Producer's Commentary: Dicks Season 13
Going into this season, I had a very different picture of it in my head. I won't say what it was originally about, because that might spoil things. But when I had the first episode finished, it inspired me to totally change the whole story, and make something very personal. I think it was a good idea, because it further solidified the Dicks family, and allowed me to make some philosophical observations based on personal experience.
Once I settled on this new direction, the season practically wrote itself. I had enough material for twenty episodes or more, but I felt that would be entirely too much to handle (as it is I spent much of my time in tears as I worked), so I got out the Big Knife and started hacking out the superfluous stuff to get it down to the most important points.
Now, I did not have a heart attack, but a very dear friend did, and he has shared a deeply detailed story of his experience. I then blended it with my own experiences in the hospital having heart treatments. The result is thus a merging of two worlds into one that I believe is quite effective.
This is yet another season with a single story arc, a trend I do not see ending anytime soon. Staying on a single topic helps writing immensely, and allows me to be more expansive in storytelling. And keeping it contained in a season provides a framework with a beginning, middle and ending, which I think is satisfying. In a way, a season is now more like a single ten-minute episode.
I faced many technical hurdles, mostly do to with having so many different off-site settings, including multiple hospital sets. As per usual, my initial plans were quite involved. But I soon realized I might spend a month just creating new art, so I applied the KISS principle in a major way. I believe this helped keep the storytelling focused. Still, I think I did more animation for this season than any other so far.
Season 13 was always going to start this way, but I quickly changed the direction when I realized
I could incorporate many personal experiences. This was a very, very difficult episode to create,
however. I actually built it from the two ends toward the middle, which forced me to keep the end
really tight and punchy. I had visions of making an ambulance and all sorts of other crap, until
I realized the focus should be on the people and their deer-in-the-headlights reaction to a
whirlwind of events.
I spent a great deal of time on the final ten seconds: a few days, in fact. Not because it involved new artwork or anything; indeed, the only new art was Valerie's flats of flowers. The task was to get the timing just right. A few frames here and there made all the difference. A lot of work revolved around Valerie's scream (which came from a collection of horror film sound effects that I pitched down to match Valerie's voice better). It all started to click when I had the scream start just as Paul clenched his chest. At that point, the episode's emotional toxicity reached its peak for me, and it was a serious challenge to finish the episode.
By keeping the end as tight as possible, I had plenty of room for the "just an ordinary day" stuff to mislead the viewer. I don't know how evident it is, but Paul's chewing and heartbeats are timed to match the ticking clock. Also notice that his cat Zack reacts at the same time he does. I've always felt that animals can sense such things.
With the season's course change came a new world of things to explore. "A Night" looks
at waiting. It's hard on people. It turns hours into days. So I allowed the entire episode to be one
long wait. Some viewers might not get it, since there's no conventional story being told; it's simply
an experience. But it's one with which most people are likely familiar.
Suspending events for an entire episode also might keep the tension up: Did Paul live or die? We must wait to find out...
I used the setting to take a little look at character dynamics, especially between Glen, Dot, Ping and Carl. Notice that Glen stays put, but he does slump down in his chair ever so slowly. I was going to include a snore for him at the end, but thought better of it. I didn't want to introduce anything comical that might break the tension.
The title is related directly to a story element, but it's also a bit misleading at first, potentially
suggesting Paul didn't make it. But he did, and hospital bureaucracy immediately rears its ugly
head when Sam advises the doctor that he will take care of any costs not covered by insurance,
but that, no, he's not Paul's actual son. Carl and the rest of the family then step in to
force the issue.
I'm not all that thrilled with this episode because I could not get the conflict to sound natural. And I didn't want them to get too aggressive with the man who saved Paul's life. I rewrote the last few lines quite a number of times to keep it less confrontational, but to preserve the point. I almost threw the episode out altogether and start over, but I couldn't find a more satisfying angle.
I really pulled out the stops for the animation. It was the second-to-last episode I completed, by which time I had a healthy library of visual elements. The doctor's entrance through the glass doors was an enormous "stack" of bits and pieces, including the doors themselves (complete with tinted glass), the waiting room wall, and the hallway outside that features an elevator. Everything that would move, light up or otherwise change does so during the course of the episode. Loads of fun.
There were numerous other challenges as well, such as animating five or six characters while changing the focus. I solved this problem by pre-rendering all of the characters into a video, then changing the focus on the video.
I could have gone overboard on set detailing, but soon learned to keep things down to just those elements that make the setting identifiable. For instance, the building outside seen through the window is just a wall of rectangles that go from dark to light over the course of the sequence. No cars, no ambulances, no other people, just parts of signs to situate the viewer. Indeed, I had planned on creating the receptionist's desk and receptionist for Sam when he asks about Paul, until I realized that his concerned face and the dialog were all we needed to sell the point.
