Hollywoodspeak

The director returned from Berlin last Friday - he was shooting der cell phone kommercial. We spoke on Sunday about what (little) work I had accomplished during my week off from Carpocalypse. I gave him my notes and suggestions and he is fleshing out his thoughts so that when I'm done with the show for good (week after next) we can really get into the rewrites with gusto. Morgan Freeman passed. When I spoke to my manager I said, "So, he's out?" In a brilliant bit of spin, he replied,"He's not out, he's just not in."

During last week I did much work with Matt on the pilot. We involved my manager, told him to be ready to get the thing out asap. We worked last night and should be ready to send it out Monday. Hopefully the election won't last a week and people will get back to us soon. Also last week, began to get courted by a producer to do not one, but two adaptations. We'll see what shakes out. Hopefully, you know, ka-ching.

Blow it up. Blow it back to God.

I have now recovered from the meeting. It was a day and a half ago, but it's effects were still circulating through my system until about 2am this morning. We got together at 4:00pm on Wednesday and were there for three hours. I took notes the whole time. I spoke up once or twice, maybe more. I had a Diet Coke. I was doing my part to make minimal eye contact. Power play, I thought. Show my skepticism.

The substance of the meeting was that essentially he'd like to keep the characters, keep the settings, and keep the general "feel" of the script, but reimagine it over from the beginning. Basically blow it up, find all the little pieces and then put it back together. I like Aaron, I think he's a passionate, creative guy, and he obviously is very much invested in making this film, but as the scope of the workload washed over me - especially after birthing the thing for two long, difficult, unpaid years - I felt an urge to weep. And then I wanted to slap him. Not out of anger, just as a tension breaker, you know, to divert attention from my suffering. I left with one of those headaches right behind my eye and that made me terribly nauseous, and I drove home in a kind of crescent shape, slumped over the wheel.

I still haven't processed it all. For their part, the producers came across as sympathetic... but they still won't pay me, and they didn't exactly say not to do the work. Of course, I am not complaining - per se - (I'm aware this is my meal ticket, should the thing get made) I'm just sort of... I dunno... in awe of the realities of the process. Jesus.

Come to Jesus

This afternoon I am cutting out of work early to get to the Beverly Hills offices of The Zanuck Company for a meeting with all the principals. Not Duvall, of course, all the behind-the-scenes principals. There was much juggling as to when this meeting would happen, primarily becuase the director wanted he and I to sit down and work stuff out before we went in. Well, we haven't and I don't think that's a bad thing. We've involved Dean and Co. in developing the script the whole time (two years this week) and I don't see why he should be left out of the process now. I have to come heavy as they say in the mob world, because I have a feeling I'm gonna get knocked around a little. Director not happy, likely will lash out. Seems like a nice guy, though. I've only met him twice. Both times were notes meetings. How can you judge a guy that way? Second time he ordered a burger and fries and soup and two Dr. Brown's diet creme sodas. Anyway, we'll see what course the script takes after today's meeting of the five families. On the unmitigated good side, Morgan Freeman was personally called by Richard Zanuck yesterday. Details unknown. Also, Chris Cooper's name is once again being flung around. I think they are in hot pursuit.

Waiting for the Clampdown

Now I've done it. I sent a big long email to the involved parties about the notes the director and I discussed. It was seriously like a 5 page email. You know, I was just trying to hash it all out in my head. On paper. Email, I mean. Whatever. Point is they all woke up to a five page detailed email about my interpretation of the notes, which was not whiney. I would not say I whined. I would maybe say that I struck a note of mild panic. I mean, really, what we're looking at is not a rewrite, it's alchemy, it's cold fusion, it's turning plowshares into swords. In other words, it's not a polish, it's a revamp. Dean was the first to respond, saying he felt my pain and we'd hash it out. Then my manager. He just wants to be in the loop. He's in New York right now, so he's in the 3,000 loop. Nevertheless, the only person MIA is the director. Conspicuously absent through all of this, likely because I've lobbed a concussion grenade of the are-we-sure-we-want-to-open-up-the-patient-and-perform-major-surgery variety into his tent. Now he's scared we're all gonna gang up on him in the meeting. Which we probably will. Oh, yeah. Dean called a meeting for Thursday morning. This after my therapy session.

