Documentary by Design

In the TV world, documentary makers are often called writer/producers. This begs the question, "How can you write a documentary?" Of course, documentaries are supposed to unfold a slice of the real world before us, and while we know that things like narrations are scripted and that editing is a kind of composing, we still do not like to think of documentaries as written. It's an especially sensitive topic in these dark days; while a small handful of theatrically released documentaries are getting attention, the vast majority of documentary work, which is made for the TV screen, is getting squeezed.

Outlets are shrinking. So are budgets and production schedules. Meanwhile, expectations are growing on the part of network executives and sponsors. I don't take it too personally. Well, I try not to anyway. I know that studios and stations are under pressure in this highly competitive and litigious time to underwrite and air documentaries that make a splash and money without drawing negative attention. Those of us who have not run for the hills to do reality TV, news, or other genres in which there are more opportunities and money to be made have had to refocus our creativity. Instead of writing to the subject and the story—and then using our script as a blueprint for going out with our cameras and our questions and exploring the world—we use a lot of our creative energy writing scripts that fulfill the demands, or at least dodge the objections, of executives, lawyers, and underwriters.

Documentary scripts are like itineraries—they tell you the places you're going, but they're not supposed to determine the experience you have once you get there. These days, though, writing a documentary script is like organizing a group tour—not only does everyone have to go to the same place, but they are supposed to know in advance every last detail of the trip—even if everyone on the bus has a different agenda.

When I got into the business fifteen years ago, executives were more willing to give writers/producers leeway to craft a storyline as they saw fit. As long as the documentary turned out to be both interesting and educational, everyone was happy. Nowadays, those same executives want to be briefed every step of the way. They make what they call "suggestions." I call them "directives." They want shock and bedazzlement. "Is there a natural disaster we can include?" they ask. "What about a police standoff?" They want emotional payoffs with tears and laughter. "Have the subject talk about his dead grandmother." They want you to include odd segments that have little to do with the overall piece but that will make the sponsors happy. "Let's add a segment about Canada." This makes for an intense approval process of outlines, shooting scripts, and rough cuts.

Just like any trip that involves more than one traveler, documentaries start with a delicate balance of budgets, time, and expectations. I find that, increasingly, this is getting harder and harder to achieve. From my point of view, executives expect more and give less. Budgets are often a third of what they were seven years ago, schedules have been slashed in half, and expectations have risen tenfold. Just how, may I ask, am I supposed to produce a documentary on the state of African poverty on $50,000? Salaries and stock footage alone would eat that up. Let's not even talk about travel costs. Oh, yeah, "there is no need to travel in these times of extensive news coverage." And these days, every documentary needs a companion Web site. But rarely is there extra money to pay for that.

A couple of years ago, I worked on a documentary about a SWAT team that had a relatively small budget and fifteen days to shoot. The executives wanted me to guarantee a drug bust. In my fifteen shooting days, I also had to cover training exercises, event security missions, family life, and historical events. All of this was to be covered in an hour-long documentary and was to be reflected in my...