#meta comedy

From the unhinged team behind Detroit Evolution and Livescreamers, First Drafts: The Outcasts is an epic drama...er, comedy, 20 years in the making.

It was simple: dig up the very first script I wrote when I was 12, hire the best actors I knew to read it cold - no rehearsals, no dialogue changes - and add Michael Smallwood for uproarious commentary along the way.

This trailer is just a taste of every baffling line and sudden plot twist that only an earnest child could write. If you've ever looked back on your art like "what the heck was I thinking?" (or maybe you just like The Room) this one's for you.

Of course, a new book is not an unusual sight in any bookshop, and this rule applied to “A.Z. Fell & co. - Purveyor of Books to the Gentry” as well. But the new books in “A.Z. Fell & co. - Purveyor of Books to the Gentry” were usually new old books. This new book was a new new book.

Crowley had never been too fond of books. Whenever Aziraphale went on rambling about the finer details of folio, quarto, octavo, or cloth bound, or on the merits of vellum, Crowley's mind tended to run elsewhere. But even he could see that this book was completely different from the other books scattered on the shelves of “A.Z. Fell & co. - Purveyor of Books to the Gentry”. For a start, the paper on which it was printed was white. The pages of Aziraphale's books were usually yellowed, when not of the colour of spilled coffee. Then there was the cover: it was a photo. A very tacky photo of two men sitting on what looked like a globe; one of them was drinking tea, the other one had a glass of wine in one hand and an apple in the other.

Crowley was at a loss. Aziraphale was still waiting for the gavotte to come back into fashion. Aziraphale thought that tartan was stylish. Aziraphale collected Regency snuffboxes. That book simply couldn't be his. And yet there it was. Even more: the presence of torn strips of the Daily Telegraph between the pages indicated that he was studying the book.

As soon as he was able to process a coherent thought, Crowley almost shouted. “What the Heaven is this book?” “Oh, just a gift from Adam,” replied Aziraphale, who in the meantime had come downstairs, entered the room, and sneaked up right behind Crowley. The demon lost his balance. He fell on the couch, trying to look as if he were graciously allowing gravity to win, and not fully succeeding. “It just doesn't look very... you,” he said. “I suppose so. But... it's quite good. Very good, even. I think that you'd like it too.” Aziraphale looked vaguely guilty. “Well, I think you should read it.” He sighed. “To be completely fair, I need you to read it, because there's something I don't understand.”

It continues here: Just Fiction, or: Does It Remind You of Anyone?

Basically: I was wondering whether Aziraphale would like Good Omens. He loves books, after all. And if Crowley would like the mini, since he “doesn’t do books”. 

So, since there isn’t enough meta comedy in Good Omens, I thought I added 1900 words of fic. @magnsusbane​ was the most lovely and patient beta. 

I’m probably getting addicted to writing, but, you know:

When it comes to doing bits within bits or, in this case, shows within shows, Nate Fernald is one of the best at professionally goofing around.

For every Bob Odenkirk late night appearance, it isn’t satisfactory enough to just do a straightforward panel interview. 

The co-creator of Mr. Show has to sneak in some mischief in some way, shape, or form and Odenkirk opted for taking the idea of “trading places” and adding a Mr. Show-With Bob & David twist to it while on The Late Show with Stephen Colbert. 

Jaya and Luis face their worst enemy yet: a performance final.

Credits and info under the cut

AT RISE:

A BEAR rises from a week-long slumber. 

The AUDIENCE has no idea how long the BEAR had been asleep, as they don’t read stage directions.

Maybe we should start putting stage directions in playbills! No dialogue, just those sweet sweet directions. 

Of course that would run the risk of audiences getting lost in extravagant scenery descriptions. But let’s be honest, people only write those while they’re trying to figure out what happens next. If you ever see a lovingly-detailed description of an ottoman, it’s just a playwright trying to put off naming a character.

Also why do we have the term “playwright’? We’re not making ships here, we’re just writing lazy novels, with all the hard parts cut out. I mean who has the time to think of the way to describe the way a sunset plays over the face of a loved one? From now on, I’m just going to say “The sun goes down. It’s nice. AND EVERYONE ON STAGE THINKS SO TOO”

So that’s settled. “Playwright” is out. Now we’re “lazy novelists” .

The BEAR yawns and stretches, ready to start over fresh with narrative-driven content, rather than a bunch of boring meta-narrative nonsense.

Again, there’s no way the audience could discern the BEAR’s intention with that yawn, unless the BEAR specifically said “I am ready to start over, etc. etc.” and that would be unnecessarily meta, thus creating a logic paradox.

Anyway, thank you for putting up with these stage directions, I promise things will get much more straight forward from here on out.  How about some dialogue?

BEAR: I like salmon.

See? That’s good stuff. Who doesn’t like salmon?

BEAR: I also live in a universe where bears don’t speak. This will create tension with the audience. Are they hearing my thoughts? Am I the world’s only speaking bear? Or are we viewing the world through the prism of a madman? It is very thrilling and everyone is happy about it.

...

BEAR: What?

Are you talking to me?

BEAR: Who else would I be talking to? 

An actual person! I just represent the author! I shouldn’t even be saying “I”! STAGE DIRECTIONS SHOULD BE NEITHER NARRATOR NOR CHARACTER! HOW MANY TIMES DO I HAVE TO SAY THIS?

BEAR: Are you talking to me?

No, I’m talking to the lousy novelist that wrote both of us.

BEAR: How can you be having a conversation with somebody that’s already finished writing our story? In a technical sense we exists in their past, not their present. 

This is starting to smack of theological philosophy.

BEAR: And here I thought this play was about a narrative drive toward salmon.

Stop that! You’re not supposed to know you’re in a play. That’s the whole point of plays!

BEAR: Except all those famous and popular plays about being in a play.

That was the old way. Now we have Annie Baker, and all plays are about sitting in comfortable chairs and staring at the audience until the actors remember their lines.

BEAR: That sounds very relaxing.

Well, you sleep half the year.

BEAR: Touche.

Well, this has been fun. And also unbearable.

BEAR: Nice.

Shut up. I’m going home now.

BEAR: How do you have a home, you’re stage directions.

We all just hang out in Elia Kazan’s mausoleum and reminisce about the good old days, when directors would build insanely detailed houses on stage for us to talk about instead of this modern nonsense.

BEAR: That sounds fun. I think I’ll just go back to sleep.

You are living the dream, my friend.

BEAR: I like to dream about butts.

GOODNIGHT, GRACIE.