Love Actually Before: Notes from a Writers' Room
A play in one act, with pastries
Hollywood has rediscovered sequels, again. For generations the industry has offered two reliable directions: find out what happened next, or find out what happened before. If business is good, try both.
Love Actually looks like an irresistible candidate for a prequel, until the writers run into one awkward fact. Liam Neeson's character, Daniel, begins the original film in mourning for his wife, Joanna, after a long illness. Work backward from there and her death becomes the ending that every charming encounter and happy afternoon has to lead toward.
Undeterred, our producer and his financiers assemble a writers' room of familiar Hollywood types, plus a few surprises. The room develops three ideas, and each one collapses faster than the one before it.
DRAMATIS PERSONAE
MARTY KESSLER, producer. Fleece vest, no socks, says "four-quadrant" the way other people say grace.
DEIRDRE VOSS, from the fund. Represents capital out of Luxembourg that nobody fully understands. Takes notes on a tablet she never looks at.
TODD BRAMBLE, showrunner. Has written eleven Christmas movies for streaming platforms, all set in a town called Hollyport. Believes every problem can be solved with a bakery.
PRIYA ANAND, prestige-drama writer, on loan from a limited series about grief. Wants it to be honest. Has been brought in, as Marty puts it, "for texture."
GUS, staff writer, 24. Knows everything about the original film and nothing about anything else.
DR. HELEN OKAFOR, retired oncologist and medical consultant. Hired for authenticity. Knits throughout.
THE LAPTOP, an AI writing assistant credited as "Room Support." Has read every screenplay ever filed with the Writers Guild and is mildly worried about all of them.
SCENE: A conference room in Burbank. 7:00 p.m.
A whiteboard reads LOVE ACTUALLY: BEFORE in green dry-erase marker. Below it, in Todd's handwriting: DANIEL + JO = MAGIC. A tray of pastries sits under a fluorescent light that flickers in a way that will matter later. Somewhere outside, a valet is running.
MARTY: Okay, people. Here's the deal. The original is evergreen. It plays every December like a gas leak. Everybody's seen it, everybody's fought about it at Thanksgiving, and nobody knows anything about Daniel and Joanna except that she's gone and he's sad. That's a blank check. Deirdre?
DEIRDRE: The fund likes prequels. Prequels de-risk. The audience already knows the characters.
GUS: (hand half-raised) They know one of the characters is dead.
MARTY: They know she's beloved. Todd, take us home.
PITCH ONE: The Meet-Cute
TODD: (standing, uncapping a marker with ceremony) London, 1985. It's Christmas. Snow. A record shop on the King's Road. Joanna is twenty-four, red scarf, buying a Bay City Rollers album ironically, except it isn't ironic, she genuinely loves it. Daniel is a gangly young man in a duffel coat, reaching for the same copy. Their hands touch.
PRIYA: Over a record.
TODD: Over the last copy. They argue. She wins. He follows her to a bakery—
PRIYA: There it is.
TODD: —a bakery run by a lovable Welsh widow who becomes their matchmaker. Act Two, they fall in love over a series of increasingly elaborate Christmases. Act Three, he proposes on the Millennium Bridge.
GUS: The Millennium Bridge opened in 2000.
TODD: Then he proposes on a regular bridge. London has plenty of bridges. That's practically its brand.
DEIRDRE: (typing) Bridge. Good.
DR. OKAFOR: (not looking up from her knitting) How old is she when the original film begins?
GUS: It's 2003. If she's twenty-four in 1985, she's forty-two.
DR. OKAFOR: And "a long illness."
GUS: The film doesn't say what.
DR. OKAFOR: It doesn't have to. (a purl stitch) So in Act Three, when he proposes on the regular bridge, she has roughly fifteen Christmases left. Your audience can count. They've seen the movie. Every Christmas you show them is one Christmas fewer.
Pause. Todd looks at his whiteboard. DANIEL + JO = MAGIC. Somebody has quietly added a minus sign.
TODD: We could make it a really fun fifteen Christmases.
THE LAPTOP: (in a pleasant synthetic voice) I've modeled the audience response. Each festive montage is currently scoring as "a countdown clock wearing a Santa hat."
MARTY: Who invited the laptop?
DEIRDRE: It came with the fund.
Todd sits down. He takes a croissant and does not eat it.
PITCH TWO: The Middle Years
MARTY: Fine. Forget the meet-cute. Meet-cutes are front-loaded anyway. Everybody knows how a meet-cute ends.
GUS: That's actually the problem here.
MARTY: We go to the middle. The good years. Priya, you said something at lunch.
