Breakfast with Sharks Read online

  sixth draft—goldenrod

  seventh draft—buff

  Hook. The hook is your premise or concept in a nutshell. In short, why a mass audience would want to see this movie. What’s so unique or exciting about it? Why would an actor like, say, Tom Cruise, want to play the lead? Studios like to make movies with bankable elements to hedge against the uncertainties of the market. A killer hook is something that can make an executive take notice. It’s something he can sell to his or her boss.

  STUDIO NOTES: WHAT THEY ARE AND HOW TO HANDLE THEM

  There are two types of project developers: Those who don’t presume to know how to write, so they don’t try, and those who do, and leave it to others to deal with the results. You should know that most studio and production company notes come in sandwich form—that is, a top sliver of praise for elements of the project that stand out; two pounds of corned-beef “serious concerns” criticism; and a bottom-line wrap-up of the exciting possibilities of the project as a whole, once you make the necessary changes. Learn to recognize this concoction, and only fear the breadless sandwich. When the notes don’t make sense, don’t panic. If you have a clear idea of what and why you’re doing something, stick with that. The 120-page script format demands that the story be told in concise fashion. You can’t wander in the wilderness for twenty pages, as you could with a novel, for example, and expect to keep your audience.

  The Secret About Notes

  Many writers feel that everybody at the studio has an opinion that they feel inclined to share about what’s wrong with your project and how to make it better. For all those notes that execs hand out like parking tickets at a monster truck convention, they actually don’t like doing substantial development on projects. One exec told me that Memento sprang directly from the draft submitted by the writer onto the screen with virtually no notes. Scripts with great premises or subject matter but that require a lot of fixing go into what Hollywood refers to as “development hell.” It’s called hell because developing draft after draft saps everyone’s patience and enthusiasm for the project.

  Many writers get confused and disoriented by notes, because in a sense they are being asked to dismantle an engine that in their mind works, even if inefficiently. Story elements, problems, and solutions can feel like dozens of parts disassembled and spread out all over the shop floor. Now they’re being asked to make a spaceship out of a dune buggy. To avoid panic and disorientation, it’s crucial to have a visually logical system for organizing notes in place. When I receive studio or production company notes, the first thing I do is make a copy. On the duplicate I proceed to highlight every “positive” comment with a yellow marker. Then I go back through and highlight every concern or problem in orange. Related notes on a particular issue, say “characterization” and the “protagonist’s arc,” I circle in red and connect together with arrows. Any problem or solution that I’ve discovered on my own, or that occurs to me while reading the notes, I write along the margins in pen. I post the notes across my bulletin board, highlighting in pink every issue I’ve completely addressed, as I complete them in the rewrite. When I come to a problem or potential solution that needs discussion, either by running it by my manager or by calling the producer, I write the item out on a Post-it that also goes on the page. The predominant color on the studio notes will be walls of pink marker when I’m finished.

  Sometimes a producer or, less often, a studio exec will mark up the physical draft of the script. When that happens, I fold lengthwise and tuck in any pages where no notes have been given, leaving only pages with script notes sticking out. Again, I use a pen-and-marker system to record my reactions to the notes, along with problems and solutions I foresee. When a particular issue has been addressed, I tuck in those pertinent pages, too. Ultimately the script rewrite is not complete until I have folded and tucked in the entire screenplay. The importance of the above steps is giving yourself tools and a system for attacking the rewrite, while mollifying any frustration and/or panic you may feel about having to jump back in within days or weeks of having completed the previous draft.

  9

  SECTION 307: STUDIO EXECUTIVES

  Who Are Studio Executives?

  What Does It Take to Be a Studio Executive?

  How to Think Like an Executive

  EXTRA CREDIT READING:

  What Just Happened and A Pound of Flesh by Art Linson You’re Only As Good As Your Next One by Mike Medavoy

  Never judge a book by its movie.

  —J. W. EAGAN

  WHO ARE STUDIO EXECUTIVES?

  Development executives and creative executives, aka DEs and CEs, are the studio gatekeepers and note-givers just below the vice-presidents and well above assistants. A common trait of solid DEs or CEs is cat-like, rapid-fire mental agility. Since the average exec probably hears and reads more stories in a month than you will pitch during your entire professional career, they are particularly adept at mixing and matching elements from all parts of the cosmos. Meanwhile, most writers focus on making a single story work in a complete and coherent fashion. DEs and CEs do the heavy lifting required to move projects forward in Hollywood. These people are in their twenties and thirties and work frenetically cruel schedules six and seven days a week. They are fueled by adrenaline and fear. The adrenaline that fuels them comes from having power to put a multimillion-dollar movie into production. As Art Linson points out in What Just Happened,the fear comes from having green-lighted a project, forcing the studio’s checkbook open, and then watching the gaining momentum that will propel it out of the executives’ control.

  Executive Code Talkers

  Execs who are about to pass on or reject material will use euphemisms like “intelligent” because the designation appeals to a writer’s vanity. However, the experienced screenwriter quickly learns that “intelligent” is a kiss of death because it implies limited audience appeal and a tough sell.

