The Horror x2

Got an email from the director the other day. He was checking in. I told him things were moving ahead, which they are. I'm working my way ever further up river, toward the Heart of Darkness (the 3rd Act). Right now I'm somewhere near the 60 page mark - the point where all the easy comforts of civilzation begin to recede into the dense, otherworldly fog. I'm losing sight of the riverbanks, and strange sounds are in the distance. Madness awaits. But In is the only way Out. So every day I go over to Brentwood to work out of the Office. And it's going well. I guess, really, I can't complain much. Everything is going sorta well. I'm doing my part, you know?

I keep having these fantasies about getting paid, and having meetings, and fielding offers, and finishing some OTHER fucking script instead of this one, which has been my only output in, like, four years. Fantasies, fantasies, fantasies. Freedom. Money. New York. Money. Comeraderie. New York. An Oscar nomination. Money.

We're still waiting on actors. No answer from Robbins, Spacek, Cooper, or Poitier. Any one of them would be good. Any amount of money would be good. Well, not ANY. Like, six figures.

The task at hand

Tuesday I met with the director for the last of the meetings devoted to parsing the particulars of his notes on Get Low. It went a good six hours and I left in a daze. Lots of information and scenarios and things that I didn't quite see how I could accomplish. I was in a shit mood afterward. I went to my ladyfriend's house later in the evening and found it difficult to do anything but sulk. But three days and one therapist's appointment later I'm feeling okay. The last two days I've been working out of The Office, a workspace in Brentwood that is a rip-off of the fantastic idea I had last year when bopping around Hollywood coffee shops doing a rewrite on a script: a place where you basically have everything you need to do your work, and you just pay as you go. You know, an office. So this guy beat me to the punch. Ah, well. I got bigger fish to fry.

I've begun the rewrites in earnest - although I'm dragging a bit today. There has been one somewhat major bit of work done on an early set of scenes, and I must admit that I feel good about them. I guess the irony of all my hemming and hawing and complaining and consternation is that ultimately, the words that go on the page are mine. So how much can I really bitch? I still get to create. And that is sort of what it's all about. I'm on pace right now: 30 pages in, although the majority of the challenging work is in the last third of the script, so there is a good chance that the inverse will occur: from 30 pages in 3 days to 3 pages in 30 days. Ah, c'est la guerre.

No actual news to report in terms of actors or money. Only thing that happened recently was that someone at CAA slipped the script to Sally Field, who immediately expressed interest.

As for other projects in the mix, the Cop Comedy TV pilot seems kind of DOA. It's gone around town and not lit anyone's fire. So maybe Matt and I are the only ones who thought it was funny. I guess that happens. The AC Jungle screenplay (once again, I'm afraid) is on indefinite hold as I endeavor to finish the Get Low rewrites. I'm going to miss another goddamn self-imposed deadline with that one. And from the department of Homeland Insanity, I'm gripped with an idea focussing on the JFK assassination and I've begun doing very rudimentary research. Why I think I've got the time or resourses to chase down a gargantuan idea like that, I have no idea. Oh, and I'm back to considering working on a novel, cuz, you know, those are a jif.