Aristotle Was Wrong About Sitcoms.

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Did you know the sitcom could have been invented by Aristotle?

He wrote a book about stories called Poetics, in which he argued that stories need complications.

But Aristotle wasn’t writing sitcoms for the ancient Greeks, so allow me to add an important rule:

The funniest complications are usually self-inflicted.

This is where many sitcom writers make a crucial mistake. In fact, there are three common mistakes and they can all stop a promising plot from being funny.

But here’s the first rule:

In previous posts, I’ve argued that a story doesn’t properly begin until a character pursues something. Not something vague. Something specific.

They pursue it in their own particular way, driven by their personality and passions. And the way they pursue it causes the problems.

That last part is essential. A problem caused by the character is almost always better than one caused by bad luck. Aristotle might be satisfied with any old complication. I’m a little more demanding.

I often read scripts in which the protagonist’s problems are not self-inflicted. Things simply happen to them.

When that happens, we are less invested—and, more importantly, we are less likely to laugh. This is a sitcom. Laughing is quite important.

Let’s imagine a character called Edward.

Edward wants to prove to his girlfriend that he is a good person—and, perhaps, that he would make a good father. He decides to perform a good deed by taking an elderly lady to the shops.

He parks outside her house. It takes much longer than expected to get her ready and out to the car. By the time they emerge, Edward discovers that his car has been clamped.

That is certainly a complication.

Aristotle might be happy.

I’m not.

The clamping is simply bad luck. Edward didn’t know about the parking restrictions. Perhaps the sign was obscured by a tall van.

Even if Edward is impatient or generally a bit of a jerk, he did not cause the problem. It merely happened to him.

Now let’s change the story.

Edward is only helping the old lady because he wants to impress his girlfriend. His heart isn’t in it. He doesn’t really want to be there, he is already running late and, in his impatience, he ignores a clearly visible parking sign.

By the time the old lady is finally ready, Edward is furious—and his car is in trouble.

Now the complication comes from character.

Edward’s insincerity, impatience and desire to impress his girlfriend have combined to create the problem. It is not merely unfortunate. It is deserved.

And that makes it funnier.

Look at your own plot. Is it relying on bad luck?

Perhaps your protagonist is responsible for an important event at work, and the fire alarm unexpectedly goes off. Then the sprinklers come on and ruin everything.

That may be a disaster, but it isn’t necessarily funny. The character did not cause it.

What did they do—or fail to do—that triggered the alarm? Which shortcut did they take? What warning did they ignore? What lie are they now trying to protect?

The disaster should be the consequence of the pursuit.

The second mistake is giving your protagonist a succession of unrelated calamities.

I often read sitcom scripts that are simply a series of unfortunate events. One thing goes wrong, then another thing goes wrong, followed by something else going wrong.

We do need more than one problem. But the problems should not merely accumulate.

They should compound.

One problem should cause the next, with the character making matters worse at every stage.

Let’s return to Edward.

This time, his car has not yet been clamped. A traffic warden appears and might conceivably be persuaded to overlook the infringement.

But Edward has a short temper.

Instead of apologising or accepting the fine, he starts an argument. The traffic warden feels threatened and calls for support. Edward’s car is no longer merely at risk of being clamped: it is towed away.

That creates a bigger problem. Edward can no longer collect his girlfriend later, making him look even less dependable—and even less ready to become a father.

So Edward lies.

He claims that the old lady is having a medical emergency. The traffic warden calls his bluff by summoning an ambulance.

Now Edward and the old lady are inside the ambulance, where he attempts to persuade the paramedics to drop them at Sainsbury’s.

And so on.

Each attempt to solve the previous problem creates a larger one.

Edward is now in trouble with:

• the old lady;

• his girlfriend;

• the traffic warden;

• and a pair of paramedics who will eventually realise that there was no medical emergency.

This is escalation.

The complications do not arrive randomly from outside the story. They grow from Edward’s character: his impatience, vanity, dishonesty and desperate need to prove that he is a good person.

The more he tries to prove it, the more conclusively he demonstrates the opposite.

That is a sitcom engine.

There is another tempting mistake hiding inside this story.

You might decide that the old lady should suddenly “kick off” and cause the next problem. Perhaps she behaves outrageously, reveals an astonishing secret or launches into an elaborate subplot of her own.

Resist that urge. Why?

Because the audience is not emotionally invested in her. She is probably appearing in this episode only.

Writers often get carried away with guest characters. They invent a huge backstory and an elaborate subplot, giving the protagonist yet another eccentric person to contend with.

The guest character may be entertaining, but they should not take control of the story.

Edward should remain the principal cause of Edward’s problems.

The old lady can respond to his behaviour. She can misunderstand him, expose him or refuse to cooperate. But the chain of complications should still be driven by Edward’s pursuit and the way he goes about it.

His problems should be self-inflicted and compounding. They should come from his character and, in this case, his relationship with his girlfriend.

In the previous instalment, we created a long list of possible plots for your sitcom pilot. The aim was to give you enough choices to ensure that your sitcom is not dead on arrival.

Now take another look at those ideas. For each promising plot, ask:

• What does the protagonist want?

• What is the first problem?

• How did the protagonist cause it?

• How do they try to solve it?

• How does their particular solution make matters worse?

• How does the problem affect their relationships?

You may discover that a particular story is better suited to another member of your ensemble. Great. Give it to them.

Perhaps your original protagonist would respond sensibly and solve the problem immediately. That is no use at all. Not funny.

The central principle is simple: Don’t let problems merely happen to your characters.

Aristotle was right—kind of. Stories do need complications.

But sitcom complications should not come from fate, bad luck, providence or the gods. They should grow from a character pursuing something in exactly the way that only they would pursue it.

The character creates the problem.

Then they make it worse. And words.

Then, while attempting to escape the consequences, they reveal who they really are.

You’re welcome, Aristotle.

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