Production during a pandemic no easy feat
While many television shows are looking mostly normal right now, writing and filming them during a global pandemic is anything but
On ABC'S Black-ish, Rainbow Johnson encounters scary realities as a doctor at the hospital. On NBC'S This Is Us, the Pearson family contends with the many effects of quarantine. And in the CBS hit Bull, the title character, a jury expert, endures the hallucinations of a disorienting disease that appears to be COVID-19.
To watch scripted television in recent weeks is to believe Hollywood has steamrollered through the pandemic. Fall shows, it would seem, are chronicling the grim interruptions to our lives without suffering any of their own.
But the up-to-the-minute plot lines gild what insiders say has been a very tumultuous time. COVID-19 and its restrictions have been taking a heavy toll on scripted television, forcing many productions to pause, budgets to rise, episode counts to be slashed and even some shows to be cancelled outright. Much like college football, an attempted projection of normalcy conceals the chaos beneath.
“Every one of our shows in production has been touched in some way by quarantine,” said creator Greg Berlanti, who has nearly 20 active series across broadcast networks and streaming, including Riverdale on The CW, You on Netflix and The Flight Attendant on HBO Max. “You have to commend everyone who's making things happen in really difficult times. But that doesn't mean these shows aren't being affected.”
For entertainment companies, the costs of COVID-19 are great, interfering with their ability to refill a depleted pantry after six months of non-activity.
For consumers, the effect — delays in new content they're eagerly awaiting while shut in at home — could be even greater.
“It's the equivalent of a restaurant packed with hungry customers and suddenly the kitchen has a grease fire,” said a producer who asked not to be identified because they didn't want to appear pessimistic to working colleagues.
Television production is not something most viewers regularly think about, in part because it takes a form very different from the polished finished product. It's the stuff of crews toting equipment around production hubs like Los Angeles, New York, Atlanta and Vancouver, of an assistant director co-ordinating actors' and extras' schedules with locations and shooting times. But the smooth
functioning of these mobile workplaces is how Americans are entertained — and, lately, how they can stay at home for months on end without causing harm to their family members.
Unlike films, which often work on years-long timelines, scripted TV thinks in weeks and months. That's a particular problem amid the sudden delays of a contagious disease.
In some ways, the systems put in place by studios — working closely with a consortium of Hollywood groups such as the Directors Guild and the performer-centric SAG-AFTRA in a 60-page Return To Work Agreement — have been surprisingly effective. Over the summer, many executives privately doubted that much new content could be produced before 2021. But prime-time scripted shows are not only being shot but making it to air. In addition to Black-ish, ABC has brought new episodes of The Conners and The Good Doctor to viewers; CBS has done the same with Young Sheldon, FBI: Most Wanted and several shows in its NCIS franchise, among others.
Streaming, less time-bound than the broadcast networks, has managed to finish episodes during the past few months. HBO Max's The Flight Attendant, shot partly during the pandemic, debuted recently; so did a new season of Tyler Perry's Ruthless on BET Plus, the channel's streaming service.
All of these shows are being produced under a system of “zones,” lettered A to D, on a given set. Zone A, composed of actors, is the most protected. Zone C, on the other hand, are for people who regularly work more than six feet from all other crew members and because they are behind the camera can more easily wear masks. Mandatory coronavirus “Compliance Officers” oversee all the zones.
Testing is conducted according to this hierarchical system. All full-time people in Zone A must be tested at least three times per week. Zone B requires at least one test per week; Zone C members are tested biweekly. Zone D are people who can work remotely, like an editor, and don't require regular testing.
Writers' rooms, meanwhile, remain virtual on nearly every show, a major shift from the days when dozens of creative people would gather in a small space for hours to hash out ideas.
But despite the nuanced procedures, the expenses have been high and the pauses many. Even the shows that have made it to air, such as Young Sheldon, have at times had to shut down due to positive testing. And many others that haven't debuted new seasons — from The Witcher on Netflix to The Resident on Fox to Mythic Quest on Apple TV+ — have all had to pause as crew members tested positive, potentially delaying the shows' releases.
While there have been no known cases of fatal illness on a Hollywood set since production resumed, other costs have been great. Shutdowns are pricey, since they require adding days and keeping crew retained. Thousands of tests and the compliance officers compound the expense.
“The `10-20 per cent' thing is real,” said Nathan Ross, a producer of film and television who counts Big Little Lies among his credits, referring to Hollywood's standard assumed number of additional budgetary expense on a COVIDera shoot. “You either have a company that's willing to pay for it or you have to make cuts.”
CBS has already imposed a broad policy as part of this austerity: The network has said it will make fewer episodes this season for many of its shows. If it takes more time and money to produce each episode, one solution is simply to make fewer — even if it means advertising revenue will go down with it.
Other companies have scrapped shows outright. Netflix recently announced it would cancel a slew of series, such as wrestling-favourite Glow and the young-adult The Society, because of COVID-19. Showtime shelved the critically acclaimed Kirsten Dunst capitalist satire On Becoming a God in Central Florida for similar reasons.
It's the equivalent of a restaurant packed with hungry customers and suddenly the kitchen has a grease fire.