Welcome to a new year and a fresh look at crafting compelling narratives, especially when it comes to dialogue. As a TV writer, and like many in the field, I’ve often grappled with making characters sound distinct and real, not just mouthpieces for the writer. Teaching dialogue is a challenge, and my methods often stem from lessons learned early in my career, particularly during my time on Diagnosis Murder.
One episode stands out: a rewrite of a script titled Malibu Fire. The premise, as you might guess, revolved around fires in Malibu. Our showrunners occasionally indulged in stunt casting, bringing in familiar faces from shows like Star Trek, Happy Days, M.A.S.H., and even former TV spies. For this Malibu Fire episode of Diagnosis Murder, they drew inspiration from the 1970s series Emergency!, which was about firefighters, paramedics, and an emergency room. This led to casting Randolph Mantooth, Kevin Tighe’s daughter, Robert Fuller, and others from the Emergency! universe.
My role in the Diagnosis Murder Malibu Fire episode was primarily focused on dialogue refinement, not major plot changes. However, one scene demanded significant attention: a conversation between a father, played by Randolph Mantooth, and his teenage daughter – who, spoiler alert, was revealed to be the fire starter.
Serendipitously, we were filming on location in Malibu during a week when actual fires were burning nearby. This provided us with some genuinely dramatic B-roll footage of flames encroaching on the hills, adding a layer of real-life tension to our fictional Malibu Fire storyline for Diagnosis Murder.
I remember watching the filming of that particular scene in a small monitor-equipped tent. Mantooth and his on-screen daughter were captivating. The dialogue flowed naturally, lines were delivered flawlessly, and the emotional depth was palpable. Even the usually bustling crew was silent, and at the scene’s conclusion, a rare smattering of applause and approving nods rippled through the set. As a writer, it was a moment of immense pride.
A couple of days later, back on set, I had the opportunity to speak with Randolph Mantooth. After expressing my gratitude for his exceptional performance and remarking on his perfect line delivery, he shared a piece of wisdom that has stayed with me: “It’s easy for an actor to memorize lines when it sounds like real people are talking and not just a writer writing.”
Years later, during one of my final episodes as a producer, Mantooth’s words resurfaced in my mind. Suffering from a migraine, I was seeking refuge under a pile of coats in the wardrobe trailer when the first assistant director (AD) brought in a distressed actor struggling with his lines.
The script tasked this unfortunate actor with portraying a stereotypical villain, burdened with dialogue that was a torrent of cliché villainous pronouncements. His particular trouble spot was a near-full-page monologue, a section of the script I personally disliked.
Watching him rehearse, I noticed he consistently stumbled between the first and second paragraphs, often attempting to skip to the third. The AD confirmed this was his recurring block.
“Sides, please,” I requested. Examining the script pages, Randolph Mantooth’s insight echoed in my memory. I grabbed my ever-present pencil, struck out the problematic middle paragraph, and instructed the actor to try again, omitting the deleted section. He delivered the revised lines perfectly. I sent the actor, the bemused AD (accustomed to my impromptu script edits), and the amended sides back to the set.
The core lesson, reinforced by the Malibu Fire episode of Diagnosis Murder and Randolph Mantooth’s astute observation, is this: always remember that actors are vital collaborators in the storytelling process, bringing a wealth of experience with language and human interaction. Their instincts are invaluable in ensuring dialogue resonates as authentic and impactful. And sometimes, like diagnosing a problem, less is truly more.
