Can you call someone the N word if you have Tourettes?

Hello my lovelies!

Just when you thought it was safe to get back in the water, I’m back with another panto blog. My apologies for keeping you waiting. I’ve reached the point in my research where I’ve collected my data, built my models, produced my pantomimes and am in the process of writing it up... OH DEAR GOD, there is so much writing up!

Pied Piper of Hamelin
A play wot I writ ’n’ directed this season.  
Too late, you missed it!

However, as there are times as an academic studying identity in entertainment, that life throws you something so wonderfully thought provoking, you have to put down your literature review and blog about it.

Official logo: Barnsley Amateur Formica Tabletop Assemblers 

If there’s one thing I’ve learned from hours of interviewing professional panto makers about how our industry needs to change, it’s that there are almost as many opinions out there as there are people to hold them. Is Aladdin offensive? Should you cast dwarfs in Snow White? Can you have a man playing dame anymore? Trying to work out exactly what is offensive, or even who gets to be offended by it is (literally in my case) a full time job.

However, even in amongst these diverse opinions, there was one thing on which we could all surely agree. A bedrock, if you will, of ethical consensus. That is: if someone shouts the N-word at two black celebrities, live(ish) on the BBC, we all get to be offended.

SURELY WE CAN ALL AGREE ON THAT?

CAN’T WE?

CAN’T WE?!!!

No. We can’t. Let me explain.

THE BAFTA AFFAIR

One of these men has Tourette’s and two are from the global majority.  
Can you guess who’s who?

For anyone who’s been living in a cave for the past fortnight, you may want to be sitting down when you read this.

On Feb 22nd, in the Royal Festival Hall, London, John Davidson sat in the audience at the BAFTA Film Awards. He had every reason to be there. He was an executive producer on I Swear, a Bafta-nominated film about his own life with Tourette's syndrome. 

The audience had been briefed. They knew he might tic. They had consented to share a room with him. What the audience had not consented to, and what Davidson could not control, was a microphone. 

As Michael B Jordan and Delroy Lindo took the stage, Davidson's Tourette's produced a racial slur... a bad one... THE bad one (depending on who you ask)... considering Jordon and Lindo are both black, arguably the WORST one. 

Not ginger!

(… an anagram of.)

In the room, it was heard, contextualised, and absorbed. The audience had been prepared. The room held it. 

The BBC had not been prepared. The BBC did not hold it…

In fact, despite having two hours to edit it out, the BBC broadcast it into the front rooms of SEVERAL MILLION PEOPLE! 

1. Jamie Foxx called it unacceptable on Instagram. 
2. Production designer Hannah Beachler revealed it had happened to her personally, on the way to dinner after the show. 
3. Labour MP Dawn Butler wrote to the BBC demanding an urgent explanation. 
4. Culture Secretary Lisa Nandy called it "completely unacceptable and harmful.” 
5. The BBC apologised. 
6. The BBC apologised again. 
7. BAFTA launched a review. 
8. The BBC's Executive Complaints Unit was fast-tracked. 

In the comment sections, the old arguments resurfaced with new ammunition. 

💬 "He must be able to stop himself.”

💬 "He must be racist, otherwise he wouldn't even be thinking of that word.”

Film director Kirk Jones didn't sleep for two nights. 

"It just suddenly felt," he said, "like I'd gone back 20 years.” 

The film about what it means to live with Tourette's had just become a test case for something much larger. And everybody, it seemed, had something to say about it. 

But WHO were we supposed to listen to? 

Positioning 

In my modelling, I’ve built upon the work of Rom Harré, a man who (amongst other things) has inspired me to learn the keyboard shortcut for é.

Rom Harré: Acclaimed philosopher and runner-up Pontin's saddest clown 2004

Harré argues that all of us, all the time, make sense of the world through narrative. In essence we are all our own story tellers, but exactly what story we’re telling (and who gets to tell it) are socially negotiated.

There’s a big difference in writing an autobiography and appearing as a character in somebody else’s. The word Harré uses for who gets to decide who’s who is “positioning”. If you’re in the driving seat, you have position. If someone else comes along and establishes position over you, you may find you’re suddenly just along for the ride.

