The War Against the Kitchen Sink Pilot
Another way to describe “The War Against the Kitchen Sink Pilot” would be:
“How to Overcome the Premise Pilot Blues.” A premise pilot literally establishes the premise of the show. Often they’re expository—it’s Maia’s first day at Diane’s law firm; the first time Mulder and Scully are working together; the day Cookie gets out of prison; when Walt decides he’s going to cook meth and potentially deal drugs. Premise pilots generally reset everything. When they work well, the creators take their time establishing the introduction into the world. We get the launch of the series in a nuanced, layered, slow burn way. I’m more satisfied by a pilot that has depth; there’s time for me to get to know the characters before throwing me into a huge amount of plotting. For me, character is always more important than plot. Once the characters are established, I’ll follow them anywhere.
In 1996, when John Guare, the smart, prolific, outside-the-box playwright and screenwriter, published his first volume of collected works, he wrote a preface for the book The War Against the Kitchen Sink. One of the things Guare was rallying against was that desperate perceived need for realism, such as of drab objects in plays, when they could only ever be a construct. More interested in inner realities,
!1 he grew curious in musicals, because there is no fourth wall. The actors interact with the audience, and Guare was intrigued by the connection between the audience and the actors on stage. If they got a big laugh or applause, they would pause, bow and acknowledge; they had a relationship with the audience. He wondered why plays had to be so limited, with people sitting and talking in one room, all exposition, in a naturalistic, proscenium arch presentation. He was knocked out by Lorraine Hansberry’s classic play, A Raisin in the Sun. As he explains:
...[The play] began in a real living room with a dreaded kitchen sink
spouting real water. But suddenly, in the second act, in a stroke of
madness, we moved into an imagined African interior. I was inside
Sidney Poitier’s head. I was not simply engaged in watching these
people. In one flash, I understood these people.
Characters’ inner realities, expressed visually—via action and specific behaviors— are more important than cramming too much plot, everything including the kitchen sink, in the pilot. Guare championed putting the unconscious on stage and unlocking parts of it. He responded positively to Chekhov’s Three Sisters: