Your ‘Problematic’ Uncle Could Make You a Better Writer

Two hundred and seventy-nine times. Times what, you might ask? Times “c*cksucker”! That is how often someone repeated this profanity in the acclaimed series Deadwood. I counted each and every instance because lotuseaters.com only hires the best. Of course, you are probably wondering why anyone would want to take such a detailed stock of the number of swear words used in a piece of entertainment.

The truth is, re-watching Deadwood with its character Al Swearengen (a double entendre for ‘swear engine’) was never supposed to be like this. It's a probable by-product of watching the show in 2023, when contemporary alternatives for so-called ‘modern audiences’ lack the quality of writing of a series that aired from 2004 to 2006, which was self-assured, no holds barred, and unforgiving. Although there are a few exceptions (or rather holdouts), they are few and far between. Even shows considered edgy, like The Boys, use language that conforms to socially acceptable norms. This might be because of our current, more polite, and ‘socially conscious’ society, where we try to refrain from insensitive language—a fair point when the characters concerned are overly sensitive 21st-century city-dwellers. But it does become a problem when the writing is about anything else.

The Witcher: Blood Origins’ ‘f*cking f*ckity f*ck f*ck’ dialogue, for example, can make the characters appear as adolescents who’ve just learnt a swear word to annoy their parents. However, even this pales in comparison to the true cringe factor of modern writing. We can only imagine the potential of what could have been had the creators of Cobra Kai been allowed to write the Star Wars sequel trilogy. The Witcher, too, had the same potential. In the original games, Geralt encounters small villages where ingrained racial animosity can quickly turn into violence and bloodshed; it is inextricably Polish, mundane, and gritty. Netflix’s adaptation, however, flips the lore by allowing Geralt to waltz into a multiracial tavern where everyone gets along, only for the innkeeper to turn around and say, “we don't want your kind here, Witcher.” Ironically, Geralt still blends better into the Polish countryside than any Los Angeles native.

The root of these idiosyncrasies—and the associated mountain of abandoned one-season runs—is clear: modern writers have disregarded, or even reversed, one of the most fundamental rules of writing. Known as ‘show, don't tell’, this rule tells us to focus on what characters do, not just what they say. This helps us to write with subtext and nuance, making stories more impactful and thereby producing better writing. This approach can also be useful in everyday life; articles discussing “What To Do About Your Racist AF Uncle At Thanksgiving” offer the best advice by focusing on people's actions instead of their words. 

A show that does an excellent job of utilising this technique is Taylor Sheridan's Yellowstone. Despite Summer Higgins' attempts to verbally tear down the Dutton lifestyle, Papa Dutton still invited her to live on the ranch and let the characters duke it out. The Witcher does not use this technique effectively; the interaction with the innkeeper negates the purpose and the subtext of the scene, thereby contradicting its purported animosities. Another prime example is Eastwood’s Gran Torino. One of its actors spoke out against it, maintaining that it contributed to anti-Asian sentiment when in actuality, the film set out to do the exact opposite. Walt Kowalski starts as a bitter, racist man, but he ultimately learns to appreciate the Hmong people and finds common ground with them. In contrast, his own family shows no interest in bonding with him and is instead intent on sending him to a nursing home. The ‘racist’ jokes and name-calling in the film serve as an equaliser, making all characters similar in terms of socio-economic standing. It allows working-class people to determine who can take a joke, especially while working manual labour.

Sheridan conveys this concept in Yellowstone, successfully depicting the 'gruff American' universe in a way that feels true to his experiences working manual labour in Austin, Texas before meeting a talent scout. However, despite its successes, the issue of ideological homogeneity in the writing room persists. Diversity, equity, and inclusion initiatives help, but often writers have similar resumes and come from the same universities, grants and social circles, meaning the writing can be less diverse in the process. Even Sheridan has been affected by this with the inclusion of characters whose purpose is to espouse grievance studies talking points. In Yellowstone, this is a missed opportunity as no opposing viewpoint is present, and in Mayor of Kingstown the precariousness of having incarcerated characters being taught not to take responsibility for their actions is put on full display—it does not lead to positive outcomes.

For video games, this problem often negates world-building. A great example of this is Outriders by People Can Fly, a Polish developer that works with classic Slavic tropes of humanity's downfall and misery. The story begins with humanity colonising a new habitable planet after our own becomes uninhabitable. Of course, things don't go as planned, and our hero ends up in cryo-sleep, only to awaken in a world of human misery where torture, slavery, and mass murder (now with superhuman powers) have made a tremendous comeback. But somehow, with the power of corporate-approved whitewashing, these horrific crimes seem to lack any kind of real homophobia or misogyny. Remember when Gaddafi was killed and a few weeks later, slavery was back on the menu in Libya? It would be like that, but imagine everyone involved refrains from using insensitive language. 

In stark contrast, Al Swearengen in Deadwood moves between crass barbs and thanking a woman for brushing against his crotch with the suavity of James Bond ordering a martini. When someone who is truly a ‘cunning linguist’ is at the helm, offensive language can become something of an art.

Many writers believe that insensitive language applies only to a few words or phrases targeting a particular group; however, a hostile environment breeds people who express themselves brutally, like in The Northman where anti-Slavic dialogue veers from charges of “whore” to the blunt examination that “their god is a corpse nailed to a tree.” I love the bearishness of this garish dialogue, and when writer sensibilities usurp the depth of such dialogues and sentiments, the art form suffers. This has led to a new inverted phase of the Hays Code, where scatology fans and wokescolds may be pleased with the allowance of 'sh*t' and 'f*ck', but it makes for a sanitised entertainment landscape. One of my own screenplays was disqualified for using the seemingly innocuous term ‘friend-zoned’. When I think of this new phenomenon, I can't help but speculate what George Carlin would have said. He surely would have uttered his classic seven-word list: "Sh*t, p*ss, f*ck, c*nt, c*cksucker, m*******cker, and t*ts."

There is no winning in the sensitivities game propelled by perpetual outrage. It is best to not play it. And to any would-be writers reading this, next time your ‘racist, sexist’ uncle says something controversial at the Thanksgiving dinner, listen to what he has to say. It might improve your craft.