Harré (and a whole bunch of theorists who come after him) identify all kinds of mechanisms and factors by which position is socially negotiated in practice – but one which I think is particularly interesting in this case is scale.

You see, when a story unfolds, it may do so simultaneously over a number of scales, from private and interpersonal all the way up to national and beyond! Someone who might have position right here, right now, amongst these people, may find themselves out of position as the story scale shifts to another forum.

A black performer with a great deal to say about racism in entertainment, may suddenly find themselves out of position if the conversation becomes one about how society accommodates people with disabilities.

Pantomime

“Theory’s all very nice and everything,” I hear you silently asking, "but what in Widow Twankey’s laundromat has any of this got to do with pantomime?”

Well, it turns out, quite a lot.  According to my reckoning, in most of the “panto-crises” I’ve analysed, exactly the same dynamics are at play: positioning, social negotiation, scale shift. (Huge teaser alert for my upcoming published analysis!)

It may be the case that who gets to be offended by what is less about who they are, and more about at the scale at which the conversation ends up occurring… and this is something the industry has an awful lot of control over.  

I’ll leave you with that thought for a moment.  If it does spark any interesting ideas, let me know quick so I can get it into my PhD!

A tittilating blast from the past

RESEARCH FINDING: These two ingredients are KEY to making better panto

It seems like forever ago that I started my PhD research exploring the question: "How does contemporary British Pantomime respond to Evolving Ideas of Identity?"  For those of you that have continued reading my blog, I'm sure it seems like even longer!

In truth, it's only been three years (nearly), and the end is very firmly in sight. In that time I have:

• interviewed dozens of panto big wigs, 
• held town hall meetings with my audiences, 
• gathered stakeholder feedback, 
• recorded dozens of hours of audio diaries, 
• innovated the form, and 
• analysed my companies data to death.  
• And read about a bajillion books about pantomime history.  
• And another bajillion about identity politics.  
• And at least two bajillion about academic methodology (don't even...) 
• Oh, and best of all - I've produced 7 pantomimes, which I used as a test bed to put my research and ideas into practice.  

I am knackered.  I look forward to publishing my research next year, telling you all what I've discovered, along with my recommendations for best practice.  BUT IF YOU DON'T WANT TO WAIT THAT LONG... Right here, on this very blog I can reveal for the first time ever  

My Top Two Innovative Contributions to the Form!!!!

* Application of the Hyperlocal Lens *

* The Repositioning of Meaning-Value with a Gifting Paradigm *

"What are you on about?"  

"Why those two things?"

"How did you get to that decision?"

So many questions! I know - it's exciting, isn't it?  Let me explain... from the very beginning. It's a very good place to start. (Apparently - Julie A.)

The Big Bang (T = -6 months)

I got the idea to start my research after a very effervescent conversation about race and Aladdin.  The conversers were a diverse bunch with loads of different opinions, and I found myself defending the "it's traditional" corner.  Before anyone gets any silly ideas: I wasn't in the "slap on some yellow face paint and pigtails" corner, just the: as long as everyone is respectful, it's surely OK to set it in China camp.  

The Emperor of China, Stockport Plaza (2012).
Yellow masking tape over eyes, Wickes (£3.50 per roll)
NB Going by the poster, the upcoming 2025 production features the same costume track! -
hopefully the make-up pad has run out of yellow by now...

I love a good argument!  I'm not even very averse to a bad one, from time to time.  However, in this case I found myself frustrated - not because I was losing. Because I was shut out.  I was white, middle-class, privileged - I had no first hand experience of "feeling yellow," or racial discrimination - and therefore, my view was deemed worthless and therefore disregarded. I'm eager to concede that there is huge and irreplaceable value to be derived from those with lived experience, both in the perspective that it may offer and also in the profundity of subjective truth that it can unlock - however, doing so would not help me.  Even if one could change race, to do so just to win an argument would surely be the worst type of colonialism. 

With all other options off the table, it is to my great chagrin that my antagonistic-ape-brain conjured up for me a secondary, more obscure route by which I might enhance my credibility: "All you need to do" it whispered, "is become the world's expert in that field, and then, come back in 4 years time and retort "AHA! My opinion does matter!"

Stupid, petty, peevish ape-brain... why are you always inventing the most ridiculous strategies just to try and defend your overinflated ego?!

