Getting the Science Right: Tales from the Eureka Writers' Room - ACS

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Chapter 10

Getting the Science Right: Tales from the Eureka Writers’ Room J. Paglia* Co-creator/Executive Producer of Eureka, Universal Cable Productions, Universal City, California 91608 *E-mail: [email protected]

A humorous insider’s look at the painstaking process of balancing science with fiction in the making of a sci fi television series. Specifically, the collaboration between science advisors and the Hollywood creative community. Note: No actual scientists were harmed during the making of this chapter...Well, maybe just one.

Let me begin with the fundamental question, “Why am I here?” This is not intended as some existential query about my life’s purpose. Nor is it a pontification on the human condition as I see it. I mean, why am I, a theatre arts and English literature major, co-editing and contributing to this esteemed science anthology? Unlike my co-editors and the majority of our fine authors, I do not have letters like, M.D. or PhD. (or in some cases, both… clearly, pathological overachievers) following my name. I did not spend years of my life mastering physics, or chemistry, or the physics of chemistry (is that a thing?). But I know quite a few people who did, including my father (which is the literary equivalent of saying, “I’m not a doctor, but I play one on TV.”). Donald E. Paglia, M.D., is now professor emeritus of pathology and hematology after 50 years on the faculty at U.C.L.A. where he has pioneered research in iron metabolism, ATP deficiency, and lots of other sciency stuff. Maybe I didn’t follow in his footsteps, but I spent many summer vacations hanging around his lab, playing with beakers, and generally driving him crazy (“Do not touch the centrifuge!”). Frankly, it galls him to no end that I have been welcomed into this inner-sanctum of scholarly writers, because © 2013 American Chemical Society In Hollywood Chemistry; Nelson, D., et al.; ACS Symposium Series; American Chemical Society: Washington, DC, 2013.


instead of going to medical school and getting a real degree, I decided to skip all the fancy book learnin’ and just make up stories about science instead. In 2004, I co-created the Syfy (then Sci Fi) Channel original series, Eureka. Some have called it ground-breaking. Some have called it genius. Okay, yes, by “some,” I mean my mom. Still, the show set records with non-relatives when it premiered, and found a devoted following of people who liked a little sci fi mixed with their character drama; a little peanut butter with their chocolate, as it were (Note: this metaphor will be important later). For the uninitiated, Eureka follows an every-man U.S. Marshal named Jack Carter who stumbles onto a remarkable town that doesn’t appear on any maps. At least none that aren’t classified “Top Secret” by the Department of Defense. In our mythology, it was founded by Albert Einstein and Harry Truman shortly after WWII, and designed to be a place where the most brilliant minds in science and technology could live and work with the best supports and quality of life. Einstein wanted to ensure we would always be on the leading edge of scientific discovery, and this town is now decades ahead of the rest of the world technologically. However, the scientific method being what it is, these remarkable geniuses frequently create chaos with that technology. This is where Carter comes in. He is the man with the average I.Q. who has a unique ability to see the forest for the trees. Where the brainy populace often becomes absorbed in the myriad potential causes of scientific anomalies, Carter’s layperson perspective and investigative mind allow him to find logical solutions. As a result of helping save the day in the pilot episode, he is assigned to be Eureka’s town sheriff. Sheriff Carter is our eyes into a remarkable world of eccentric geniuses, extraordinary technologies, and endless possibilities, all set against the backdrop of a quintessential small town in the Pacific Northwest. As the “Jack Carter” of this anthology, I’m here to illuminate how we incorporated real science into Eureka’s science fiction, how we navigated the precarious line between sci fi and magic, and how, over the course of seven years, our little science fiction dramedy found a devoted following of both sci fi fans, and fans of science. The concept of Eureka was deceptively simple. Carter was a fish out of water lawman from the big city, now stuck in a small town of eccentric geniuses whose entire mission was to push the envelope of scientific discovery at the top-secret research facility, Global Dynamics. Each week, the brilliant townsfolk would create something potentially disastrous, and Carter would have to put the lid back on Pandora’s Box. It was an Earth-bound, character-driven dramedy with sci fi elements. Every episode had a relatable human conflict that was grounded in our characters, and the sci fi problem of the week would be an extra catalyst for the drama. It had all of the human problems you’d find in any small town, but with the additional toy box of sci fi to amp up the stakes. Using our mathematical expertise, we devised an elaborately complex equation that would become the foundation of our show:

(This concludes the math portion of our chapter.) 124 In Hollywood Chemistry; Nelson, D., et al.; ACS Symposium Series; American Chemical Society: Washington, DC, 2013.


