Wooden Overcoats
“Rudyard Funn and his equally miserable sister Antigone run their family’s failing funeral parlour, where they get the body in the coffin in the ground on time. But one day they find everyone enjoying themselves at the funerals of a new competitor – the impossibly perfect Eric Chapman! With their dogsbody Georgie, and a mouse called Madeleine, the Funns are taking drastic steps to stay in business…”
Most independent podcasts struggle to land so much as a link in a traditional media column. But years of in-print praise for this eccentric ensemble comedy showed it is absolutely achievable.
That Wooden Overcoats’ craftily-polished production, knowingly-sophisticated performances and intricately-plotted episodes could be mistaken for classic radio sitcoms doubtless helped. Whether their more conservative champions even noticed the (gentle) subversion shaping the madcap set-pieces is another question…
Meet the Creators
Early episodes of podcasts often falteringly chart their creators’ increasing comfort - then confidence - with the technical demands of audio production. Wooden Overcoats, on the other hand, was powered from birth by not one but two radio production graduates - John Wakefield and Andy Goddard - and this allowed them to commit to studio recording from the start.
Borrowing money to record at a pro studio, this Making Of is especially relevant to anyone who can finagle similar resources - and especially those wanting all their actors in the same room, for the sparks that will (hopefully) ensue when they’re prodded.
I spoke to John, Andy - and, of course, the writer and show-runner, David K Barnes. Yet more wit and wisdom from some of the show’s stars linked below the interview.
The Spark
David: “I was living with Felix [Trench] and - one day, in the living room - he said he and Tom [Crowley] had this idea for a short - about rival funeral directors. Almost silent film style - you know, long moustaches and sawing holes in things…
And they said - but that would be terribly expensive… How about doing a podcast?
I didn't really know what a podcast was.
They said - it's radio. On the internet. But better.
Yeah, okay. But going into it without knowing much, except thinking, well, I'm sure somebody will tell me if I'm wrong.”
Andy: “And we didn't.”
David: “Yeah, you didn't, so I just… I remember thinking, what cast size should we have? Every character should be their own actor. Let's have …25 actors.
That's not going to be a problem later.”
As extravagantly slapstick as this might sound, anyone (virtually) visiting the timeless isle of Piffling will quickly realise that even the most larger-than-life personas are always underwritten by all too mortal aches and fumblings. It’s why the islanders are so relentlessly relatable.
“...what do I want to write about..?”
David: “I thought - rival funeral directors - well, that's very good, but what do I want to write about?
And then… Actually, the theme I want to explore is rivalry - and particularly self-defeating, one-sided rivalry...
Like, I had lots of very successful comedy friends - and, rather than doing anything to better myself, I would just lie awake at night thinking - why am I not good enough, if only I could kill them…
Then - oh, actually, no - I should channel all that into a character and satirise myself.
Then I came up with the first script.”
Many great shows have been seeded from one good concept (even if it’s just a twist on something that already exists). But would-be-creators soon learn that a brilliant pitch, summary or series bible isn’t enough.
We need settings and characters, scenes and lines - a story/world crystallised into a script (unless you’re doing improv). It’s an obvious next step, but it’s not easy to translate daydreams into instructions - for actors, for directors, for producers.
Speaking of whom:
John: “We read the script. And I thought - I totally understand the comedy of this.
It was wonderful, because it was right at the start of our careers, with no sort of power - which I think is what gave us the ability to start. Because we could just walk up to people we really admired, and go, hello, here's a script someone I met three weeks ago wrote. I think it's really good and we're making it. Would you like to be in it?
There's no money.
And they all give you that look, which was sort of… I'm going to politely turn this down, but I will read the first three pages, so I can use the right words when I politely turn it down.
Then they all come back going, I was going to say no, but it turns out this script is actually one of the best things I've read in years.
And so we just accumulated this amazing group of people.”
As already noted - John and Andy were trained in radio production. David had also made one lesser-known series himself. All this prior experience informed their decision to invest in studio time.
It’s absolutely a route to consider, but only if you know you can get the job done quickly - day rates for professional studios can be expensive - especially if you overrun or need specialist help. For most, it’s something to aspire to and work toward.
Those able, though - perhaps accessing through education or local arts resources - will find a load of useful info in Andy’s guide.
Andy: “To make Season One, we borrowed two grand, and paid it back by doing live shows.”
