So here’s the thing. I spent a lot of last year in the grips of an unshakeable despair. I handed over a lot of my power to things I couldn’t possibly hope to control, you see. It was my year of really trying to break into the TV and film world, access to which is still largely adjudicated by a small handful of people whose tastes are changeable and hard to pin down (“We want laugh-out-loud, silly comedies! We’re done with the comedy of trauma!” they crow, cavorting with glee, until Baby Reindeer comes out, at which point they all go as white as a sheet and disappear into an adjacent room murmuring “Sorry, we just need to have a chat about something, back in a minute, sorry, bear with us…”).

I channelled a lot of my creative energy into trying to make and write the things I thought those people wanted me to make and write. I spent virtually no time working on things that I was actually in control of, I just let the whims of this industry dictate how I spent my time. It made me feel very powerless, and the more I did it, the more I realised that actually, this industry I was trying to break into was really not very healthy. If you work in film or TV or, let’s be honest, any of the creative industries at the moment, you’ll know what I’m talking about. Last year felt apocalyptic. I got so used to hearing people say things like “There’s just no money” and “How do you actually do this?” and “Is this even a career? I can’t really see how it’s a career any more.”

I started saying these things too, and giving these ideas a lot of oxygen and attention, because scary ideas are addictive. “It’s all fucked” is a compelling narrative, because it absolves you of all responsibility to take control of your situation. Then this year I decided I’d had enough of it. I was absolutely sick to death of the despair, and I stopped caring what state the TV and film industry was in. I stopped caring what a small handful of people seemed to want me to do. I started thinking about what I wanted to do, and then I started doing it, and what do you know, it made me feel hopeful. I found myself nurturing a kind of radical hope. Maybe this hope naively flies in the face of all logic and likelihood and evidence, but do you know what? It feels much better than all that pointless despair, and I find myself actually making things that other people are enjoying again, which is what I like doing with my life.

So I thought I’d explain to you how this hope manifested, in case you’re someone in the creative industries who’s worried about the future too, and talk a bit about how I’m channelling it into my work right now, and then I’m going to let you know about a project I need your help with, which has emerged out of this stubborn, idiotic hope.

One of the things I’m fed up of hearing is people bemoaning the idea that maybe TV and film is actually in terminal decline, and that the market is shifting so much that soon it just won’t be possible to get things made any more, because people just aren’t watching, and the money just isn’t there. That maybe the arts have been so disrupted and gutted by audiences moving online and all the money falling out of the market that soon it won’t be possible to make films or TV shows or books or music.

This is complete nonsense, because art is literally what people do with their time. People who are in the arts obviously care about art, and they like to pat themselves on the back and pretend they’re the only people who care about art, and that art is some rare and precious beast that’s under threat. But do you know what? Literally everyone loves art, because it’s what people do. People watch films and TV and read books and listen to music. It’s one of the main things everyone spends their money on. There is no future in which people are no longer willing to spend money on art, because that’s what people do.

What’s changing is the model by which this happens. We’re seeing more and more creative work being directly funded by its audience. We’re seeing big, monolithic institutions creak as they struggle to adjust to this. I really hope they all survive. I want to see a future in which the organisations and methods that exist to enable the making of good stuff find ways to adapt and survive and flourish, but that’s only going to happen as a result of their meaningfully engaging with the way things are shifting. It’s not going to come as a result of shrugging and abdicating responsibility and going “I think the problem we’re having in TV comedy is that comedians just aren’t writing funny things at the moment” (something I saw someone say at an industry event in front of a room full of comedians this year).

The huge risk is that in this period of transition and change, a lot of people fall through the cracks. A lot of really talented people who deserve to do this and to make stuff for a living struggle to find ways to keep going, or ways to adapt, and because they don’t have a financial safety net, they decide to give up on it and do something else. That will be the real tragedy of this. That’s why me and Miranda set up Eggbox (which is returning to the Pleasance in January, hooray!)

Because we have two options at the moment – to give our energy to all the talk about reduced commissions and dwindling budgets and wonder what’s going to happen, or to look at and celebrate all the amazing stuff people are making anyway. The stuff that people are making off their own back, because they believe in it. We set up that night so we can hold some stuff up and go “There’s actually a lot of really cool things being made here.” Writers are writing funny things. Filmmakers are making brilliant things. Actors are giving great performances, DOPs are making things look beautiful. This cloud of hopelessness is obscuring what’s actually going on, which is that people are continuing to create. I don’t care if the people whose job is to make pronouncements about the state of the industry declare that it’s in danger and nothing good is being made. I’m going to do my job, which is to make good things.

It’s taken me a while to realise that this is the theme behind everything I’m working on right now. It’s the idea behind Eggbox; it’s the idea at the heart of my new show. And it’s also an idea at the centre of the one final big project I’m going to make happen in 2024, which I’m launching today.

THE HAPPINESS CHAIN

Last year I wrote a sitcom script about happiness. It was nominated for the David Nobbs Memorial Trust New Comedy Writing Award and the Shortcom Sitcom Writing Competition, and this year it placed me in the top 5% of applicants for the BBC’s Comedy Collective bursary. These sorts of external accolades are ultimately meaningless, but they do make it easy to cling onto that very rare thing you sometimes get when you write something, which is when you take a step back from it and look at it and think “Do you know what? I really like this. I think it’s really good.”