The initial challenge was finding the right balance between the serialized character storylines and the episodic science fiction elements in our show. In particular, how best to incorporate sci fi A-stories for Sheriff Carter and company to solve that would be conceptually interesting, emotionally dramatic, and visually compelling. Additionally, we wanted them to thematically complement the Bstory character conflicts, not distract from them. We intended the science of the show to be a love letter to our favorite sci fi tropes while giving them a Eureka twist. The term “Eureka-fied” was born in the writers’ room and quickly metastasized to the studio and network whenever we were pitching stories. (This concludes the medical portion of our chapter.) In order to be able to “Eureka-fy” a sci fi story, we knew we had to ground it in real science. After all, if you’re creating a show about a town filled with scientific geniuses, you’d better get the science right. That’s where our science advisor (and co-editor of this anthology), Dr. Kevin Grazier, came in. In addition to being a bona fide JPL rocket scientist, Kevin had been consulting on the critically acclaimed Battlestar Galactica, our sister show at Syfy. He later became a member of The Science & Entertainment Exchange, a group of science experts that was formed to unite scientists with Hollywood producers in an effort to improve the depiction of science in movies and television. Our show would become something of a poster-child for the organization and we utilized our advisor’s expertise at many stages in the story-breaking process. Before each season, Kevin presented an overview of the latest research trends in fields ranging from astronomy to zoology. During the story-breaking process he gave feedback on the science of the arenas we were considering. After scripts were written, he vetted them to be sure our tech talk was accurate without being pedantic. Every episode was a balancing act of story and science. The more plausible the sci fi device, the easier it would be for an audience to suspend their disbelief and become invested in the character drama. We wanted to push the boundaries of scientific discovery, but always stay grounded in the theoretically possible. That would prove to be a moving target.

Science vs Magic: The Good, The Borderline, and “Seriously?” The first thing we drafted was a document we humbly titled, The Eureka Manifesto, or series bible. In addition to detailed descriptions of the show’s concept, look, tone, world, town history, mythology, and characters, it delineated the kinds of stories we would and wouldn’t do. The primary rule was that we never cross the dangerous line between sci fi and magic. We wanted to respect our audience and their investment in the show. Most viewers are eager to go along for the ride with you and suspend their disbelief. But there is a tipping point; that moment in a story where you push the boundary of plausibility a smidge too far and the audience says, “Well, that couldn’t happen.” Then you’ve lost them. One moment, they are happily lost in the world of your characters, the next they’re yanked out of it by a logic issue. They go from being invested to being insulted. Sci fi fans are incredibly passionate, intelligent, and loyal. But if you take them 125 In Hollywood Chemistry; Nelson, D., et al.; ACS Symposium Series; American Chemical Society: Washington, DC, 2013.


for granted, they will let you know (Twitter can be brutal). The tricky part is that the line between investment and insult is different for everyone. Sometimes you have a story that lends itself to hard science. Other times, it requires a bit more latitude. As we were finding the sweet spot for Eureka, that pendulum swung fairly wide. The challenge for any sci fi show is knowing when the story is strong enough that the audience will stay with you even if you’re pushing the boundaries. This is further complicated by the very real challenges of writing to strict deadlines, budget constraints, and production limitations that affect your ability to execute an idea well. Following are three examples of episodes we did in Season One that represent the range of that plausibility variable, from the good, to the borderline, to, “Seriously?”