John: “That money entirely went on booking the studios for four days at, like, £500 a day. And then we bought lunch for people with some of the change.”
“...we just accumulated this amazing group of people…”
John: “We will always - as much as possible - have the actors read the script together. The moment you put people in a room together …that's where something will happen.”
Andy: “If you're gonna do remote recording, you're gonna put a lot more stress on two parts of the process - the writing and the editing.
But if you have all of that creativity in the same room, you essentially add another step to the collaborative process, where they add so much value. You know, that old phrase - acting is reacting, right? That's the layer that the actors put in there. And... You can do it remotely - but it's never quite the same as when you see that little twitch in someone's eye as they deliver a line…
I think remote recording is easier for straight drama because, ultimately, good drama - it's about making it feel very purposeful - and the flab that you get from people being in a room, messing about, is actually unhelpful.
But for comedy, that flab is everything. Like, it's the fat on the meat. Those moments of just - silliness - and little tics that happen between people when they're talking. And showing off at each other, frankly…”
Of course, as well as studio recording has definitely worked for Wooden Overcoats, there are other podcasts whose fans would say they manage to make remote recording work, so don’t despair if in-person recording isn’t an option for you, initially.
We all evolve processes that - hopefully - work for us. Be aware of options and explore what you can - while always remembering every show featured on this site took a different route to make their series and find their audience.
Into Production
Reaching the section of the interview when I ask about new skills acquired in the making of early episodes, there was an awkward silence - given Andy and John’s impressive formal qualifications.
Luckily, David hadn’t written a situation-of-the-week sitcom before, so was available to vent -
David: “This situation of the week as a structural thing - where this is the episode about dates, or a village fete, or a lighthouse keeper. I think it keeps the episodes in people's memories.
But I don't like that everything resets at the end of the episode, in a typical sitcom. I kind of quite like going, right, let's now carry that into the next one. Andy and John contributed a lot to finding references to stuff in later episodes that could be seeded earlier.
Season One's background story is - there's a serial killer on Piffling. We're not sure if people are going to get behind the idea of a tiny island with so many funerals. We need a reason for it to happen.
Season One goes out. It's abundantly clear no one cares.
It's what I sometimes say to writers now: imagine that you're in a room and you're on one side of the room and what you and the audience want is on the other side.
Don't put furniture in the way. Like, people want the thing - give them the thing.
And if people want a sitcom, which happens to be about funerals on a tiny island, they will get beyond that it's implausible - so long as you can deliver the goods on a weekly basis.
The plot lines became much more geared to - what is the theme of this character - you know, Antigone trying to become someone… Georgie having to cope with actual loss... Eric and where he stands in his community. ”
“…people want the thing - give them the thing.”
And it’ll come as a relief to anyone uncertified that even the well-trained have to hone their skills contextually…
Andy: “I'd not directed anything on that scale before. So, a very practical method of just trying to be friendly. And then, over time, picking up from actors how they wanted to be directed.
Then - in terms of editing… Editing is a life skill, like drawing. Like, you only get better at it by doing loads of it. There's no shortcut.
I always think - when people do courses online - yeah, great, you've learned where the buttons are. But the real thing you need to do is make absolutely shitloads of radio.
And until you've done …hours and hours and hours and hours… you can't play. You can only sort of get it to a point that it's functional.
The point when you start playing… For us - in Season Two - starting to get a bit more creative and not just get the sound effects down on the page. That's when you have a sharp increase in your skill at it. It takes that long.”
John: “You also learn to be deliberate in some of your choices, learning where to trust actors - but also where your time constraints are, in that we got three takes of something.
Normally, I find it's a combination of Take One and Take Three that you end up putting together - because the actors did something incredible in Take One that you'd never anticipated. You try and mould it into what you were originally thinking in Take Two but it doesn't quite gel - and then, by Take Three, they've nailed the pacing …but there's something of the delight missing - that first interaction…”
The Flame
From 2015 to 2022, the Wooden Overcoats team created four award-winning series (plus assorted specials), building up enough of a reputation to poach multiple actors from TV, and enough of a following to fund in advance each subsequent season (via Kickstarter and Indiegogo).
More importantly - across more than thirty lovingly-made and laughter-riddled episodes - they wove a social fabric by exploring the lives of countless characters across the island.
