So, 2020. That was a year. I spent most of it as part of the BBC Writersroom Northern Voices group, which began with monthly trips to Media City in Salford and ended with a Zoom party. The scheme comprised a series of writing workshops, covering just about everything script and TV-related. We had dedicated sessions on structure, character and genre, on writing for comedy, children’s TV and continuing drama, and Q&As with writers, agents and indie producers. Alongside this, we worked with script editors to write a spec' script and pitch document to send out at the end of the year. It was challenging, fun and eye-opening. When Lockdown 1 landed, the workshops moved to Zoom and the post-workshop pub debriefing moved to WhatsApp. One of the benefits of this was that there was a little more flexibility to add workshops to the schedule, and so in December we had an additional session with Andrew Burrell on writing Danger Mouse.

Full disclosure: I was crazy about the original Danger Mouse series as a child (he may even have been my first crush...) and was completely uninterested in the whole idea of a reboot. I couldn’t imagine it would have half the charm of the original. But when the workshop was scheduled, I started watching it and was delighted to find I was totally wrong in that assumption. All the best things about the original series have been preserved: the sarcastic narrator, the wit, the bonkers, action-filled plots, and - most importantly - the essence of the central characters and their friendship. I felt nostalgic for David Jason, but the new voice actors are brilliant. I immediately loved it, and made my sister watch some episodes with me (“the Queen is a CORGI”).

So I went into the workshop with Andrew with fairly high expectations of a fun time, and I wasn’t disappointed. We began with a fairly painless ice-breaker (possibly easier because us Northern Voicers already knew each other), talked a little about the series, picked an idea from a few we’d submitted ourselves before the workshop, and then got started on breaking the story for an episode. The idea we picked: Danger Mouse has a bad hair day.

We began by talking about the importance of DM and Penfold’s friendship, then about DM’s flaws and how having a bad hair day might affect him. We decided his vanity wouldn’t be able to take it and he’d lose his mojo. We decided the bad hair day was caused by Penfold doing DM’s hair and making a mess of it, making it grow uncontrollably. All the way through, Andrew nudged us to think about how ideas could play out as action on screen and we soon had DM battling wildly growing, sentient hair. More and more wild ideas followed, on a galactic scale. We talked about who would make a good antagonist and decided Count Duckula was the best fit for a story about vanity.

As we worked, Andrew steered us through the structure, explaining the four-act structure most commonly used for animated shows, starting with The Simpsons. It follows the arc I’ve become familiar with, from set-up and inciting incident, through rising action to a midpoint and beyond, to a resolution. Our protagonist recognises the flaw standing in their way and changes to overcome the antagonist. It’s all there, in a simplified form and with some specific features, like an apparent win that instead worsens the crisis in Act IIa and a moral decision in Act IV.

Structure is the element I have struggled the most to master. Another Northern Voicer (I’m afraid I don’t remember who!) said it’s like physics and I strongly agree, in that I know it’s important and underpins everything, but it is incomprehensible to me and I just kind of hate it. I can’t hear the word in a writing context without shuddering a little. Not in this session, though; it was very painless and made sense. I found it was much easier to think of what job the action should be doing at each stage, and find some ideas that worked.

As we threw in ideas, discussed them, focussed on what worked and discarded what didn’t, Andrew wrote everything up and read through it once we’d finished. It was so satisfying to hear a funny, coherent story come out of all the jokes and suggestions and what-ifs we’d thrown into the mix. We then created a logline, and there it was. Our outline for an episode of Danger Mouse.

After I’d logged off, I had a big grin on my face. Talking about ideas and creating stories is my favourite part of the process, and the fun thing about doing that with Danger Mouse was that it felt like absolutely anything could be on the table. Should DM also get a wicked set of acrylics? We decided against it in the end, but you know what? I’ll always have that mental image. The experience also solidified a thought I’ve had for a while, which is that working in a writers’ room could be a really enjoyable job for me, and probably a logical next step if I can swing it.

The other feeling I was left with was a sense of completion. Everything we’d learned in the craft workshops came into play: protagonists and antagonists, structure, storytelling through action, loglines and treatments. Although I’ve spent months thinking about those things as I wrote my pilot, there was something very clarifying about bringing it all into play for one episode outline. Things clicked into place. It almost felt like a final exam (albeit a very fun one) and a very fitting way to round out the year.

Find out more about our Northern Voices group for 2020/21

Andrew Burrell on the Danger Mouse reboot

Read Danger Mouse scripts in our library

Tom, how did you get started in scriptwriting? Was it something you were doing even as a young child?