The Good Early on in the process, we presented our network head, Mark Stern, with two-dozen “Eureka-fied” story arenas. Mark commented that one area of science he had no interest in exploring was human cloning. He felt the ethical issues had been done to death and it wasn’t all that visually interesting. We took this as a personal challenge. How could we do a cloning episode differently? How could we find a unique take on the ethical questions it raised? Most importantly, how could we prove our network head wrong? (Note: Do not prove your network head wrong.) Approaching the concept from a relatable human perspective, we imagined a scenario where the story would begin with the funeral of a couple who had died in the previous episode, Walter and Susan Perkins. Then at the end of the teaser, a woman who looked exactly like Susan would show up at the sheriff’s office from out of town, decidedly not dead, and quite confused about receiving an invitation to her own funeral. Carter and company then discover that this is Walter’s ex-wife. The real Susan Perkins. After their divorce, Walter moved to Eureka, and, missing her desperately, used his research to clone his wife, re-building her, cell by cell, from a sample of her DNA. The new Susan who recently died looked identical to the original, but on a cellular level, her body was only eight-years-old. However, the real moral dilemma of our story wasn’t about Walter cloning Susan. As our network head pointed out, that territory had been well-mined within the sci fi genre. (Note: Do not prove your network head right). Our focus was on Brian, the seven-year-old child Walter had with Susan’s clone. As a result of his parents’ untimely demise, young Brian was now orphaned. This is a boy that the original Susan has never met. Yet, biologically, he is her son. Does she have any moral obligations to care for him? Does she feel any connection to him when she sees their family resemblance? Will she decide to stay? We wanted the science behind the cloning to be as accurate as possible so it wouldn’t distract from the main point of the episode. Our advisor explained the theoretical process by which Walter could have used Susan’s DNA to grow her into a full-grown adult. And we loved that this would make her biologically only a year 126 In Hollywood Chemistry; Nelson, D., et al.; ACS Symposium Series; American Chemical Society: Washington, DC, 2013.

older than her son. Creep-tastic. The science was simple but plausible, allowing us to tell an emotionally complicated story about the bond between a mother and son.


The Borderline Sometimes, you have an idea for an episode that is just so much fun, it’s worth pushing the line further into the “fiction” side of science fiction. Such was the case with an episode called, “Blink.” The concept was grounded in a very relatable issue: work performance. We wanted to tell a story that dealt with the incredible pressures the townsfolk were under to produce results in their research projects at the Department of Defense-funded Global Dynamics. Two teams of scientists were pitted against each other for the same government grant and their deadline was looming. Stressed and exhausted, one of them decides they need a chemical advantage. With their genius I.Q.s, we figured the researchers at Global Dynamics could take performance-enhancing drugs to a whole new level (mind you, this was years before Lance Armstrong). What would a doping scandal look like in Eureka? We came up with “Blink,” a neural enhancement drug taken through eye drops that would speed up the synaptic firing in people’s brains, allowing them to think faster and more efficiently. Except one of the researchers “cooks” the compound into a super-concentrated version that speeds them up on a cellular level to the point where they can actually move super-fast, making them a threat to Carter and the town. This is where we began to push the boundaries of believability. I called our science advisor and gave him the pitch for our teaser: A researcher is in his lab, working late on a project. He’s surrounded by data, computer screens, books, stressed-out, clearly exhausted. Then he pulls out this tiny container of eye drops and places a drop in each eye. We push into his pupil as it dilates, deep into his brain where we see synapses begin rapidly firing. The scientist has renewed energy and begins processing information at an amazing rate, flying through books, typing with incredible speed. Then something goes wrong. Inside his brain, the synaptic firing turns into a storm of electrical impulses. Clearly, he has overdosed. A strange splashing sound begins to echo in the background as we slowly pull out of his eye and see he is now outside, running in slow-motion. His face is euphoric. And then we pull out further until we reveal that the splashing sound is actually his slow-motion footsteps because he is running across the surface of a lake. As we return to real time, he streaks across the surface of the water in a blur and slams into the side of an anchored boat. Carter would be called out to what appeared to be a boating accident, except he realizes that the deceased struck the boat, not the other way around. Our science advisor’s response was, “Cool!” Until I asked him, “How fast would the guy have to be moving to run across water without sinking?” Kevin asked me to give him ten minutes to do some rough calculations and he’d call me back. True to his word, my phone rang exactly ten minutes later. Like many scientists I’ve known over the years, Kevin’s brain tends to work much faster than his mouth can manage (though it makes a valiant effort). This requires one 127 In Hollywood Chemistry; Nelson, D., et al.; ACS Symposium Series; American Chemical Society: Washington, DC, 2013.