Six months later I was enrolled as a PhD candidate.

Aladdin (T = 12 months)

That Christmas we produced Aladdin at the Met in Bury.   It was the second time we'd staged the show - this time in a much bigger town with vastly different demographics.  Our production practices were informed by what I was learning - we tried different approaches to casting, rewrote the script to reflect different heritages of the actors, even remade a few costumes. However, I didn't lose sight of the main aim: vindication.

The production did end up with a more ethnically diverse cast, but it also had:

• Traditional Peking location
• Glittery Chinese set and cloths
• Chinese policemen
• An Empress in traditional style costume and black wig
• Hanfu inspired costumes
• A traditional Chinese liondancer costume
• Travel to Egypt
• Traditional laundry scene
• Traditional character names
• A gong sound effect
• The Old Bazaar in Cairo
• Sand dance choreography

It also had zero audience complaints, record box office takings, and excellent reviews across the board - including a review in the British Theatre Guide that acknowledged the production "sticks to its traditional setting... while avoiding any uncomfortable racial stereotyping" and "is made by people who clearly love the form."

"There," I thought, "that proves it - it can be done."  I should have felt vindicated, but actually, I felt like... I was answering the wrong question.

The tropes of Aladdin were solidified over 100 years ago, in Victorian Britain - a Britain that was very, very different to the country we live in today.  Not just demographically, but culturally, and also internationally.  The reasons why the Victorians included all these conventions in the panto have either dissipated or withered away.

"OK," I thought.  "So, you can defend Victorian Aladdin. But so what?  Why should we bother?"

If the Victorians used pantomime to build their identity, why shouldn't we?  If pantomime could help build an empire, what else could it do?  It seemed to me, these were much better questions!

★★★★★ 

"Pure family Christmas entertainment and everything you want for a fun filled two and a half hours (including interval), take the family and enjoy"

ABOUT MANCHESTER

 

Rumpelstiltskin (T = 12-24 months)

My first attempt to explore these questions was Rumpelstiltskin.  

No. Days to rehearse the play: 8
No. Days for Will to make the cartouche hang straight: 1.5

It was a familiar title with a mostly-forgotten story, which was great for me.  I bastardised the script and turned it into a play about otherisation and in-/out-grouping dynamics.  Even though the production felt super traditional, it challenged fundamental tenets of the form including what it means to be a villain and the Boalian positioning of the audience as spect-actors.  I loved turning everything upside down, encouraging the children to sell their souls to Rumpelstiltskin in act 1 and hearing the whole audience chanting spells for his revival by the end.  Dramaturgically it had such depth, we had some audience members weeping, yet we managed to deliver it with a lightness of touch that made it relatable for all ages.  It was in the words of the Manchester Evening News a "family crowdpleaser that punches well above its weight."

Nancy Penvose (left) was so dedicated to the role of Rumpelstiltskin
she purposefully lost 4" of height during rehearsal to make him appear more vulnerable

It was a great first foray into how panto could address issues of identity.  But it did so passively.  It was time to try a more active approach.

The Victorians didn't use panto to talk about identity, the used it to create identity.  "I'm going to have a go at that," I thought.  Then spent a few months wondering what identity I wanted to create.

A great fact I'd picked up somewhere from some book that I'm currently too lazy to look back up is: by 1900, 60% of all London pantomimes were staged at least partially in another country. Aladdin was incredibly popular, but even titles like Cinderella had been spruced up (with one production being set in Ethiopia) and seemingly every time we had a war (which was a lot of times, btw) some production of Jack and the Beanstalk would personify our opponent as the Giant.  That's all well and good if you're trying to inculcate an imperial identity within an ethically homogenous, not internationally travelling audience.  But I don't have one of those - so I'd have to do some more thinking.

The Hyperlocal Lens

During my research, I've been keeping a reading log.  I'm now up to about 300 books, which is about right for a PhD bibliography.  But unlike other PhD bibliographies, mine reads like marched through a library with a blunderbuss full library cards, randomly shooting at every disciplinary section and reading the first five books on any shelf I hit.  

