authority-hating Henry Hook was a sharp contrast to the teetotal model career soldier who snagged a VC for bravery on January 22nd 1879. Hook’s own daughter walked out of the UK premier which screened on the 85th anniversary of the engagement. Look out for Chief Buthelezi’s cameo at the beginning (clue: he isn’t one of the Redcoats). Peter Jackson modelled his ‘Lord Of The Rings’ battle for Helm’s Deep on the combat sequences in ‘Zulu’.

Goes great with The Sundance Kid. And pasta.

  1.  SOUTH PARK: THE MOVIE – 1999

Shut your f*@$ing face Uncle Fuckaaaaaa…“.

There’s really nothing more to add here.

  1.  BAD LIEUTENANT – 1992

Harvey Keitel bottoms out and outs his bottom in Abel Ferrara’s dark and difficult-to-watch litany of sex, sleaze and drug guzzling. Less a tale of redemption in a Catholic overcoat than a powerful study of the kind of behavioural contradictions that mark out each and every one of us, though perhaps not to the same polar extremes as Harvey and his al fresco gluteus maximus. In spite of his sense-killing addictions and abuses of power, the Lieutenant nevertheless metes out a kind of forgiving ‘second chance’ justice at odds with his destructive manner and mentality – an articulation of ‘good’ by other means, if you like. A really, really fascinating film once you get over the ‘hero’ indulging in cocaine and threesomes, blackmailing teenage girls for sexual gratification and shooting his car radio over the baseball scores.

  1.  GET CARTER – 1971

A gold-plated British crime classic. Ruthless, remorseless Michael Caine comes ‘home’ to the grim North-East to put some serious hurt on the shady types implicated in the death of his kid brother. He knifes the barman from ‘Minder’. He throws Coronation Street’s “Alf Roberts” from the roof of a parking building. He threatens tough guys with a shotgun in his birthday suit. Not even the creepily laconic John Osborne can deviate Caine from his vengeful course: those who manage to avoid the stabbings and involuntary off-building aerobatics end up drowned, poisoned, clubbed to death or shot instead. Caine’s divestment of the cheeky, chirpy, cockney geezer that garnered him such fame in the years immediately preceding ‘Get Carter’ is a gamble that pays off in spades, but the prize for ‘Most Convincing Baddie’ must surely go to supporting cast member Ian Hendry. Blighted by alcoholism and ill health, Hendry lost out on the role of Jack Carter to Caine and wore the indignation of his ‘demotion’ and envy of Caine’s success on his sleeve throughout the entire shoot. Hendry barely conceals his loathing and prodigious beverage intake during their on-screen exchanges.

Subs bench:

Deliverance (1972); The Killers (1964); Dead Man’s Shoes (2004); A Field In England (2013); Rollerball (1975).

RICH List: Rich’s 10 Best Films.

Engross yourself in conversation with a director or writer-type for long enough and talk will invariably turn to motion picture faves, hates and Holy Grails. Finding out what someone slots into these cinematic pigeonholes can serve as a useful window into the creative soul of the listee.

Or it can red-flag the guy dressed like Brandon Lee in ‘The Crow’ touting his “whimsical” rom-com next to a stack of low-budget X-rated European slashers and Dario Argento DVDs.

Rich takes time out from drafting another short to indulge his passion for drafting lists. Then re-ordering them. Then changing the font. Then re-ordering them again. Then agonising over that second font choice…

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A film seemingly comprised from randomly generated elements: werewolves, psychopathic gypsies, a religious conspiracy, an incestuous longing, 18th Century France, and a heavily-tattooed, somersaulting native American kung-fu ninja! Strangely, it works. Even in French.

  1.  THE LORD OF THE RINGS – [all 3 films. I can have that as one choice, right?] – 2001, 2002, 2003

Firstly, for massive geeks like me, this is the equivalent of a pilgrimage. Fantasy taken seriously after all the “Muscles & Mullets” of 80s fantasy flicks. Peter Jackson treats them as alternative history and wrangles magic from a seamless blend of CGI, models and mattes, sets and stunts, and cast and costumes – ‘epic’ done right, in painstaking detail. Not a mullet in sight. Chris Waddle missed his chance.


An underworld urban myth of the devil in disguise played out across action set-pieces, intense interviews, and narrative sleight-of-hand. The whole cast plays a blinder, especially an Asian-Welsh Pete Postlethwaite. Features the greatest name in the whole of film history. “I am Keyser Soze. And so’s my wife.”