to pay very close attention to keep up, particularly when speaking over the phone. Kevin gave me his rapid-fire findings: Kevin: Okay, I’ve been doing some research. As you may know, the Basilisk Lizard, or “Jesus” Lizard, in South America can run across water, but relies on its webbed hind feet and tail to maintain buoyancy and balance. Clearly, humans lack both physical advantages. So, for a man of roughly one-hundred-eighty pounds to run on water for any kind of distance, he would need to be moving at an incredible rate of speed. Calculating his weight, surface area of size-eleven feet, and water density, that would be roughly 10 to the 18th power, or a quintrillion miles per hour, which would quickly peel off the subject’s skin, flay the muscles from his bones, and cause him to disintegrate, probably after bursting into flames. Me: So… you’re saying that scientifically it’s… improbable. Kevin: Affirmative. Me: (beat, considering) Okay... I’m gonna do it anyway, and your name will be in the credits as our science advisor, so how fast should I say he’s running in order for you to be able to sleep at night? Kevin: (heavy sigh, then) … Six-hundred-thirty-two miles per hour. Me: Done! Okay, maybe I made up the quintrillion figure, but it was something with a whole lot of zeroes. In any case… now armed with a hard number, we considered the other physical tolls such super-speed would take on the human body. The amount of energy required to move so quickly would burn an enormous amount of calories. The friction would generate heat, causing severe dehydration. We reasoned that people who were using the drug would have to consume massive quantities of food and liquids to counter the effects. This later became part of Carter’s investigation when he noticed the team of doping researchers bingeing in the cafeteria. These were small details that supported the concept of super-speed, but they proved significant in helping ground the story in science. In the final version of the episode, we sadly had to lose the “running-on-water” scene for budgetary reasons. That conversation went something like this: Me: Hey, can we shoot a guy running on water and sink a pleasure boat? Studio Executive: You’re adorable. I just want to put you in my pocket. Me: So, that’s a yes then? (click) Hello…? It was not a yes. We settled on a car accident instead. Admittedly, this was not as shocking as the opening we had originally conceived. But it still made for an 128 In Hollywood Chemistry; Nelson, D., et al.; ACS Symposium Series; American Chemical Society: Washington, DC, 2013.

exciting episode with great visuals and a unique investigation for Carter to solve. In the end, “Blink” successfully walked the line between science and magic, and became a fan favorite.


“Seriously?” That brings us to what I consider to be the most egregious example of loose science from Season One: “Primal.” A perfect storm of factors led to its creation. We were late in the season and running out of scripts. Ideally, you want five or six polished scripts in hand when you start filming a 13-episode season because it takes much longer to write them than it does to shoot them. It’s a six-to-eight-week process to take an episode from concept to shooting draft, versus only seven days to complete principal photography. Once the production train leaves the station, it burns up nearly a script a week, until you find yourself laying track in front of it, doing whatever is necessary to keep the engine from careening off the rails. Under the best circumstances, we would have been racing to make it to the finish line. Then we had the bad luck of getting a first draft from a freelance writer that we had to abandon. The problem with the script was not just in the execution. It was flawed in concept. But we had run out of time and had to move forward with a page-one rewrite despite its significant shortcomings. The theme of the story was about communication and emotional honesty in relationships. Two of our main characters were finalizing their divorce. Both wanted the other to reach out, but they suppressed their true feelings, which subconsciously emerged in destructive ways. Meanwhile, Sheriff Carter was trying to accept the end of his own marriage and the struggle to move on to a new relationship. It was a relatable and emotional armature to build on. For the science A-story, we wanted to explore the future of nanotechnology, microscopic machines with remarkable applications. The idea was a researcher named Taggart had developed a “nano-bandage” that could synthetically replicate damaged tissue. You would simply apply the sand-like nanoids to the wound, and they were programmed to mimic the exact properties of skin, knitting together and healing the injury instantly. Meanwhile, another researcher named Fargo had developed a “mental mouse” that attached to the temple, allowing the user to navigate a computer interface using only their thoughts. In this case, the user was the man being divorced, Dr. Nathan Stark, the genius director of Global Dynamics and all-around egomaniac. (Note: This is where the chocolate/peanut butter mix I mentioned earlier becomes important.) The signal from Stark’s mental mouse crossed frequencies with the programming in the tissue-replicating nanoids. Stark fell asleep with the mental mouse attached to his head, and the nanoids acted on the last mental directive they received from his subconscious dreaming. Once they realize what’s happened, the content of Stark’s dreams becomes critical in understanding what the nanoids intend to do. Stark reluctantly describes his dreams as wish fulfillment fantasies about his soon to be ex-wife, Allison… and some other stuff: Nathan Stark: …The usual: power, success, control, over…everything. 129 In Hollywood Chemistry; Nelson, D., et al.; ACS Symposium Series; American Chemical Society: Washington, DC, 2013.