Partly this is because when I started I was so ill-informed that I had to get up to base level on pretty much everything all at once.  I've read books on Victorian pantomime, the British Empire, Crip Theory, Feminist theory, Orientalism, Identity Theory, Identity Politics, Psychology, Post-Colonialism... you get the idea.

It was about this time, as I was getting immersed in Media Studies, that I came across the idea of hyperlocality: a way of thinking about geographically bounded shared cultural experience.  Or in other words, things made for people who live near each other.  It was a really interesting lens. Over the last 100 years, demographic shift had changed the make up of panto audiences so much that the rationale underpinning the conventions of the genre was increasingly unsound. Unlike Victorian audiences, modern pantogoers are not a sea of white, Christian, or even British faces - so what are they?  Well, unless you're producing the Palladium panto... they are all local.

This is a local pantomime for local people!

Ironically, Victorian panto producers were already onto this idea, long before Media Studies even existed.  The go-to academic on the topic of regional pantomime production 1860-1900 is Jill Sullivan who first showed in her PhD thesis (2005) "the available empirical evidence has served to foreground the pantomime text as an expression of local concerns and political interests that were particular to each town and displayed an acute awareness of issues of regional identity and status."  

Tip-off: Sullivan's book on the topic:  "The Politics of the Pantomime: Regional Identity in the Theatre 1860–1900" is a fantastic read for anyone interested in the topic (as it was particularly for me, as it has a plethora of specific examples of pantomimes staged in Manchester.)

These hyperlocal conventions seem to get slowly shed by commercial producers during the twentieth century, as mass media shrinks first the country and then the world.  Popular comedy routines become embedded, divorced from their original meaning and then stale.  The pursuit of economies of scale lead to the consolidation of regional contracts into large portfolios of a small number of national players.  The final death knell for hyper localism may well have been heard with the casting of international celebrities, as documented by the UKPA's Simon Sladen.

In the process, the form lost two things of immense value: urgent relevance and connection to their audiences.  I want them back.  And I think we can get them.

A note of caution: Victorian Pantomime production and contemporary practice face vastly different contemporary mores and demographies.  Victorian pantomimes reinforced local identity as a foil against London-centred homogenisation of extent regional cultures. Modern pantomime must respond to modern audiences who increasingly originate from diverse locations and may include transitory and immigrant populations with few or no long standing ties to the local area and/or theatre tradition.  When we use pantomime to reinforce local identity, we do so not to defend, but to create.  For the modern producer, hyperlocality is an action, not a reaction - and as such, demands a greater level of sophistication, forethought and precision in its application.

Mother Goose (T = 24 months)

The next iteration of my practice was a hyperlocal production of Mother Goose which we made from scratch specifically for Saddleworth.  I'm not the first person to reimagine this outdated story in the present moment - in our production, Mother Goose didn't wish for beauty or youth, but 100000 TikTok followers instead.  

Despite his best efforts, hyperlocal puppy Toby was largely ineffective at installing the set

Not only did we make it much more relevant for right now, at the same time we made great efforts to make it relevant right here. We made it hyperlocal.

I love Saddleworth, and so does my audience.  So it seemed like the natural place to set the story.  We went round the town taking photos of interesting and recognisable views - views which we then reimagined in our cloth designs.  Saddleworth is a rural community, so I dumped the demon and brought in a Fox... from Fox Entertainment in Media City, Manchester (the valley and the identity of those who live there is distinct from, and contrasted to their giant metropolis next door).  I wrote in dialect, and filmed VT sections around the town with local people and familiar faces, which we then projected as part of the show.  

Imaginary villain Phineas Fox played by real-life fox Tessa Vale 

Outside the auditorium I called town hall meetings and took polls on what the audience thought was important.  We visited local events throughout the year, in costume.  We engaged with local drama groups, schools and charities, running workshops and competitions.

It was in the production of this show that I felt, as a practitioner, the reward I had hoped would have come from our Chinese-Aladdin.  Aladdin had been my show.  Mother Goose was Saddleworth's show.  And the audience knew it!

Mother Goose led me to articulate another vital pillar of my theoretical framework: 

Meaning-Value and the Gifting Paradigm

When I had started, I had viewed meaning as a thing to be owned, as exemplified in thoughts such as: "You don't own the story Aladdin, just because you've got Chinese heritage," or "I can use my production to create my own meaning."