Fantastic story of a bunch mentally unwell vs. the medical establishment (read: misfits vs. conformity – the story was penned by ‘merry prankster’ Ken Kesey who pretty much wrote the book on misfitting) with a tour de force in unbridled mania from Jack Nicholson and a punch-the-air moment with a removable wash-stand. Nice shirt Chezzeroo!

  1.  MEMENTO – 2000

Back-to-fronty, twisty-turny and upside-downy… above all just an engrossing story from whichever direction you look at it and so clever with its chronology it has a Ph.D in timey-wimeyness. Watch the DVD – it includes a version of the movie edited to show the story ‘in the right order.’ Whoever thought Mike from ‘Neighbours’ would ever get so far?

Martial arts has worked wonders for Steven Seagal:  watch your lame ‘ex-Special Forces chef with wolf spirit guide’ pitch fall flat on its arse then chin-kick a studio exec through a window and – hey presto! – there’s $50million wired to your off-shore account for Under Siege 3…


Conniving, witty and waspish tale of decaying morals, reputations and social one-upmanship, with a ‘none more Malkovich’ performance from the rakish and razor-sharp Mr. M. Words used as weapons, love used as a landmine, all set in period splendour and dressed in French finery. Keanu Reeves gets a look-in too, just not a very big one:

     “Tell us what we should think of the opera, Chevalier?”

     “Woooah… it’s sublime, don’t you find… dude?”


Baffling, bonkers but brilliant. Does any of it make sense? Does that really matter? Possibly pretentious, possibly piffle but compelling viewing. A film to watch with your friends and play ‘Create Your Own Theory.’ A film with more questions than answers…or is it? Either you revel in the style or you’re holding the noose at the head of the David Lynch-mob.

  1.  GLADIATOR – 2000

A great film. A film with Russell Crowe in it. There’s not a large overlap in that particular Venn diagram but Crowe delivers here, in a blood ‘n’ guts tale of righteous revenge against a proper pantomime baddie. Not sure it will ‘echo through eternity’ but it will hold up well for a long time. A duck’s quack probably won’t echo through eternity either.


Not on the list. Knows exactly how to find you. Also cooks.

  1.  GROUNDHOG DAY – 1993

No-one does hangdog like Bill Murray. Or multiple suicide. (No, I can’t listen to ‘I Got You Babe’ without wanting to top myself either). A perfectly structured comedy with gags galore. Even the presence of Andi MacDowall doesn’t put me off this one. I can watch it again… and again… and again… and again…


Peter O’Toole being all English and Arabian and conflicted in his loyalties all at the same time. Deserts, dust and received pronunciation. And a man on a camel who takes a really, really long time to arrive – but then it is Omar Sharif and the casino’s at least 3 days ride…



Silence of the Lambs; 2001: A Space Odyssey; Apocalypse Now; The Exorcist; The French Connection.

Citizen Kane? Never seen it. Probably shouldn’t admit that.

On Collaborations [Or “Scripted Togethernessess”] – Pt. 2

Rich shows the other side of the coin… and it’s ‘heads’.  Or rather, ‘two heads’.

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Firstly: yeah, what he said [Part 1]. Co-writing works for us for a numbers of reasons and can yield advantages which might be worth thinking about if you’re a ‘lone-wolf.’ Or a lone Wilf.

Often Andy and I start work on HALF an idea and because there are two of us, it becomes a WHOLE idea… whereas if there’s just one of you, it might remain a HALF-arsed idea for a WHOLE lot longer. You might not even think it’s half an idea, just the beginning of a fragment of a teensy bit of an idea. But share it with your co-writing mucker and see what happens. Your co-writer has an idea that latches itself onto your first idea, which in turn sparks something else and before you know it, there’s a plot unfolding. And if nothing happens then you were right, it wasn’t even half an idea and you’d be better off moving onto something else.

Never under-estimate the value of having someone whose job it is to listen to you spout out your half-ideas and add useful suggestions about how to mould them into something whole or just into… something. Someone who can ask you searching questions like:

  • Why did the killer use the candlestick and not the rope / revolver / lead piping / mechanical egg-whisk?
  • Wouldn’t it be better if that character was an old woman instead of Tom Cruise?
  • Do we HAVE to have a llama in this scene?

Someone to work off, so that between you, you can tease out what the story, or scene, or character really needs. Or someone who will just say to you:

Er… No.

Sometimes you just need that. But it’s better coming from someone you trust, someone with a vested interest in making your manuscript as good as it possibly can be. The deal is of course that you have to put that trust in too. It doesn’t work if you get in a huff about your golden egg of an idea being cricket-batted by your writing buddy rather than transformed into a delightful soufflé. It only works if you aren’t too precious about your writing; if you are, screenwriting might not be for you in all honesty. This is a collaborative business and it pays to be flexible. Bend in the breeze. Like a ninja. A bendy ninja.

