simon dunn: scriptwriter & comedian

I like Ken Levine. His blog is great and he’s written some amazing sitcoms. One of them is MASH, a sitcom so huge it has had the academic treatment.

Every so often I’ll read an article or term paper or passage in a book that references a MASH episode my partner and I wrote. The piece is most always complimentary; sometimes overly so. But invariably the authors will analyze the episode. They’ll identify the symbolism, how when Hawkeye hangs up his laundry he’s really representing the Anti-Christ, and they’ll find all kinds of mythological parallel, subliminal messages, and odes to other works of literature. They’ll compare Klinger to Jane Austin, find significance in jeep license plate numbers, and detect hidden codes in Radar’s dialogue.

I’d like to be able to shrug my shoulders and say yes, all of that is in there. David and I write on many levels. Our scripts are challenging intellectual puzzles to be solved by only the most advanced sophisticated minds. Thanks for noticing.

I’d like to say that but it’s all bullshit!

Read the whole thing here.

I think textual analysis is a fun tool, but nothing more. I remember writing an essay about how the lighting in Die Hard symbolised the Jungian concept of the shadow self. I didn’t believe a word of it, and had fun taking the piss.

This made me think of some of the imagery I deliberately wrote into a script a few months ago, none of which anyone noticed. They were more interested in the characters being unlikeable and the dialogue stilted.

There’s a lesson in there somewhere.

I was waiting on a pass/go from a producer this week, and it occurred to me that the worst part was the not knowing. I was more deflated not hearing anything than I was with the inevitable rejection. It didn’t help that I knew the exact moment of the meeting which discussed the notion either.

It slipped me into neutral actually. I began to wonder if it was worth starting on something new in the meantime, if it meant abandoning it straight away. So I did nothing instead. Unless eating a house full of crisps counts as writing of course.

When I Googled "Rejected" all I got was a 404 error code

I’ve always liked to kid myself that professional rejection doesn’t bother me, but it’s slightly disingenuous to say that. Of course it does, how could it not? Months of work rejected in an email that hasn’t even been spell-checked. But what was nice, is that the moment I got the pass, it kicked me up the bottom to get on with something else.

The best rejections are the ones that offer up good, understandable reasons for the decision. And those are the easiest to accept. If, like this one, they even help you shape your next pitch or treatment, all the better.

If you’re new to writing and you’ve just received your first rejection letter, use it as a spur not a crutch. A string of such letters can obviously be disheartening, but I don’t think you can call yourself a writer if you haven’t had rejections. Aaron Sorkin may disagree. You should aim to get a pile of them that’s taller than you.