I have now come to understand that greater value of meaning is realised not through the act of claiming ownership over it, but through the act of giving ownership away.

Pantomime is a commercial form.  Producers make shows to sell.  The most successful and canny producers have a very firm understanding of their target audience: demography, price points, access requirements, celebrity draws. Their production processes are well-oiled machines, turning out palatable productions that equate to bums on seats.  One might say that these producers make these shows for their audience. This is a linguistic trick.  Actually, they make their shows for profit.  The pantomime production is a product, owned by the company, and rented out in 2-hour viewing slots to their target demographics. 

If a pantomime production were truly made for an audience, ownership must be exchanged.  Production processes are still acts of creation, but not of a product, but of a gift.   The distinction is hugely important.

A product is something you can buy off the shelf, generic, available to anyone, anywhere.  Commercial producers love making products - products are very profitable. They can be made to a blueprint by on a schedule, on a line, by workers who only do one thing. Products can be made from interchangeable parts so they are easy to replicated, standardised and predicted.  Products are replaceable.  When somebody buys a product, they buy one instance; the company retains the blueprints and the processes to turn out another instance, and another and so on ad infinity.

When you make a gift for someone, you do so with that person at the forefront of your mind - from the start to the end of the process/. You think about what they already have, and imagine what they might need or want or be delighted by. To make a gift is to make something bespoke, one-off, especially for them, especially by you.  When you give a gift, you relinquish control. It still remains your creation - just as one might recognise a painting as "a Picasso," without implying Picasso still owns it - it just stops being your thing.  

For all the reasons commercial producers love making products, they really don't like making gifts.  Even making a gift for someone you know takes thought, creativity and imagination - and the process is ten times harder if it's someone you only see once a year.  Worst of all, even if you make the perfect gift, once you've given it away, you have to start over again.  Different gifts suit different people - a fact much attestested to by, and at the annoyance of, every Christmas Eve shopper who wishes they could by 12 of one thing and call it quits.

5 signs your show is a product, not a gift.

1. The references are interchangeable.  
• "It could be worse, you could be in <insert name of local town>".
2. The jokes are replicated.  
• Same jokes as last year?  
• Same jokes as the production company other shows?
3. The roles are archetypes not characters.  
• The actors play DAME and COMIC, not SARAH and BILLY.
4. The costumes and set are a hodgepodge of what the producer/hire company/actor has in stock 
• "We'll work out something funny to say when he comes on during rehearsal."
• 
  
5. It contains scenes, routines or lines that somebody else wrote for some other play or film, for some other actors in some other context (and possibly some other generation.) 

• "We'll do that bit - you know that whatshisface does - does anyone remember how it goes?"

The Pied Piper of Hamelin (T= 36 months)

This year's production in Bury will be testbed for my theories and the culmination of my research.  Everything about the production is hyperlocal, from the ground up.  It's been a heck of a task to prep everything, but with 6 weeks until rehearsals, I've got a feeling we're going to give over something quite extraordinary to the people of Bury this Christmas.

There's no space left in this blog to explain how we've applied the lens of hyperlocalism, and the framework of meaning-gifting to all the different parts of our process.  If you want that kind of detail you'll have to wait for the 100,000 word thesis to come out sometimes next summer.  Not only am I recording my journey, I'm establishing recommendations for best practice - so we call all make panto better together.

Of course, if you don't want to wait that long, you can buy a ticket and come and see for yourself!

5 Signs to watch out for, that show The Pied Piper was made as a gift, not a product

(and good ideas to nab and reinvent in your own practice):

 

1.    Themes are relevant to this audience at this time. 

    Everyone in Bury gets a wish every time Bury FC are promoted

    The villain is seeking to develop the land beneath the market 

2.   Local references, characters and plot points hard baked into the script, not added on!

PEEWEE: Where are all the black puddings? Have you checked upper Ramsbottom?

BEA:          I did. I found something.  But it definitely wasn't black pudding.

          ORANGE PEEL: Quiet you two, or I'll invent the police and have you all arrested!

3.    Comedy and meaning emanate from the shared experience of the local audience.

Singing.

Market day in the borough of bury

half hour wait for a table at spoons

half a mile tailback into bury

Grind to a halt on

The b-road from Bolton

And you’ll be here soon!  