Having another PoV alongside your own is also an instant benchmark; you can tell instantly if your partner is excited by your suggestion, has suggestions of her/his own or stands staring at her/his shoes whilst tumbleweed rolls past with some plaintive harmonica. This is especially important if you need to get a sense of whether something is funny or not—much harder to do when you’re on your own, reeling off your one-liners to yourself to see if you crack up (or just crack).

ANDY:  …so it’s basically a Jane Austen-y type period romance that ends with a Mafia/Yakuza gun battle at a dolphinarium.

RICH: …??!?

ANDY:  Right.  I’ll just pop the old coat on and be off then…

Andy and I have been mates for more than 20 years, which helps. It means we share a sense of humour and frames of reference, most of which fall under guitar-bands, cartoons from the 70s and savoury snacks. This gives a kind of short-hand that helps us to short-cut rather than short-circuit.

But more than this, having a writing partner does make you GET ON WITH IT. Sure, play ideas ping-pong, act stuff out to see if it works, wave your hands in the air like you just don’t care… as long you’re being productive. When there’s two of you in the room, the process can take many forms. Even if one of you isn’t in the mood, you feed off the energy of your other writing ‘twinnie’. When I write on my own, the risk of an energy crisis is greater than an OPEC embargo – the ideas ping-pong has no ping, just pong, and the lure of noodling around in the Twitter-verse instead is too great to resist.

Having a mate to write with helps you encourage/cajole/beat great work out of one another and there’s definitely a sense that you don’t want to let your co-writer down… or let them write all the best bits.


Some chalk and cheese just feeding off each other’s cool and diverse ideas, yesterday.

Also, being in a team means the work tends to take shape a little quicker, though with one caveat: that you actually DO THE WORK. That means, no faffing* around, chatting about the footie, girlfriends, boyfriends, girl-boy friends, footie friends, or just last night’s drunken shenanigans**. Unless of course it leads to you actually writing a scene about exactly that. Co-writing can be great if it gives you more focus, but beware that it can derail your best intentions too.

It also helps if you divvy up the workload: if one of you is in full-flow on a full-blown flight of fancy, the other needs to grab pen/paper, PC, Dictaphone or camera to make sure the outpourings are recorded somehow, somewhere before they flutter away like rainbow-coloured sparkle dust in a gust of Satanic hell-trump. Or, if one of you does dialogue better, the other takes care of the structuring and scenic ‘book-ending’. And so it moves forward, as it does for me ‘n’ him, alternating the lead-and-follow:  Holmes and Watson; Bodie and Doyle; Terry and June.

But we always, ALWAYS, take turns making the tea.

[* faffing is a word. Yes it is.]

[** also a word. Official.]

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As always, if you want to know more about our scripts or wish to explore the possibility of filming one, have a browse through our LOGLINES section or strike up a conversation via our contacts in, er… CONTACTS.



Pints And Productivity: 1 Skype Call, 2 Lagers, 3 Scripts

Not a ‘lads-mag’ Jane Austen but a look back at how an online chat and a couple of postprandial meal softeners took us from 0 to 3 scripts before closing time and the last of the Bacon Fries…

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We’d arranged a Skype call with director John at 7:30 to discuss the progress of two of our shorts as well as the finer points of life, work and funding in John’s fresh new Glaswegian fields. We rattle through the preliminaries in a few short minutes:

  • the scripts are still sexy;
  • a production team is being assembled;
  • Scotland is supernaturally cold;
  • John’s bed is supernaturally messy (cheers, Skype…)

John distracts us from his tousled duvet with an eminently sensible plan for funding and filming going forward then advises he’ll be shooting low-to-no budget in a month or so with his new team: do we have anything ‘dialogue-y‘ we could punt his way for two characters in a single location…?

Not at 7:45 with full tummies and an eyeful of ‘crime scene’ bedroom we don’t, but give us some pointers and we’ll see what we can rustle up.

John likes what we do so bats the creative ball deep into our half of the court. He chuckles through our funnies in the right places for the right reasons but he’s also big on ‘dilemma’ and disarming twists and switches. He’s worried he’s being too vague in sketching out what is admittedly a pretty sketchy wish list but we don’t see it that way: give us a pirate hat, a lolly stick and a kilo of cubed beef and we’ll give you the daring deeds and hairs-breadth ‘scapes of buccaneering wooden terror Captain Stroganoff. It’s just got to be short. And cheap. And half the cost again.