I’ve always been a bit of a fantasist. I remember when I was pretty young I convinced myself that I was a spy (probably the youngest person working in MI6 at the time). I wrote my first script in the playground at the age of 8 and got my friends to perform it in front of the class. It was a vignette about the dangers of eating too much chocolate - a message which still holds true to this day.

I’ve always found something very satisfying about structure too and gravitated towards form. I wrote quite a lot of sonnets at university because I enjoyed the puzzle of making the meter and rhyme fit. Later on I realised that when these two elements came together, the freedom of creativity and the form of structure, I found my work flowed more easily.

I went to the University of East Anglia where I had a couple of great professors (Jonty Rea and Jonathan Hyde) who really believed in me. They gave me the confidence to make the transition from student to practitioner. I entered a short play I’d written into the NSDF (The National Student Drama Festival) and got picked up there to do a play for BBC Radio 4.

Have you had any involvement with BBC Writersroom in the past or was it influential in your development?

I love the BBC Writersroom. It’s an unbelievable resource. I went to a lot of seminars and workshops when I was first starting out. I also used the various calls for scripts as deadlines which helped me focus and made me feel like a proper writer. The feeling of being a proper writer is so important, knowing that someone is reading your scripts, taking you seriously. I’m not sure there’s a more valuable gift you can give a new writer when they’re first taking on the blank page.

Did getting an Oscar nomination (for short film Wish 143) mark a defining moment in your career? Did things change for you after that?

The Oscar nomination was a really strange, unexpected moment. I don’t think it affected my career trajectory too much. I was still a pretty new writer, fresh out of the BBC Writers' Academy* so I was still learning and developing. In many ways I wasn’t ready to showrun a major series because I needed experience. I remember having a general meeting at Dreamworks while I was out there for the Oscars and they asked whether I’d like to pitch anything to them. I said - no, I’m just enjoying being out here and meeting you guys. I’ll come back and pitch when I’m good enough. 

You have written across many different genres including children’s (Katy), comedy drama (My Mad Fat Diary), Continuing Drama (Holby City, EastEnders, Casualty, Doctors). Is there a link between your approach to them?

I approach every script in much the same way really - through story rather than through any expectations of genre, medium or theme. In the first instance I just focus on the narrative and the characters and trust that they will take me where I need to go.

Much of my approach to story comes from my time at the BBC Writers' Academy with John Yorke which had a profound effect on my writing. Rather than teach you how to write it showed you how you are already writing, how everyone writes, and that understanding allows you to make better story decisions and make them more quickly.

How did you become involved with Watership Down?

My agent passed the offer on to me from 42 Productions. I’m a huge fan of the novel and had read it a few times so I went in and talked to the guys about it and our ideas seemed to chime. Six years later it’s about to be on TV. I’ve aged terribly.

Were you also a fan of the 1978 animated film? Why do you think this was a good time for a new version of Watership Down? Are the issues in the story of particular relevance?

I think the film lives long in the memory because it’s so visceral and because of its famous song. I like the film and I think it’s a great piece of work in its own right but it’s only 90 minutes long (the novel is over 600 pages). As such it doesn’t really go deep enough into Richard Adams’ wonderful story and characters. My vision for our version was to show how much of a fantastic world builder Richard was - to give it the scale and time it deserves and hopefully introduce his work to a new generation.

The issues of environmentalism, despotism and fear are as relevant now as they ever were, if not more so. Because the themes are so exigent I decided to hit them pretty hard in certain areas of the story as there are certain things I’d rather be too on the nose with than too subtle.

Were there changes you wanted to make from the previous adaptations, or that were possible in this new version?

I didn’t reference the film at all in our adaptation as it’s not a remake. My job in this instance was to adapt the novel. The major changes I made from the original story were that I added more female characters and gave them more agency. I also cut down the core cast of rabbits to add clarity and reduce overlap of character archetypes. Richard Adams was a brilliant storyteller and this work in particular has a very classical structure. My job here was mainly one of preservation. If I did change things in terms of narrative it was usually just because the demands of good drama and good prose aren’t always the same. If people watch it and think something that I’ve added was in the book then that is the win for me. That’s the major win of this kind of adaptation. The goal is to become invisible.

Do you listen to any of the chatter online, the social media and memes about Watership Down being too scary for children – or conversely that the new version might tone down the violence and sanitise it?