Carter: (incredulous)You dream about world domination?


Stark: (shrugs) Not all the time. This results in the nanoids forming dozens of angry replicas of Nathan Stark that are hell-bent on taking over the town. (Cue record screech sound-effect here.) I know what you’re thinking: Huh? Even now, I see the promise of a compelling idea that was fraught with logic problems. Even if you buy into the programming error, why would the nanoids make multiple copies of Stark instead of just one? (Answer: Because multiple Starks are way cooler than just one.) Why would machines that were designed to replicate flesh also duplicate his Hugo Boss suit? (Answer: Because multiple naked Starks would be silly, not threatening. Though he is a very handsome man.) Why would Stark’s subconscious regrets about divorcing Allison translate into a nebulous coordinated goal for his nanoid replicas to escape town and take over the world? (Answer: Because Carter had to have an escalating threat to defeat.) The overriding answer was, because we needed them to, logic be damned. The show had to go on, and there was no time to start over with a brand new concept. So we wrote a new version of the script in record time, focusing on the emotional character stories of love and loss while grounding the science as much as possible. We knew we had broken our own cardinal rule. We crossed the line between sci fi and magic. I expected to be pilloried by our audience. Raked over the coals by reviewers. And I knew we deserved it. Here is where I learned the most important truth about making a successful sci fi series: If the audience is invested in your characters, and you are true to them in your story-telling, they’ll be forgiving. Just don’t make a habit of it. Was our science loose? Yes. Did we break our own rules? Without question. But did we let the sci fi plot device overwhelm the character story? No. If anything, because we knew we were treading on thin ice scientifically, we relied even more on the character dramas to keep viewers engaged. The science was admittedly far-fetched, but the emotional journeys were real. Was it our finest hour? Perhaps not. And I’m sure there were more than a few viewers who said those dreaded words, “Well, that couldn’t happen.” But they cared enough about the people in our little town of geniuses to keep watching. Undermining my entire argument about the importance of getting the science right, “Primal” has consistently been voted a Eureka fan favorite. I prefer to think of it as the exception, not the rule, though our science advisor disagrees with me. Kevin would argue that swarm intelligence is well-established in science fiction, most notably in Michael Crichton’s, Prey. But do not get him started on the “artificial water” we created in “Shower the People.” The lessons from that first season of episodes shaped the entire seven-year run of the show. We always endeavored to tell relatable human dramas while keeping our science fiction grounded. Ultimately, it all comes down to telling a good story. But if you can get the science right, the story will be that much richer for the effort. And if you’re really lucky, one day you’ll be invited to speak as an expert on the subject. Whatever you do, don’t tell them that you’re just making it up as you go along. 130 In Hollywood Chemistry; Nelson, D., et al.; ACS Symposium Series; American Chemical Society: Washington, DC, 2013.

Getting the Science Right: Tales from the Eureka Writers' Room - ACS

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