DIRECTOR: So what have you got I could shoot in a day?

WRITER: The 25th Century. A space station perched on the outer ring of Saturn. Two gigantic space millipedes…

DIRECTOR: Okay, let me just stop you there a second…

In a final, inadvertent master stroke before returning to the remains of his detonated digs, John forwards over two headshots of actors he’s eager to work with and gives us plenty of time before the shoot to mull everything over. Now we have a spare couple of pub hours and some smouldering publicity portraits to pin a few stories and situations on. Lining up a couple of cold-filtered imagination lubricators, we make short work of making short works.

Between Premier League predictions and strategic micturitions (possibly not a real word…), we flesh out two single-location comedies and a spellbinding little dramatic short that owes much to Rich’s willingness to wipe the smile off what started life as a cast iron belly laugher but ended up with a sizeable lump in its throat. Thinking only in shillings and pence, we cook up an irritable vampire, a double-booked werewolf, a private investigator obsessed with the photographic clarity of a cheating husband and a cosy, cuddly conflab about home improvements that’s anything but. All this at 10:00 from nothing whatsoever at 7:30.


Captain Stroganoff – Benedict Cumberbatch perhaps…?

As writers, it feels great to be able to layer something as substantial on so disjointed a collection of bones in so short a space of time. However, much as I love the image of the fast-thinking, finger-clicking screenplay ninja, looking back I realise just how much was already ‘there’: a director who connects with our writing style; a host of shared ideas and fragments finding new reasons to be thrashed out; a couple of faces to stick in a room and characterise; crisps and lager. The movie-making cogs may at times move slower than a lazy glacier handcuffed to a radiator handcuffed to Terry Waite, but the wait on one project shouldn’t detract from the excitement of beginning another. Next time out we’ll hit the cognac on empty stomachs, set fire to the director’s bed and hammer out an award-winning, multi-season series about a bunch of pals living together in the same West Village apartment block. Perhaps we’ll even call it ‘Pals’.

As for Captain Stroganoff, he’s way too meaty for the shorts.

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As always, if you want to know more about our scripts or wish to explore the possibility of filming one, have a browse through our LOGLINES section or strike up a conversation via our contacts in, er… CONTACTS.

On Collaborations [Or “Scripted Togethernesses”] – Pt. 1

Andy takes first hit at this…

There’s a lot of ‘creative difference’ here at Rich Teasers, but it hasn’t led to a fractious feud of call screening, social media un-friending and mutual no-eye-contacting at beer meets and barbecues. It comes from learning that in spite of those differences and the impediments other writers might identify in the practice, “collaboration” isn’t such a dirty word after all.

Skidmark“, however…

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Introduce yourselves as a writing ‘team’ to some script scribblers and they adopt the kind of expression one does when handed a Tupperware box of raw giblets and sick. They don’t agree with it, you see. It doesn’t work. It stifles creativity or makes the pure idea an ugly hodgepodge of half-formed characters and cross-purpose narratives. Reactions oscillate between ‘mildly perplexed’ and ‘Westboro Baptist’:

  • “So who does the writing and who makes the tea?”
  • “Oh, so you’re the brains? And you must be… the other one?”
  • “Do you settle plot arguments on a dice roll or with swords?”
  • “They were shaving people’s heads for that sort of thing back in the day.”
  • God will not long suffer this rank sorcery… OUT, ACCURSED DEVIL, OUT…!!

the assumption being that any genuine gold we may have mined between us will inevitably dilute down through argument and obstinacy into a patchwork jumble that succeeds only in missing its own point.

But it never does. We collaborate on every piece of writing at Rich Teasers – we always have. Howsoever the seed of an idea germinates and grows into a thick-rooted, castle-bearing beanstalk, it does so in the knowledge that the collaborative aspect of its development has made it a stronger thing than it would have been if nurtured alone: now it’ll bear a castle and an adjoining Waitrose.

WRITER: Hey, I hear you guys write together?

RT: That’s right. Hi, we’re…


Knowing each other for such a long time certainly helps but it doesn’t guarantee that twin-like synchronicity of cause-and-effect where one of us walks into a door and the other gets a bloody nose. We still have wildly different ideas about what makes characters and circumstances engaging and worthy of further exploration. Rather, it’s a ‘trust thing’ that turns our creative differences into useful development tools. We trust that however much our raw and vulnerable newborn ideas are prodded and poked at, the consequences of sharing will always be rewarding, surprising and definitive. Neither of us worry that our beautiful bouncing babes will be slighted in the same fashion as the rancid Tupperware box – and perhaps that’s what separates us from some of the resolute lone-wolves out there…?