4.    Physical elements are designed or sourced specifically to facilitate the moments made by the script-in-performance.

 eg, The front cloth is a map of the town

the portals are Peel Tower and Bury Market sign

the mayor is costumed as an Orange (referencing famous Buryite Robert Peel)

5.    The community are engaged with during the process, not just at the moment of transaction.

Audition slots set aside for local residents.  Local casting.

Opportunities made available for local communities and creatives

Local businesses sponsoring access provision

Follow up surveys and opportunities for feedback

Help! An AI wrote my pantomime!

Well, boys and girls, it's finally happened.  The inescapable march of progress has finally caught up to panto - and contrary to all of your worst fears, it wasn't anything to do with Twitter or Chinese costumes or Aladdin that's upset the applecart, it's Artificial Intelligence - so you can all put down your union jacks and pick up your... sonic screwdrivers (I don't actually know how a computer works, which is rather hampering my search for an appropriate metaphor.)

A1 panto, the first pantomime to be staged on a major thoroughfare
since the disastrous M6 panto pile up of 2012

"If you think you understand Artificial Intelligence, you don't     understand artificial intelligence" Richard Feynman, Misquoted

If your last encounter with AI was asking ChatGPT to write you a limerick about your cat in 2022, then you're so out of date you might as well be advertising a production of Snow White with a poster than names all average-height cast and none of the performers who are little people.  (Ahem, Rochdale...)

AI has moved fast. The models available today are genuinely different beasts from what you remember. They can hold conversations that span multiple scenes, remember what magical powers you've given your fairy across sixty pages of text, and read a whole script faster than some agency's can submit their entire client list to a Spotlight casting call.

If you've kept your eye out, you've probably already noticed the long tendrils of AI creeping into view: the strangely generic poster designs, the suspiciously ubiquitous marketing copy, the suddenly erudite emails from agents asking to make provisions in your contracts even though those exact provisions are already explicitly made in the contract.

And not everyone's trying to hide it either... the first live-production AI written panto will be hitting our stages this Christmas thanks to Tom Beard who I interviewed for this blog (more to follow)

My Sceptic Pegs

This year's panto will be written by a man...
... or a woman...
... or a computer...

3 predictions for AI and pantomime 2025:

1) You WILL see AI-written scenes and lines in pantos this year.  Possibly a whole script.  For some productions, this might actually be a step up.

I'm not being facetious: I've seen comments in panto forums where the advice given to writers was "try to have a joke on every page of the script." which sounds pretty lean for a comedy. The AI might not be very funny, but at least you don't have to set a timer on your watch to wake you up for the next joke!

2) We're going to see lots of jokes about AI this Christmas.  Not everyone's talking about AI, but lots of non-theatre, office job, 'norms' (I call them) are all about it - and they all buy panto tickets.  If you're not making jokes about AI (because you're recycling material you wrote in the 90s), you're missing a trick: there are some great laughs to have, and it's current so it'll connect with your audience.

3) There'll be creatives looking for work.  Nearly every job's getting easier if you use the AI.  From making backing tracks to posters.  People with work are going to take more on, people scouting for work are going to find less about.

"AI isn't creative"

I've heard this, and sentiments like it, said by very clever people I admire and trust.  Now I just admire them.  They clearly don't have a clue what they're talking about!

The new AI's are incredibly creative, and very clever.  They have some drawbacks, for sure... they're not particularly funny for a start, which is a bit of a hurdle when it comes to writing panto.  However, that's not to say it's a write-off.  Here are two big things AI can do which maks a muckle:

1) It doesn't sleep and it loves a read through.  There's nothing worse than getting in the zone, turning out a scene that is either genius or tat, and then having to wait for other people with voices to be available before you find out which it is.  With AI, you can chuck a draft at it at 11 o'clock at night and get thoughtful, detailed feedback. No waiting for your dramaturge to have a free evening or wrangling actors into a room for a read-through. It's always available, and it'll give you something interesting and thoughtful that you can take or reject as you see fit.

 

"What shall we do with him boys and girls?  100100100111!"

