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Former ³ÉÈËÂÛ̳ Comedy Producer and ³ÉÈËÂÛ̳ Alumni member Diane Messias is now a comedy writer. Here she reflects upon the joys and the pitfalls of comedy production and it isn’t always funny…

Mine was a bit of a circuitous route to a career in comedy. Briefly, it was music college, then subsequent engagement as a music director for , a topical satirical stage show for which I also wrote sketches, before becoming the show's script editor. After directing several productions including two consecutive sell-out runs at the Edinburgh Festival, ³ÉÈËÂÛ̳ Comedy took me on and the following five years were spent filling my CV with such schedule staples as One Foot In The Grave and The News Quiz, along with myriad shows across the entire gamut of what was then known as ‘Light Entertainment’.

Life as a producer/director is maddening; demanding; frustrating; exhausting; exasperating; head-banging; incessant. We are feisty and bolshy, passionate about pulling a perfect rabbit out of an ill-fitting hat for a deadline of yesterday, with never enough money. We're workaholic problem-solvers, bit-in-teeth determined wizards, lip-smacking, nit-picking, indomitable big-picture seers. And the truth is that you have no idea what's going to be thrown at you on any given day. As the saying goes, “We make plans, God laughs.” (I have that on good authority - check out the surname.).

Here comes the science bit:

1) The bottom line is that you ARE the bottom line

The very first thing you need to grasp when you embark on a career directing or producing is that everything that goes wrong is your fault and everything brilliant is down to somebody else. If your PA distributes the script with 87 pages of page 87 and 0 pages of pages 1–86 and 88–119, it's your fault.

Meanwhile, when your lead actor wins an award for his compelling portrayal of a doctor mostly based on his fluent pronunciation of the word 'plethysmograph' - which is entirely down to you having worked with him for 72 hours straight acquainting him with the syllables on an individual basis - it's totally due to his brilliance in the role. Get used to it, buck stopper.

2) As a producer or director, there's nothing you don't know, OK?

I made one radio series with a very well-known English actor* as one of the leads. Over Champagne at the Langham Hotel, paid for by The Actor I hasten to add, **Licence Fee payers breathe a sigh of relief** we discussed absolutely every single intricate aspect of his character, from background to foreground. It took hours and by the end of the process I was exhausted. This is not the typical way actors behave when booked for a not-that-brilliantly-paid radio job, involving barely more than reading from a script in front of a mic, with no live audience and ample time for as many retakes as necessary. But I left our meeting safe in the knowledge that Sir John Gielgud couldn't have put more effort into what would become his definitive portrayal of Hamlet.

Quite late on the evening before the recording, my home phone rang. I answered it to find The Actor on the other end of the line. “Diane,” he breathed silkily, “Just to confirm I'll be at the recording studios in good time tomorrow. Also to ask something I forgot the other night.” [THERE WAS NOTHING YOU FORGOT TO ASK THE OTHER NIGHT, APART FROM THE CHARACTER'S SHOE SIZE I didn't say.] “What do you want me to wear?” I advised something monochrome since radio was still in its black and white infancy.

3) Comedy’s a serious business

Another notable experience included producing Week Ending throughout the entire run of the first Gulf War which in itself made history, since in such times most broadcasting networks typically cancel anything remotely satirical. But Radio 4 rather bravely stuck its neck out and I’m delighted to report that the series won much acclaim.

However, such was the import of the decision, each week I had to run the pre-broadcast playback in the office of the Radio 4 Controller, Michael Green, with the Head of Comedy, Jonathan James Moore also in attendance.

Nobody laughed at any of the jokes but the only thing in the whole series that I had to amend was a sketch featuring the discovery that Saddam Hussein’s famous SCUD missile launchers were actually made out of cardboard; one of the writers had written a beautifully-constructed Blue Peter skit, in which instruction for making a SCUD missile launcher was given, using nothing more than 36,784 toilet roll inserts and a roll of sticky back plastic. I was asked to remove all allusion to Blue Peter, as “it might encourage young people to make their own SCUD missile launchers”.

What did my time at the ³ÉÈËÂÛ̳ teach me? Well, obviously it’s now a personal mission of mine to inform, educate and entertain and, whilst I’m still working on the last of those, if anyone wants a blueprint for a SCUD missile launcher along with a cardboard badge with some sails on it, just drop me a line with an SAE…

*Not his real name

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