Yes, if the doctor seems familiar, he is indeed the weather announcer from "It's Looking Really Bad Out There," as well as the marketing guy from "Marketing" and "Prepare for Reentry." In the case of the marketing guy, I confess I did it mostly out of laziness; this time, however, I did it deliberately, because this character has a special future purpose that I'm not prepared to reveal. You'll just have to wait.
This episode is based entirely on an actual experience of mine. My best friend, who I regard as the
son I never had, was visiting me in the hospital. I complained about the incessant tests and lousy
food, and he offered to sneak in some treats. Orderlies arrived to take me away for more tests, and he
wanted to go with me, but that was forbidden. So he followed me down the hall to the elevator,
peered through the closing doors, and assured me he'd be there when I got back.
In the elevator I had a conversation with the orderly, which is practically word-for-word what appears in the episode. It was astounding. I wished that the elevator would continue on for another hour so I could keep taking with the young woman.
I was going to create and animate the orderly, until I started cutting the scene together, and recalled that I barely saw her; I only glimpsed her once or twice during the trip. And that's when I struck upon the idea of never showing her onscreen: it was true to life. Pretty much all I saw was the elevator door; she was just a disembodied voice to me. So, if you think not animating her was me being lazy, think again. I was more than willing to do so, but realized it served the episode better without her.
Here I reveal an annoying (to others) trait of mine: being the perennial pessimist. After my diagnosis,
I did some pretty deep research into my condition, and found that the statistics were stacked steeply
against me. So I automatically assumed I'd be just another statistic and be dead within a couple of years.
(As of this writing, I've outlived the stats by three and a half years.)
As it was originally written, this was a depressing, maudlin episode, and it was beginning to wear me down. As I was assembling the hallway scene, it occurred to me that Glen was sitting on some cheap chair, and recalled that one of the jokes from (yikes!) Season 1 was that he tended to crush chairs. So I replaced the tear-jerking ending with a chair-crushing event which, for reasons I can't explain, I find hysterical. I think it's because Paul dryly states the obvious, and Glen repeats it.
trivia: during the credits, there's a call over the PA: "Maintenance, A434," which is the room number on the sign over Glen's head. Also, look carefully at the fire exit sign. (You probably can't read it if you're watching on a cell phone. Too bad.)
Having used this setting twice before already, I began fearing that it might get overused. But I really
like the format, so I caved in and used it again. I love the dynamics between these three characters,
and the fact that they might bicker a bit on occasion, but still adore one another. This time I allowed
Glen to be a tad ignorant of Sam's food service, and in the process of getting clued in, we learn more
about it, and why Paul enjoys it so much. The sentiment at the end, however, is the emotional core of
the episode: we cannot know how much time Paul actually has left, and so we must take advantage of every minute
he's alive.
Here I allow myself to reveal where my head has been at ever since my diagnosis. I have a ticking
time bomb in my chest, and this is just how it feels. I also place emphasis on a rather chilling
fact: if I go into cardiac arrest, let me die. I do not want to be kept alive by science
and medicine under any circumstances. Others might be okay with it, but I sure as hell am not.
Most of my closest friends understand; some do not. But my life is not for them to control.
When Nature decides it's my time, I'm perfectly fine with that.
With the weighty material presented thus far, I thought it was high time for a few laughs. I wasn't
sure where this one was going until I got into the daily exercise routine, and that's when the
whole "cat poop" topic emerged. I had enough material for several episodes, and I surely
which I could have used more (perhaps it will find its way into future episodes). I needed the time
to set up the punchline, and that's where I went a little crazy: doing the chest-bursting (in a very
cartoony style) was a blast.
Done 100% for laughs, "Feast" ended up quite different from how I'd envisioned it.
Originally it was just him eating end-to-end, but along the way I realized that, first,
gluttonous eating (as in eating competitions) really grosses me out, and second, it was
a technical challenge I simply didn't care to attempt. So, I instead made it all a setup
for a tremendous, cartoony belch. All of the eating takes place offscreen; all we see are the
food containers. In truth, that was enough of a technical challenge, especially stacking the
empties: I think I spent more time on that than almost anything other single item in the season.
I like bookends. In this case, I recycled the first two-thirds of the first episode intact, with only
the final scenes changed. Upon watching it finished, however, I thought it might mislead some viewers
into thinking the heart attack was a dream. So, I went back in and turned it into a "spot the
differences" puzzle. At Glen's cookout, Dot and Ping are swapped, and Valerie has two flats
of flowers to plant at Rita and Roy's graves. Maybe it's enough, maybe not. I don't care; all I wanted
to do was bring Paul to the point of finally accepting Sam as his son.