PRIYA: Joanna is a single mother. Sam's biological father is out of the picture. The prequel is about Daniel becoming a stepfather. A grown man learning to love a small boy who isn't his. It's warm, it's adult, and the comedy comes from a seven-year-old who thinks Daniel is the most boring person alive.
TODD: (reviving) Sam's school nativity play. Daniel gets roped into building the set. The donkey costume collapses—
PRIYA: Fine, one donkey.
DEIRDRE: Does it end with a wedding? Weddings test well in Southeast Asia.
PRIYA: It ends with the three of them at the kitchen table on Christmas morning. A family.
Everyone in the room exhales. It's the first thing that has felt like a movie. Marty actually smiles.
MARTY: That's it. That's the poster. Three people, one table, light coming through the window.
GUS: (quietly) And the sequel to that is a funeral.
MARTY: We already have the sequel. It made two hundred and fifty million dollars.
GUS: I know. That's what I mean. The sequel already exists. We're writing the part before the funeral. In the original, Sam's whole storyline is a kid so lost after his mother dies that he can only talk about a girl at school. Every scene where Sam laughs with Joanna in our movie is a scene the audience watches knowing what's coming for him.
DR. OKAFOR: And when is the kitchen-table Christmas?
PRIYA: About 1999.
DR. OKAFOR: Then she's probably already feeling something. Tired. A pain she blames on carrying the groceries. She'd mention it to no one. Women her age usually don't. (knits) I'm only answering the question.
The light flickers.
THE LAPTOP: I've flagged the kitchen table as a "foreshadowing-dense environment." The pepper grinder now reads as symbolic.
DEIRDRE: Can we do a version where she doesn't die?
Silence.
GUS: It's a prequel.
DEIRDRE: The fund has done alternate timelines before. There was a whole superhero thing.
MARTY: Deirdre, we can't un-dead the dead wife. Half our audience owns the DVD.
DEIRDRE: (typing) Dead wife. Non-negotiable. Noted.
Priya draws a small box around THE KITCHEN TABLE and then, slowly, a cross through it.
PITCH THREE: Lean Into It
PRIYA: All right. Here's the honest version. We stop pretending. The audience knows the ending, so we start there. Not with the death. With the moment just before they know.
MARTY: I'm listening. I'm scared, but I'm listening.
PRIYA: Exterior, Harley Street, December. Snow coming down, early-dark London afternoon. Daniel and Joanna are standing outside a doctor's office. They're early for the appointment, they always are, and they're arguing about something small. Whether to get a real tree this year. She wants a real tree. He says the needles get everywhere.
Todd, despite himself, picks up a pencil.
PRIYA: She says the needles are the point. You find them in the carpet in March and you remember it was Christmas.
Gus is writing. Deirdre has stopped typing. Dr. Okafor's needles slow.
PRIYA: A nurse opens the door. "Mrs. Joanna—?" They look at each other. He takes her hand. She squeezes it, the way you squeeze someone's hand when you're the one doing the comforting. And they go in. And the door closes. And we stay outside, on the snow, on their two sets of footprints going in.
Long silence. The fluorescent light hums. Nobody writes anything.
TODD: (eventually) What's the next scene?
PRIYA: That's the thing. I don't know. I don't think I want to know.
DR. OKAFOR: (setting the knitting down for the first time) I've sat on the other side of that door about four thousand times. The next scene is a doctor choosing words very carefully, and two people hearing only one of them.
Gus tears his page out, folds it in half, then in half again, then crushes it into a ball. He throws it at the wastebasket and misses. Todd's page follows. Then Marty's, though Marty hadn't written anything; he simply felt the need to crumple something.
THE LAPTOP: I've run four hundred alternate second acts. They all end with the same footprints in the snow.
MARTY: (rubbing his eyes) What was the other direction? After the original?
GUS: A sequel.
MARTY: What happens after?
GUS: Sam grows up. Daniel maybe remarries. They're okay.
MARTY: (long pause) Write that down.
DEIRDRE: (standing, closing her tablet) The fund will want to see it in January.
They leave one by one. Todd takes his croissant. Priya leaves her marker uncapped. Dr. Okafor packs her knitting, looks back at the whiteboard, and with the side of her hand erases the minus sign, so it reads DANIEL + JO again. Then she turns off the light.
Left behind: a tray of cold pastries, an overflowing wastebasket, and a laptop on standby that blinks once in the dark, still running the numbers on whether a story can be happy when everyone already knows how it ends.
Somewhere in a London that only exists on paper, two people are still standing outside a door in the snow, early for their appointment, arguing about a tree.
CURTAIN.