2) Structure and dramaturgy:  Successful script writing is 90% structure, 10% words.   Top end AIs are great at structure.  Not only have they read every script that's ever been published, they've read all the theory, and they apply it! It's like having a very keen PhD student who never needs sleep and has read every play ever written. It'll spot character inconsistencies faster than you can blink, and it's brilliant at asking the right questions about your world-building and character development.

e.g. Recently, after finishing a draft of the The Pied Piper, I chucked the whole thing at Claude (an AI by Anthropic) which suggested that maybe the Pied Piper could be the fairy's brother. Now, I hadn't thought of that, and it had genuine dramatic implications worth exploring. I didn't go for it.  But I considered it! And surely that has some value of its own.

"AI's gonna put us all out of business!"

Probably, but not quite yet.  In my experience (and I've been playing around with it a bit), AI's a great tool but it needs a steady hand at the tiller and an experienced eye on the sextant.

Here's what's holding it back at the moment:

1.  It isn't funny.  Not only is it not funny, it thinks it is.  Which is particularly irksome.  It can give you a pun (at a push... for best results, ask for 10 and pick 1) but words are it's forte.  It hasn't seen slapstick, it's read it, which makes it bad at understanding what makes the audience laugh.

I must be funny - I'm made of silly con!

 

2.  It doesn't know your audience.  Things that go down a treat in Manchester would fall flat on their face in Surrey.  You know your audience - write something for them.  AI will churn out generics all day, but your audience deserve better.

Me as Nanny having a great time meeting the community
at the Contact Theatre, Oxford Road

3. It doesn't understand timing.  In fact, it doesn't understand time.  It is episodic (imagine it coming awake every time you type in the box, and then immediately sleeping after it answers).  When it reads your words and offers feedback like "this bit is too long", it doesn't know how long it will take.  Sometimes you write a dame/comic section that rattles along at 30secs a page, and other times you write "mayor crosses the stage" and it takes your actor 5 minutes (Hello Ian!). Don't take its word for it on timing... use your nous!

4. It's never produced a show.  I know this sounds obvious, but it's important to remember.  Writing a panto isn't just about putting words on a page.  Your'e considering all kinds of things: costume changes, specific actors, backstage madness.  AI doesn't know that you need three people to hoover flour out of the dame's knickers after the baking scene.  

e.g. after writing a draft of Pied Piper, I gave it to the AI, who (quite rightly) pointed out act 1 scene 6 required a whole new location, bit didn't move on the plot very much.  It wasn't telling me anything I didn't know  - I told the AI that I'd added the scene not out of narrative purity, but because (i) I wanted another dame costume change in act 1, (ii) I needed a place for KY Kelly to sing a big number, (iii) it gave me some slapstick time.  I even showed it the scene I had before I changed it.  "Oh, yes!" it effused.  "This is hilarious.  Much better.  You should definitely change this back!"  And I did.  The blinking computer flattered me into backpedaling.  Only once my draft was in pieces and difficult to repair did I realise, for all the same reasons I realised before, the best thing to do was to add a cottage scene!  Ugh!  What a time waster!

 

5.  It's not you!  It doesn't know the things you know.  It doesn't have your rhythms and your sense of humour.  Sure, it's read the whole internet, and there are definitely some panto scripts on there (more am dram than professional) it probably hasn't read yours.  Because panto is a commercial art form, scripts (particularly successful scripts) are kept under lock and key... this gives the AI a very one sided knowledge base... worth remembering!

!REMEMBER! 

Writing is 90% structure. The lines are only 10%.

I know, I know. The lines are super important. But people get hung up on dialogue and ignore the structure, and when you train as a professional, it's all about structure first. Character development, plot architecture, thematic consistency - all of that comes before you write a single line of dialogue.

Case in point: I just did a commission for Bolton Octagon. My finished script was 30-40 pages. My prep notes before I started writing? 90 pages. That gives you an idea of where the real work happens.

If you're sitting down expecting to write a script by bashing out dialogue, you're doing it wrong. All the prep stuff - which is 90% of the job - doesn't involve writing words. It involves thinking, planning, character work, research, structural decisions.

The actual writing of dialogue is technically demanding and fiddly, sure. You're thinking about accent, rhythm, scansion, jokes, and trying to navigate the plot you've constructed. It might take more than 10% of your time, but it's only 10% of the actual job.