HUngover

This will no doubt disappoint the director, should he find out, but I don't think I'm up to doing any work today. I've just finally roused myself from a half-conscious morning of nausea, headache, and gastrointestinal distress. Let's face it, it is not because I'm marching in the storied parade of instrospective alcoholic writers, it's because I'm a 31 year-old man who can't hold is booze any longer. Plus I've been back on the No Carb bullshit for a week or so now, and last night's dinner of sausage didn't do much in the way of soaking up my six gin and tonics at a friend's birthday party. This morning my body revolted and forced me to eat a whole box of toaster waffles. They were whole wheat, but then again, I ate all six in the box. With butter and syrup. Only slightly less bad that, say, fried rice for breakfast.

As far as Get Low is concerned, I made a little progress yesterday and I'm hoping that by around 4 or so I'll be able to read through it and make some notes and think hard about all the changes, etc., etc. I can't express how hard it is to get excited about going back in and revisiting all those goddamn hillbillies yet again (especially feeling as I do). The key players are now talking about paying me - possibly out of pocket - to get cracking on the rewrites; it seems as though everyone is convinced that we are shooting a movie in March 2005. They don't want something as pedestrian as "freelance work" to interfere with the schedule. So, conceivably, I could finally get some dough. Also, I could be on a Hollywood movie set in less than six months. Me and Bob Duvall.

I think I need to go to the mall and just walk around in a coma. Yes. Coma. Consume.

Finishing

It is a rare thing for a script to ever be finished. Get Low has been finished more times than I can count. I imagine work will continue on it up until they're checking the camera's gate for hair. Maybe the real milesone, apart from a screening, is finishing something for the first time. If so, Matt and I passed a milestone on the comedy pilot. After five or six month's work, we printed the 1st draft yesterday. We think it's funny. We think it's well done. We think we're living gods. You kind of have to think all these things when you've just finished something, you have to trick yourself into believing it will be loved and adored and you'll get thrown heaps of praise and big bags of money. Otherwise reality will crush you. Anyway, we changed the title, which is now officially "NYC Detectives: New York."

The rest of today will be spent going over notes from the director on Get Low. He's so anxious to getting me writing (and off Carpocalypse) that he's had a conversation with Dean Zanuck about paying me. THAT would be something. Being paid to finish the script.

A day off...

So my writing partner Matt is on his way over - actually there's a good chance he'll interrupt this. We're setting about to finish the pilot he and I have been working on for six months. I have to say, he did the lion's share of the revision work, and by that I mean that once we realized five months of our work was shit, he went in and rewrote evertything all over again. I was tied up working as a writer/producer on "Carpocalypse," a reality show about redneck demolition derby drivers that will air on Spike TV in the next couple of months (check local listings!). Anyway, Matt really picked up the ball that I, as half the writing team, dropped. Today we're punching it up and hoping to put it to bed. By Friday, my manager will have it, and next week we'll all sit down and see what kind of strategy we want to adopt to "get it out there." It's a comedy by the way.

On the Get Low front, had a long conversation with the director Aaron yesterday. I broke his Farmer's Market cherry, which was my pleasure; it was done to me, and I have no problem passing along the favor, I only regret the Beverly Hills Art League and all the old ladies' paintings are gone. Nontheless, we spoke for a few hours about changes to the script. They are hefty, but the more I think about them - dammit - he's right. They ultimately will make for a better finished product. We talked a lot about Morgan Freeman. He's the Holy Grail of this project right now. We get him, we dance. Aaron had a whole packet of casting suggestions that William Morris, his agency, put together. It was impressive. The binding, I mean. Impressive to see my work covered in a legitimate and well-known agency's blue cardstock script binding. It really is the little things.


** for those who may or may not know about this stuff, the pilot is a cop half-hour comedy. Get Low is the screenplay I wrote about the old hermit who asks to have his funeral preached. The Zanuck Company will produce, Aaron Schneider will direct, and Robert Duvall (and hopefully Morgan) will star.

Why not?

Now that I've got some things happening in my life that might deemed "interesting" or "informative" or "cool" I thought I'd jot down the occasional thought every now and again. What can I say? I'm sqaurely stuck in a generation that is in love with itself and its ability to record every banal moment for a future generation. Why fight it? This is the first in what will be a series of entries about my adventures in Showbizwood.

Anyway, this is just the warning shot. Look for more soon.