It’s hard after working on something for so long not to feel attached to it. Your ego takes it on as part of yourself so it can feel very personal when it’s criticised. That aside I’ve worked on this project with the team for six years so I care deeply about them as creatives and friends. It really does take a monumental amount of effort to create any amount of drama let alone nearly four hours of animation. I couldn’t be more proud of what we’ve achieved with the show. A lot of people said that on our budget it was simply impossible.

Did you get to meet Richard Adams or discuss your vision of the story with him or his family?

I did meet Richard. He was a true gentleman. I had tea and cake with him in his home near The Down then went on a tour of the places featured in the novel with his illustrator and daughter, Ros. He was very excited to know that this new adaptation was on its way and his family have been so supportive and positive. When you adapt something like this for so long, when you live in the world of it, a connection or understanding forms that is hard to put into words. I suppose you begin to understand a person’s spirit. It’s been a real privilege to have it as part of my life.

Did you have any involvement in the casting? It’s an incredible cast.

No, but they are incredible! One of our stylistic choices was to make the rabbits look rather real and as such we didn’t want to use the same anthropomorphic distinctions other animations may use (different, more vivid colours or perhaps even items of clothing). The voice cast is so incredible that even though the rabbits look similar, like they would in real life, they are immediately very distinct. It’s very surreal looking through the list of people who are in it. It’s a testament to how loved and highly respected the source material is. Of course the best thing about it all is that I’m now only two degrees of separation away from Kevin Bacon.

What’s the best piece of writing advice you’ve been given?

Jimmy McGovern gave me the best piece of advice I’ve ever had - “You might not always be the most talented writer in the room but you can always be the hardest working”. He made me realise that writing is not about waiting for moments of inspiration it’s about the unbelievable amount of hard work that allows those moments to happen.

I’ve been lucky enough now to work with a few big stars but I’ve never been so star struck as when I met Jimmy McGovern. I completely froze and all I managed to say was “I bought the Cracker box set”. Then I got so embarrassed that I just walked off. It was like I’d just walked over to boast about buying his series for some reason and then had nothing more to add. It was awkward even by my own high standards. I still have that Cracker box set sitting on the shelf in my office staring down at me.

What have you got coming up next?

I’m currently working on a Netflix Original series called The Irregulars. Sherlock Holmes had a group of street kids he’d use to help him gather clues so our series is what if Sherlock was a drug addict and a delinquent and the kids solve the whole case whilst he takes credit. It’s my dream project and my oldest idea (I’ve been pitching it for ten years) and I couldn’t be more thrilled to be working on it with the team I made My Mad Fat Diary with at Drama Republic. Netflix are incredibly supportive for our vision for the show and it’s allowing us to be very ambitious with the way we’re telling our stories.

Watch Watership Down on BBC One on Saturday 22nd and Sunday 23rd December 2018 and on BBC iPlayer

Watch an interview with Tom Bidwell from our 2014 TV Writers' Festival

*The BBC Writers' Academy was set up by John Yorke in 2005 and ran until 2013. It trained writers specifically to work on the BBC's Continuing Drama shows - Doctors, Holby City, Casualty and EastEnders.

I grew up with two older brothers and as well as inheriting their 1970’s polyester school shirts with long, potentially eye gouging collars – which are probably an illegal fire/fashion hazard now – I also got my grubby little hands on their massive collection of plastic toy soldiers.   I’d spend hours and hours on my bedroom floor setting hundreds of them up in elaborate scenarios where a bunch of semi-painted Roman Legionnaires would ambush my Star Wars figures and Chewbacca would lead a valiant fight back aided by the Wehrmacht Africa Korp and a Knight on a three legged rampant stallion.  During these adventures the pieces of plastic were alive; they had their own personalities and had their own stories to tell.  Every battle was uniquely fluid but with a similar structure where sides were set, something happened - the slightly melted gladiator who had been too near the radiator would wind Han Solo up by saying his hair looked ‘wrong’ - which agitated a full on brawl and led to a grand finale where usually everyone got run over by a second-hand Snowspeeder.  The 8 year old me never planned how the story would play out but could fully engage with the plastic protagonists to such an extent that they could tell me what their story was.  If you’d told that little boy that 32 years later he’d be doing pretty much the same thing with a budget of a couple of million quid he’d have probably blown a raspberry and if he was being his usual facetious self would have said ‘what a twonk!’ and ‘have I not grown up yet?’   In answer to that judgmental little man the answer is yes... and fundamentally no.  As script editor, CBBC Producer and one of the writers on ‘Strange Hill High’ - which returns for its second series on April 29th - I’m still playing with plastic people and keeping alive that childlike obsession which is essential to create emotionally engaging dramatic characters. 

