WHAT IF YOU
UP AS JESUS?
I LOVE this single-camera sit-com, and it broke my heart.
Claire Broughton, a wonderful producer who's been a champion of my comedy writing for years, loved it too and when it was shot down by the UK broadcasters as 'way too weird' she let me weep on her shoulder for about a month, then made me go off and write an even better script!
That's a producer.
Anyway ... when faded rock star RAFE CORBIERRE's tour bus crashes in the Nevada desert (think Rafe Fiennes, Gary Oldman, or Idris Elba in full-on wild-man mode) the washed-up rocker is commanded by a thundering Voice only he can hear, to leave the burning wreckage behind, and walk into the desert.
Rafe, born plain old Ralph Corbett in Tooting, South London, confused and suffering a wicked concussion, tells 'The Voice' to 'fuck off', but, tempted by the promise of Tylenol, and the fact that The Voice will turn his brain to jelly if he refuses, Ralph quickly realises he has no choice but to obey, and stumbles into the wilderness as commanded.
Forty days and forty nights later, a considerably skinnier, sun-burnt, and frankly terrified, Ralph wanders out of the wilderness, having experienced an unwanted, but profound, spiritual awakening at a legal brothel involving a malfunctioning penis.
He's accompanied by MAGDELENE, a Madam (think Catherine Zeta Jones at her smoky best), two prostitutes with uncanny Social Media skills, a spiritual guide in the shape of dead-drummer, DENIS, and Ralph's dodgy manager, MURRAY, who reckons there's money to be made in religion.
Fucking AWESOME, right?
But too weird and, crucially, too expensive for the UK. That said, if anyone out there works for AMAZON or NETFLIX, get in touch -- I've got five seasons!
RALPH SON OF
HOW FAR WOULD YOU GO TO GET ON THE PROPERTY LADDER?
What happens when a perfectly average young couple, working perfectly average graduate jobs, realise they'll NEVER save enough to be able to afford a mortgage?
They turn their flat into a dope-farm in the hope of earning enough in a year to claw their way onto the property ladder.
But when their neighbours find out, they ALL want in and the unwilling heads of a highly illegal Urban Farm slap-bang in the heart of South London.
Someone told me I'd written 'The Good Life meets Breaking Bad'. but theirs a difference ...
... URBAN FARMING's all TRUE.
'Are you completely feckin' MAD?', I stammered ...
Allow me to explain ... after Ralph went down in flames ('too weird, too expensive') and my heart was broken, Claire, beloved Development Producer, told me to go write a better script.
Bitter and sarcastic, I made a joke in very poor taste and said, 'how about something they'll never, ever make: a sit-com about cancer where everyone dies at the end!'
And she said ... 'you know, there's something in that.'
And she was right.
And it killed my Dad.
But, being a typical South Londoner, he went out joking about it to the very end. Because, that's what humans do, right?
We turn tragedy into comedy.
So, why not a sit-com about Cancer?
Let me know what you think.