  Likewise, writers who are complemented on the “gritty realism” of a script’s ending, can bet that the studio’s first note will be for something that’s “a little more upbeat.” To wit: The endings of L.A. Confidential and Fatal Attraction. Execs often “flip” for material they find “fabulous,” but these are generic compliments and hold no stock unless more substantive comments are also given.

  WHAT DOES IT TAKE TO BE A STUDIO EXECUTIVE?

  Many writers have reactive intelligence, that is, they observe something and react to it with detached perspective. It’s a protracted, slow-moving way to process information, and it requires a great deal of concentration. In contrast, studio executives are passionate workaholics who cook with heat. By this I mean that there are two things you need to know: First, Hollywood execs are ambitious; and, second, they worry constantly about getting fired. Those two goals are diametrically opposed. Execs’ desire not to stick their necks out too much for any given project gives way to a rugby scrum for credit when it’s clear that a film is going to perform well. So a good exec must stand out from the pack even as he or she remains mindful of studio politics, where many, many people vie for the credit on relatively few successes, and flee from a minefield of failed, often expensive projects.

  Most execs work so hard that over time they develop an internal sense of what works and what appeals to a particular target audience. For them, the ideal group to captivate usually consists of young males aged fourteen to twenty-eight. When you pitch to a CE or DE, they will look for stories with such elements and hooks as a particularly interesting protagonist (i.e., a conflicted, no-name anti-hero with both a personal agenda and a conscience) or an inventive time constraint (i.e., a bomb on a bus set to detonate if the bus goes slower than fifty-five miles an hour).

  Executive Skills

  1. rapid-fire intelligence

  2. internal story sense

  3. knack for pinpointing script problems

  4. passion

  5. workaholism

  6. skill at office politics

  Past box-office grosses, famou
s names, and present politics are an exec’s only candle in the darkness. Whereas familiar concepts presented in tried-and-true three-act structure give execs tangible security and a steady reference point, a radically new idea represents the unknown—an end product whose result is unforeseeable. New ideas are that mysterious fiery-eel gumbo studio execs once tried while trekking through the Amazon. Meanwhile, it’s safer to say no to hundreds of projects than to say yes to just one. And when an exec does like something, it’s better to have safety in numbers, in the form of more execs on board. Decisions by committee are a vastly safer bet. To wit: A few years ago, a rising-star producer/manager newly ensconced at a top production company gave a self-aggrandizing “wonder of me” cover story interview in the local paper. The industry buzz was that his employers didn’t appreciate being overshadowed, and in fact, within eight weeks, the producer was fired.

  Early in my career, a CE at Disney took a liking to a big genre script I had started in grad school. The exec was so enthusiastic that he offered to help me shape the script during the rewrite process, with the goal of setting up the script at Disney. The executive was also extremely diligent—often our story meetings were over the phone late on Sunday nights, which was the only “free time” the exec had. Six months of hard work later, I had a promising draft in hand. However, by then, the executive championing my project had been fired, presumably for not seeing eye-to-eye with his boss on developing the exec’s slate of projects, or perhaps for showing a penchant for going it alone. Despite possessing the prerequisite tools of work ethic and passion, the exec apparently lacked stomach for the riptide of studio politics, and quickly threw in the industry towel to enter law school. Of course, the exec’s replacement showed little enthusiasm upon hearing about my project.

  Tale from the Front

  I was brought in to pitch the new senior VP of a well-known production company specializing in big-budget monster movies. We really clicked, and the VP loved my project. He said he was taking it directly to the head of the company that very afternoon. A tense week of silence passed before I heard that the company president wouldn’t commit off a pitch. So I began to write out my existing treatment into a script as fast as I could. Ten weeks later I had a rough draft that needed some cleaning up. When I asked my manager whether I should send over the script for comments before starting the rewrite, he said, “I don’t know if [the VP] is going to make it.” Two weeks later and less than four months after he started, the new VP was fired.

  HOW TO THINK LIKE AN EXECUTIVE

  As the above anecdote illustrates, the world of the executive is all about risk management, production cost, and profit analysis. “How much will it cost, and what will it earn?” Most execs start their day by tracking, or dialing up all their contacts for the latest buzz on a hot prospect, for example a highly anticipated spec delivered by a well-known writer. The exec is always looking for ways to cut through the standard shop talk and discover any true secrets that a colleague may let slip, such as how much another competitor may be willing to pay for the aforementioned hot property. A writer can benefit from such impulses by staying informed about the industry beyond his or her own projects via the trades, screenings, Internet boards, and industry gatherings. Sometimes a writer can glean and pass along a bit of information that will be of benefit to an exec with whom they are solidifying a relationship. For example, I was once at a screening hosted by Clint Eastwood. I asked him if there were any projects he was interested in but had been unable to make for whatever reason. He considered the question thoughtfully and then said, “Yeah. I’ve always wanted to find a way into Golf in the Kingdom.” Later I mentioned this to a director of development with whom I was meeting. He shrugged, indicating no awareness of the book, and simply said, “Interesting,” before moving on to my work. As I was leaving, however, I overheard the exec asking his assistant to track down a copy of Golf In the Kingdom. A few days later the exec messengered over a newly purchased spec script of the book with a note that read, “Thought you’d be interested in checking this out. Love to hear what you think.” It was a quid-pro-quo thanks.

