Rob Gilroy: Recording Me

This week, I was very lucky to hear one of my scripts being read out in public. That’s never happened to me before.

Well, I say ‘never’ – the truth is I have heard another person reading my lines out, but that’s why I’ve stopped writing in the library.

It’s one thing to read over someone’s shoulder, but quite another to start projecting to the rest of the room.

Besides, for a librarian she was a little over the top. I would have brought it down a notch.

But this week I was in Manchester, for the recording of the BBC Radio 4 programme, The Show What You Wrote.

It was one of the warmest days of the year and I chose to sit in a darkened room full of electrical equipment and people.

I’ve written before about the show – here. (I’m never sure if those links actually work; I just write the word ‘here’ and then underline it. Someone else does all the hyperlink-ing goodness, so if it doesn’t work then don’t blame me.)

The Show What You Wrote is a sketch show written by the public.

I’m not suggesting they go out to parks and supermarkets and get everyone to submit a word each, I mean it’s an open door policy.

Only those people that are demented enough to sit in front of a computer, fooling themselves into thinking that what they write is funny, are sad enough to even bother with it.

I was one of those people.

To my surprise, a couple of the sketches I wrote were accepted and, after some tweaking, they were just about ready to be heard by the ears of real people.

The reason I’m telling you this is not to brag.

OK, so maybe this is a little braggy, but the real reason is because hearing my work read out by proper actors and comedians (for the definition of ‘proper’; replace it with ‘paid’) was invaluable.

While I was giddy beyond belief to be sitting in on the recording – it’s the closest I’ll ever get to being the next Peter Sellers (except for the depression and multiple divorces) – as soon as it started, I suddenly realised how brutal this situation was.

What if people didn’t laugh? What if they booed? What if my lowly sketches caused such a backlash that it instigated a riot?

After all, The Kaiser Chiefs predicted one a while back and it’s long over due.

I sat there, holding my girlfriend’s hand (she was either there for moral support or to gloat if it went tits up).

As the show went on I got clammier and clammier. The only thing more clammy than me would be a clam.

People around were laughing at the other sketches but that could all stop without a moment’s notice, like an irregular heartbeat, or the ITV series ‘Heartbeat’.

Fortunately, people laughed. I don’t want to say loads, as that would be ungracious, but it was certainly out loud.

There were some bits where they didn’t laugh but it’s like I shouted at the time – “those lines aren’t supposed to be funny!”

One of the things I realised from hearing it being read out was that it’s completely different to how it sounded in my head.

It’s the same with my voice, in reality it’s much more nasal than I would like.

As someone who writes and performs, I have a very clear idea of how I would deliver one of my own scripts.

It’s easy to assume that that’s how other people will interpret it too. The truth is, they won’t.

Different people read things differently, and if they’re dyslexic then it will have to be read to them, which means someone else is doing the reading.

By that point you have three different slants on the same material.

I’m not saying this as though the programme makers got it wrong – they didn’t. In fact, they most certainly made it better.

But it was clear to see how different our approaches were.

Elements of delivery and casting were completely opposite to what I would have done and made the sketches much stronger in the process.

It’s certainly made me address how I write things in future.

In many ways, I will continue to write as I do – but going to the recording taught me a great deal.

It has taught me which lines work better in front of audiences, and which aren’t funny enough.

It has taught me not to get too attached to certain lines or the delivery.

It has taught me to put a great deal of faith in the professionals who produce these shows.

And it has taught me that if you’re going to sit in a dark, warm room for two hours, never wear suede.