As a proper adult, like we are all pretend to be, these types of flights of fancy are frowned upon.  If your girlfriend asks why you don’t want to come to Ikea to pick up a new set of mauve coloured roller blinds and you say, ‘Sorry,  I’m busy contemplating how Templeton would fight off an invasion of cannibalistic Space aliens who look exactly like himself’, unless she’s very cool the best scenario is she’ll ring her bezzie and tell her you’re the most immature man she’s ever met, at worst she’s going to dump your ass and go out with Big Dave, the rugby player next door; he’s a proper grown up!  The same can be said for working in television.  The contemporary TV production process on a show like ‘Strange’ is very adulty and tough with all the budgets, spreadsheets, media politics, schedules, deadlines and associated stuff, and a lot of pressures and expectations but fundamentally the success or failure relies on being able to recreate and sustain a childlike belief that plastic people are alive and having the ability to honestly listen to what they have to say.  He didn’t realise it but the 8 year old me would have been quite good at this job because he had an instinctive understanding of three act structure with the set-up, escalation and devastating denouement...that was sometimes curtailed slightly when it was time for tea.  He also understood that once characters are established they take on a life of their own and the storyteller can be as surprised as the audience by what they do.
 

Developing the first series pretty much from scratch was fascinating.  We set out with a bunch of potential concept drawings for beautiful plastic figures designed by a very talented guy called Gaz Roberts and the creator of the show, Kat Van Henderson.  We didn’t know for sure who these characters were, how they spoke or what kind of stories they would be involved in.  We knew the show would be a bit ‘strange’ and ‘funny’ but we didn’t even know if it was possible to get lumps of plastic to talk, walk, jump, run, let alone demonstrate any emotion or personality.  To this blank slate the exec, Sarah Muller, bought together the likes of writer and showrunner Josh Weinstein (Simpsons/Futurama), voice actors including Emma Kennedy, Ben Smith and Richard Ayoade, the most amazing puppeteers like Tim Jones, and a fantastic group of art department and production people at Factory Transmedia in Manchester.  The one thing that all these people had in common was a slightly obsessive childlike ability to project their imaginations onto a piece of plastic and make it come alive.  This weird alchemy takes time and patience and has that troublesome but necessary adult production process and ‘real life’ constantly peering over your shoulder. 

Working on series 1 was great but it wasn’t until series 2 that I really appreciated what we had done.  Sitting in a writers’ room coming up with stories is the closest thing I’ve felt to playing with my plastic toys as that 8 year old boy.  We had a much better understanding of all the adulty sensible stuff like what is physically possible with the puppets, the pacing that works for contemporary animation, how many sets we had to play with, but also we were at the stage where these characters were so fused into our synapses that we just had to set up the situation and then let them do the talking.  Mitchell, Becky and Templeton were telling us what they would do rather than us telling them.  Confronted by a tricky plot point about how we narratively ‘fix’ a problem where Mitchell Tanner has cheated at Maths and got 101% in an assignment leading to the unravelling of reality itself.  It became obvious.  Mitchell is the one person that would confidently state he would get -1% in an exam to bring balance to the world.  It felt like it was the character’s idea.  It felt like we had reconnected to our child-like imaginative ability to invest life into inanimate objects. 

Now the production of series 2 is drawing to a close and our hard work is about to hit the telly and meet the best and most demanding audience in the world CHILDREN!  This’ll be the real test of whether we honestly did reconnect with the imagination that all kids innately possess and is so hard to hold on to when you’re subject to the adult work.   I hope the eight year old me would have liked what we’ve done.  I think he would.  And more importantly I hope all the millions of other eight year olds – and older! - across the world where ‘Strange’ is being shown (in Australia, the Middle East, Africa, and who knows where else the torrents are flying) like it.  More importantly I hope it sparks in them the urge to make the mental leap and accept that these pieces of plastic are really living, breathing people with real emotions and a penchant for hilarious adventures.  My greatest hopes are that another generation will grow up with their own obsessive relationship with people made of plastic and that they can hold on to a little bit of it through their adult lives ...and also that polyester shirts never come back into fashion.   There has got to be a story in there somewhere?  Over to you Mitchell Tanner!

The new series of Strange Hill High is on CBBC, Tuesdays at 5pm. 

Read Strange Hill High scripts in our online Script Library

More on Strange Hill High:

Q&A Audio Recording: Hear the creative team talk about series 1.

BBC Media Centre: Interview with showrunner Josh Weinstein.