More and more, we draw on our differences to create opportunities, the legacy of which is a confidence to share and a determination to explore any idea from any angle to find that ‘buzz’ that puts us in the same creative groove. When Rich initially pitched My First Week [see LOGLINES] as a rom-com, I was staring into the sick and giblets, gently humming “The Girl From Ipanema” and climbing aboard the mind train to Happyplace. But as averse to the genre as I am, I knew Rich would have a take on it that’d beat most others all ends up and that he’d trust me enough to know that ‘working on it’ wouldn’t mean chucking the whole thing on the fire first. The result was an idea that had us both hooked and which had its entire storyline fixed by the end of the same afternoon. How very different things would’ve been if Rich had wrapped his kid in cotton wool and kept mum. How very different my own drafts would be without the collaborative cherry-topping they’ve all finished with.


“Thus for ALL collaborators…!”

This attitude of openness has also held us in good stead when it comes to the kind of conversations we want to be having as screenwriters: conversations with film makers.

The director loves your script – loves it – but after circulating it around her equally admiring team of battle-ready movie makers, she thinks there’s some adjustments you should make to really nail this sucker to the wall. You could snatch up the prized manuscript and tell her and her team of sycophantic ingrates that they wouldn’t know gold if they were left to drown in an Olympic-sized pool of the stuff… or you could accept that even gold needs a good solid buff to accentuate that mesmerising dazzle and crack on with your edits. After all (and with apologies to Ernest Hemingway), while the first draft of everything might not always be sh*t, it’ll never be the one that gets to actually be something. And yours may not be the only footprints in the sand.

Over to Rich

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[Do you write with others or are you a creative Greta Garbo? Have your collaborative efforts improved your end products or left you wishing you’d pushed on alone? We’d love to hear about your experiences so comment away or tweet us at @RTscripts]


Liking Coffee Is NOT A Character Trait

Rich takes writers to task who measure themselves by their caffeine intake…

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WARNING: contains mild snarks.

I ‘like’ coffee. And tea. And an encyclopaedic drinks list of beverages hot and cold, alcoholic and non-alcoholic, still and sparkling* and so on and so forth. Taking on fluids is a chief criterion for staying alive, isn’t it?**. How would a Bedouin get to draw his pension otherwise?  It’s rather like saying “I like air“. Everybody drinks something. Probably many different things. As it’s one of the most abundant and popular libations on the planet, coffee is quite likely to be one of them. Hardly marks you out from the crowd though, does it? I drink coffee. I love coffee! But I hope to Christ it’s one of the least interesting things about me, otherwise pour me a flat white, colour me boring and move on to someone with a better handle on what makes them interesting.

…but which of the coloured wires would diffuse the bomb in time?  “Christ,” thought Bond, “I could murder a latte…”

So, writers, a humble suggestion: maybe don’t emblazon “drinks coffee” across your Twitter profile, blog bio, or worse, your book bio, however true it is. Because boring. Because beige. Because beverage. Yeah, writers aren’t always blow-away interesting in person (conversations tend to begin, middle and end with their books), but don’t fall into the bland-trap of advertising the fact. Think of something else to say. Or say nothing.  “I like coffee” is a wide-armed, open-mouthed biographical yawn stretch, an admission you’ve drawn a blank on anything better to say about yourself. Worse, it pretty much amounts to saying “I am a dull and unimaginative writer. Buy my book. It features people who love coffee.”

So maybe think outside the cafetière.

Or lie, of course. You write, yes? You have an imagination? Then cook up a few curiosity-piquing whopperoos. When I’m asked to review books by unknown authors, I’m far more inclined to read the one by ‘shark-wrestling, fire-eating pogo champion’ Writer A than deadpan ‘coffee connoisseur’ Writer B.  Even if ‘shark-wrestling, fire-eating pogo champion’ Writer A sounds like she puts away more coffee than perhaps is good for her. The point is she damn well sounds interesting, so I’m guessing her characters might radiate a little of that bouncy, fish-wrangling fire too.


Drinks coffee. Still interesting.

It doesn’t hurt to jazz it up a little. Start with your coffee. I’ll have a goats’ milk skinny triple-whipple mocha-choco Americano cappuccino with almond syrup and Dream Topping. And, yes, my characters are interesting.

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not champagne though – way overrated; gives me heartburn and makes my breath smell like ‘horse compost’.

** so is letting them out the other end, but no-one ever states ‘I love to pee’ as an insight into their character, do they?