Lots of people in TV really liked it too, but nobody was willing to take a punt on it. A lot of people said things like “This is exactly the sort of thing we’re looking for at the moment, we really love it. We just can’t afford to take it on right now. But please do let us know what you do with it, because it’s really good.” I’ve had this happen often enough before and I usually think “I know what that means. It means it’s not good enough for you to actually do something with it. Which means I should put it back in the drawer and move on.”

But something changed this year. Instead of “Nice try, better luck next time,” I instead heard people who were busy figuring out their own place in this strange, transitional moment encouraging me to keep going. I heard them say “None of us know what we’re doing right now, but this is good, so please do something with it.” Maybe that’s what they were all saying before anyway. Or maybe that’s not what they were saying this time, and actually they did just want me to go away. It doesn’t really matter either way.

What I know is, that hopefulness kicked in and I thought to myself “In ten years of making comedy and writing scripts, I’ve never once actually taken one of my pilot scripts and just filmed it because I believe it’s good.” I’d done that with short film ideas, and Tiger Aspect once paid Ed Aczel and me to make one of our ideas into a pilot, but I’d never summoned up enough faith in a TV idea of my own to actually just make it, even though just making things is the thing I remembered I’m good at this year. So I decided to rewrite The Happiness Chain as a shorter, more self-contained pilot that it would be possible for me to film and produce, and I teamed up with the amazing Ben Kent, director of ITV’s The Stand Up Sketch Show, and now we’re filming it in December, and I’m so excited about it.

The short is about happiness, and the things we think we have to do in order to get it. Everyone keeps talking about how people want laugh-out-loud, feelgood comedies at the moment, so I thought I’d write something about the things that make us feel good – why do we want them? What happens when we get them? What happens when we don’t get them? What would it take for us to ever look at our lives and think “Actually, I like this”? The cast we have attached to it are so brilliant, but I don’t want to announce who’s in it until we’ve managed to pin down everyone’s availabilities and firm up the schedule in case I announce it all and then have to change it – but watch this space for news and updates in the next few weeks!

I’ve also been making comedy independently for over ten years without ever doing a crowdfunder. Although I’ve experimented with having a ko-fi, in general I’ve always felt a little awkward about asking my audience to directly fund a specific project, because something about it makes me feel a bit like an imposter. But like I said, it feels more and more like that might become the viable funding model of the future, and I want to challenge myself to make something I’ll look back on and feel really proud of, so maybe it’s time to give it a go.

If you’ve ever enjoyed any of my work, and might like to help me make something that I hope will be a bit of a flag in the sand and a promise to myself to keep making the things I believe in, and you feel like you might like to support this project, the crowdfunder is here, with more info and various options to donate. We’re offering exclusive rewards to backers, from tickets to the film premiere to signed and annotated scripts to exclusive behind-the-scenes footage. And if you know other people who might like to support this project (really, really rich ones, ideally), I’d love you to send the crowdfunder to them or share it on social media to help us raise as much as we can.

Other than that pilot I made with Ed, every short film I’ve ever made has been self-funded, and this will be the most expensive indie project I’ve made. We’re trying to keep costs low, and several people are giving up their time to the project because they believe in it, but we still have a lot of money to raise, and every donation, no matter how small, helps.

If you feel you can support, even just by spreading the word, I’d be hugely grateful. Making creative work can feel isolating and daunting and scary and hopeless at the moment, if we’re not careful and give too much of our energy to the ambient mood of despair. But I for one have had enough of that, and I’m enjoying channelling my efforts into projects that feel more active and hopeful these days. I hope all of this might help a few other people to feel the same way. Let’s fill the world with the things we want to make! That’s all we’ve ever really done anyway.

A Cool New Thing In Comedy – John-Luke Roberts is mounting the second half of his John-Luke-A-Palooza, in which he restages all ten shows he’s ever made, on Sunday at the Pleasance. I saw two of the earlier shows on Sunday and had such a great time watching his work evolve in real-time, so do yourself a favour and get down to some of this Sunday’s shows too.

What’s Made Me Laugh The Most – Probably the snowman routine from the aforementioned John-Luke-A-Palooza, specifically as the climax to show no. 3. Terrifying.

Book Of The Week – I’ve just started Demon Copperhead by Barbara Kingsolver, which is a modern day retelling of David Copperfield set in the Appalachian Mountains. Really enjoying it so far. I don’t even really know the story of David Copperfield, so this is probably gonna blow my mind.

Album Of The Week – Beautiful Happening by Fairground Attraction. These guys released one of the loveliest albums of the 80s in 1988’s The First Of A Million Kisses (you know, the one with that song “Perfect” on it) and then disappeared and never did anything else, other than a collection of B-sides and demos in the 90s. This came out this year and is only their second album ever, and it’s adorable. Jolly good-time folksy pop. It’s not reinventing the wheel or anything, but it’s really charming.

Film Of The Week – Not seen any. What’s good at the moment? I wanna go see A Different Man. Anybody seen that?

That’s all for this week! As ever, let me know your thoughts, and this week more than ever, if you wanted to send this newsletter to a friend or encourage others to subscribe, I’d really appreciate it.

Take care of yourselves until next time,

Joz xx

PS If you’re in Manchester, don’t forget to book your ticket to Edy Hurst’s Wonderfull Discoverie Of Witches In The Countie Of Himself at the Lowry on Hallowe’en! We’ve been working on it this week and it’s coming together really nicely:

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