Which means the Great AI Panic might be missing the point entirely.

If your process begins with sitting down and typing "SCENE 1", then yes, AI might replace you. But that's like worrying that calculators will replace mathematicians.

The real question is: where does AI excel in that 90% structural work, and where does it fall flat? My experience suggests it's brilliant at some aspects of structural work (plot consistency, character tracking) but terrible at others (understanding theatrical conventions, local knowledge, audience-specific humor).

Top tips for using AI Successfully

If you're going to use AI for any kind of pantomime work - and I suspect many of you will, whether you admit it publicly or not - here are my top tips for getting the best out of it!

Start with questions, not scripts. Get the AI to interrogate your concept first:

• Ten important questions about each character
• Ten questions about the world, place, and location
• Help developing your theme - what is this play actually about?

Character interrogation: Get it to ask you ten important questions about each character, then ten about your world and location. This isn't just helpful - it'll actually help you refine your own ideas and might reveal plot developments you hadn't considered.

This stops you diving in feet first and forces you to refine your own ideas. You might discover plot developments just by answering character questions.

Use it as a reviewer, not a ghostwriter. There's a massive difference between asking AI to write your lines and asking it to read your draft and give you feedback. The latter can be genuinely valuable - it's like having a very well-read, slightly pedantic colleague who's always available.

Be stalwart in your defense of local knowledge. This year in Bury, our wonderful comic: Toby West is coming back.  He's Scouse, but we don't hold that against him.  I've written him the line: "Do you know which part of Bury I'm from? The bit that's next to Liverpool." The audience roars because they know exactly what he means. AI wants to cut that line because it doesn't understand the local context. You need to fight for those moments.

The All-AI Pantomime That's Got Everyone's Knickers in a Twist

Which brings me to the ever entrepreneurial Tom Beard, who's creating what might be the most controversial panto of the year. His concept? Twenty-minute audience workshop where punters shout out mad ideas ("a banana that thinks it's French," "broccoli that's king of the world"), AI writes a 45-minute panto incorporating everything, performed immediately script-in-hand - think panto-meets-improv with a bag full of appropriately whacky props.

LP Creative's very creative new concept!
FUN FACT: The first AI panto was staged in 1783 "AI-Addin."

It's definitely interesting.  No wonder everybody has an opinion about it.  I asked the obvious question: what about all the good stuff you get with rehearsals?  You'll lose all of it!

"I don't know if the trade-off's worth it," he told me with refreshing honesty. "It's a coin flip." But when it works, he says, it's funny - not because it's good, but because it's beautifully, quirkily wrong.

The AI knows pantomime structure but can't execute properly. It creates what he called "comedy cul-de-sacs" that go nowhere, like having the comic greet the audience with "Hello, you bunch of soggy turnips!" - technically a comedian's greeting, but missing the mark entirely. As he put it: "Like AI robots boxing and kicking in midair and missing."

The industry's reaction? Physical threats. Expelled from Facebook groups. The pantomime community's response has been, shall we say, robust. But for him, this controversy IS the marketing strategy. And honestly? Fair play to him.

His secret sauce is an experienced cast who work live TV and radio and can think on their feet. "If I had a cast just reading blankly off paper, it would be terrible," he said. It's basically improv with AI-generated starting points rather than blank slates.

The man's venues include Comedia for five days, plus school shows where students create props in advance as class projects. And you know what? I hope he sells every bloody ticket, because at least he's trying something new in an industry that sometimes seems allergic to innovation.

A cheeky little secret for those that stayed till the end: That last bit, under the title The All-AI Pantomime That's Got Everyone's Knickers in a Twist.  I didn't write that.  The AI did.  I just gave it a transcript of the interview and asked it to match my tone... Could you tell?  I told you it had got a lot better!

Tldr;

• AI isn't going anywhere, so learn to use it properly
• It's brilliant at the 90% (structure) but needs careful handling on the 10% (lines)
• Your local knowledge and audience understanding are your competitive advantages
• Bad pantos might get better with AI help, but good pantos still need human-driven creativity
• The cottage scene stays in the script, thank you very much
• If you're still worried about AI taking over pantomime, you're probably worrying about the wrong thing