From Larissa Benfey

It’s been just over a week since the season (series?) finale of Ted Lasso, and like many people across the globe, one of my coping methods has been reminiscing. Always the theorist, it’s gotten me thinking about why exactly this show was such a hit; what made it appeal to so many different people, across borders, cultures, and even genres (many a self-identified ‘non-sports-fan’ admitted to loving this show almost despite themselves)? I believe the answer begins in the writers’ room. Though, perhaps not in the way you’d assume.

Good writing is an obvious necessity—the foundation on which a show stands or crumbles. But I think what made Ted Lasso not just stand, but stand out, was its understanding that writing and acting are two sides of the same coin, and for something to really work, those sides need to be given the freedom to collaborate with and complement one another.

It started with Jason Sudeikis and Brendan Hunt. Both of them brought the writer-slash-actor perspective to the writers’ table, and bonus: they would also be playing main characters on the show. One of their next additions was Brett Goldstein, another writer-slash-actor, who initially only signed on to be a writer. However, in a stroke of luck or genius (or both), he quickly realized he needed to at least audition for the role of Roy Kent, and of course, the rest is history.

Having three of the main writers play three of the main characters meant those writers were on set every day in multiple capacities. While writers will often have access to actors on set, to be able to run ideas past them, brainstorm on the fly, and so on, when a writer is also a part of the cast, it brings another dimension to the relationships, another level of familiarity. And while familiarity can breed contempt, in the case of Ted Lasso, it bred fully fleshed-out characters.

When I think of Ted Lasso, the phrase, “no small parts,” always comes to mind. In fact, it might be one of the best examples of the concept. For starters, from the outside looking in, I get the feeling a lot of the smaller characters in season one, like Trent Crimm, Isaac McAdoo, and Colin Hughes, may have started small, but they grew organically as the writers got to know the actors. This is not to diminish the actors’ performances, saying they simply are the characters, but more that the characters seem like tailor-made roles, really leaning into each actor’s strengths and capabilities.

Then there are the small roles that stayed relatively small, but still had a huge impact on the plot, and even more so on the heart of the show. The actors in these roles were all given moments in the spotlight, however fleeting, and because the writers really knew their actors, and the actors really knew their characters and their craft, they’d always shine.

Another thing I can only speculate—but that speculation is still steeped in cast interviews and behind-the-scenes tips—is that the show very likely gave its actors a lot of freedom to bring their own ideas to the characters, and allow their own lived experiences to influence moments in the show, thus making all of their actors writers.

The final product was a cast of characters we could fall in love with because they were real—three-dimensional—fleshed-out—whatever turn-of-phrase strikes your fancy. They didn’t feel like characters at all, but people, and people we were rooting for (or against, in some cases).

Ted Lasso was a show with a moral, a message—well, several: that everybody deserves a second chance, everyone is worthy of love, and we should always try to see the best in people. And it worked so well because it took its own advice. It gave actors like Hannah Waddingham a second chance (a career re-start, if you will); its ‘small role’ characters reminded us that they’re just as loveable as the main ones; and it saw potential and extracted the best performances from every one of its actors.

In a lot of ways, Ted Lasso feels like lightning in a bottle—because it is, it’s an incredibly special show—but, like the titular character himself, maybe it can also be a spark, an example: something future shows can look to for guidance. Maybe it’s a cautionary tale too. At least, it should be for the studio execs currently undervaluing their writers. It can serve as a reminder that the work writers do on the page is just the tip of the iceberg. It takes so much more than clever words and interesting plots to make a show truly exceptional. It takes collaboration, heart, and passionate, talented storytellers: actors, camera operators, directors, and always always always writers.

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