In time, all these adventures (and misadventures) deepened into more than backstory - a sense of time, and place, and those who shared it. All with such care - love, really - that, when it ended, even a happy end was tearful for many. At least until their next listen through those times, those places.
Andy: “I think my high point was probably the last of the live shows for Season Three, because we got to a point where it was a really well-oiled machine and we had these packed houses. You'd come out and just have time to just have a drink with everyone and - it's something that you so rarely get in radio - the ability to actually interact with your audience.
And it ended with such a beautiful piece of music by James [Whittle], the Balloon Suite - and I just remember looking around and seeing people in tears and just being like, wow, we've really done something really very special here.
For a low point - getting a note back from the wonderful actress Julia Deakin, in Season One, where I was essentially trying to get her to play a quite stereotypical old woman because I thought it would be funny…”
David: “You said, oh, can we do it like this..? And she looked at you and said - with an evil smile - so what does that sound like?”
Andy: “What does that sound like?
And made me do it.
It was horrible.”
John: “Never, never rise to that as a director. That's a good lesson for anyone. It's just a rule of directing, especially in audio - never line-read.
You are not an actor. You do not have the skills to convey what you're trying to convey, that way.”
“I just remember looking around and seeing people in tears…”
John: “There's an enormous responsibility, when you're handed a script by David - or any of the writers - that you know is quality. You know your actors are talented. So everything is being mediated through you as this sort of bottleneck, for a lot of the recording process.
Especially when we've had the most amazing listener support financially for the show - you want to make it for these people who've trusted you with that money.
Therefore, the bit for me that's, like - joyful - was where I could sit back and see someone else do their thing and I had no responsibility over it - the music recordings. Going and recording an actual youth orchestra.
And just to sit in this huge church and have these hundreds of kids playing something for our show …it's an honour.”
David: “For a sort of a low point, I found making Season Three the toughest, certainly the writing… I’d left my job, and was throwing myself into full-time writing. And rather than just coming up with an idea, going, that's funny, and then just playing with it - what I started doing was going, no, everything has to be the best, like, the absolute gold.
I was throwing out ideas all over the place - you know, I say to John, we're doing an episode about this, and he goes, that sounds good. And then - so where's that one? I go, oh, I don't like it anymore. That's gone.
I felt that I was flagging a bit …and the scripts were getting longer …and there were bits where I thought, I haven't done that properly …and I just felt …very, very tired doing it.
Is this good enough? Is that working?
I don't know.
I don't know where I am anymore.”
John: “It’s that scary thing of being told you're good, isn't it? You don't know you're good when you start - or you naively believe you can do something without understanding it …and then it becomes terrifying.”
David: “But after we'd had a bit of a rest - and also, because we knew we had a definite ending that we were working towards - Season Four was a joy to work on again.
Even though there's the huge sadness of …it's coming to an end… I felt much more refreshed and rejuvenated.”
“…you don't know what can and can't be done.”
John: “Our part of the process is very lonely. Like, it can be incredibly lonely at the writing end and the editing and production end.
And it's just so important to have those... Keep having those phone calls, keep having those discussions, and don't get weighed down by notes coming through because everyone's just trying to make something good.”
David: “I think my high point is the final day of recording on Season One. That's not to say it was all downhill from there - because it was all wonderful. But the actual feeling of - oh God, we managed to record a sitcom in four days, which didn't exist six months ago.
We were all on the roof of the studio - we’d just finished - and we were all drinking wine and - this is amazing …what does the future hold?
There's one photo of all the cast stood behind me, pointing at me and - you know, that was absolutely incredible. It's that feeling of …you don't know what can and can't be done.”
Listen to Wooden Overcoats.
Or, for yet more hard-won wisdom from David, John & Andy, click on their names to visit their profile pages. Or check out their contributions to the ever-expanding practical podcasting database, elsewhere onsite.
For the other side of the story - that of contributors to the show - follow the names below to interviews with actors and more.
Tom Crowley (Actor - Eric Chapman)
Alison Skilbeck (Actor - Agatha Doyle)
Andy Secombe (Actor - Rev Wearing)
Emily Stride (Actor - Marlene Magdelena)
Ellie Dickens (Actor - Miss Scruple)
Lewis Allcock (Actor - Mr Askey)
Landscape Picture
Nils Leonhardt