  10

  SECTION 310: PRODUCERS

  Who Are Producers?

  What Are the Different Kinds of Producers?

  How Producers Stay in Business

  Money Guys

  Relationship Guys

  Talent Guys

  Line Producers

  Producers and Criticism of Your Work

  Producers and Their Relationship to Studios

  EXTRA CREDIT READING:

  The Film Producer by Paul Lazarus III

  Work like you don’t need the money, love like you’ve never been hurt, and dance like you do when nobody’s watching.

  —SATCHEL PAIGE

  WHO ARE PRODUCERS?

  Producers develop movies from such source material as screenplays, books, theatrical plays, songs, and newspaper and magazine articles. Subjects may include historical or fictional events or characters, as well as first-person experiences; any combination of these elements can become a story. Producers look for projects that make their pulses pound and get their brains exploding with ideas. This last part is crucial, because it falls to the producer to stay enthusiastic for the marathon of preproduction, production, and postproduction ahead, since he or she must still be there to market the finished project long after the actors, director, and writer have moved on to other movies. For example, Sal Zaentz pursued the making of At Play in the Fields of the Lord for two decades, and Joel Silver believed in the potential of The Matrix at a time when the conventional wisdom of Hollywood was that audiences had no interest in cybermovies, based on the high-profile box-office failures of Johnny Mnemonic and Strange Days.

  “What is a producer?” Actually, that’s a pretty tough question, since just about anybody with access to a cell phone and trendy sunglasses can claim to be a producer. As you may be thinking right now, defining what constitutes a producer can be a slippery task. Much danger lies in the fact many sleazy stowaways take advantage of the situation via go-nowhere deals that waste weeks or months of a writer’s time, and, of course, there’s the legendary casting couch. Thus the title of producer sometimes takes on a diminished or sordid connotation in the industry pecking order. A proven track record of credits on completed films is your best gauge of a producer’s rank.

  Tip on Producers

  “Wow. That’s a good story!” is the reaction you want when pitching a producer. However, many producers juggle anywhere from twenty-five to seventy-five projects at one time, so they often adopt an air that is vague and distant, since often they can’t remember what they said to you yesterday. Pauses on their side of a phone conversation usually indicate the producer reading notes on a computer screen compiled by an assistant. The writer’s job is to be clear and direct enough to cut through the producer’s distractions and get his or her undivided attention.

  WHAT ARE THE DIFFERENT KINDS OF PRODUCERS?

  By strict definition, producers are responsible for the creation, development, packaging, and financing of a movie. They can specialize in one or all of these tasks. For this reason, good producers should be flexible, persistent, and hardworking. They are used to being told “no”a lot. They can be money guys who are able to secure financing, or relationship guys who have the necessary access to studio decision-makers or certain coveted talent and directors. A producer can be a financier adept at procuring money, dealmaker skilled at bringing money, talent and director to the negotiating table to close the deal, or moviemaker able to take a project from script to screen. The moviemaker title implies more creativity, since such a producer relies mainly on his or her instinct for a good story. Producers can also be line producers adept at squeezing out a finished film from an extremely convoluted production process, a kind of grease monkey who handles the budgeting, scheduling, and hiring of the film crew. Line producers should not be mistaken for full producers.

  HOW PRODUCERS STAY IN BUSINESS

/>   Many producers are former studio executives. And like many executives, producers are aggressive. Their motto is “Eat someone else’s lunch before they have the chance to eat yours.” Producers can have as many as seventy-five projects in development at any given time. As you no doubt realize by now, movies are difficult to get made. Producers are more immersed in the wrestling in canned corn that it takes to get a film into production than anyone else. So they hedge their bets by not relying on any one project to keep them in business. The producer who only develops a couple of projects at a time runs the risk of starving on Sunset Boulevard. Likewise, this profession is at the mercy of an unspoken “three strikes and you’re out” rule. That is, produce three movies that fail commercially, and you’re out of the business for all intents and purposes. (When a movie is truly awful, it is said to “fall off the screen.”) Because of the three-strikes rule, producers try to bolster their position on any given project by attaching (securing contractually) recognizable names. Attaching famous names like Julia Roberts and Brad Pitt are called elements. Elements help producers push their projects through studio development and get them made.

  PRODUCERS AND CRITICISM OF YOUR WORK

  Here’s an old Hollywood maxim that still applies: “When you get a ‘yes’ for an answer, cut the meeting short and then leave as quickly as possible, because ‘yes’ can quickly become ‘no’ if you say the wrong thing and the producer starts having doubts that you and he are on the same page. Writers should also become adept at reading between the lines when dealing with a producer. “I loved it. But I didn’t LOVE! it,” a producer once said to me after I pitched him on my spec. That meant that he liked many elements of the story, but didn’t feel that fire in the gut required to shepherd a script to the screen.