The Essay Portion Will Be Graded

With written proposals for four series and one MOW submitted to various networks as they requested, and while I await research on three more MOWs, I’ve been freed up at work after a long haul of writing to review a ton of spec pitches that have come in over the last few months.

As you can probably tell from my last post.

And then yesterday at lunch I listened to an interview with Michael Arndt, writer of Little Miss Sunshine. (Not that money’s the only thing, but interestingly, it was made for about $8 million, sold to Fox Searchlight at Sundance for $10.5 million and has taken in over $76 million. Plus, I really liked it.)

Anyway, Arndt said that Hollywood is “overflowing with B- scripts.” He said he didn’t think there were that many bad scripts floating around in Hollywood, just a lot of unfinished ones. Good point.

(Although… I know there are a lot of bad scripts out there. I’ve read some of them. [I just hope mine aren’t among them –- though secretly I fear they are…] As for the TV show pitches I get sent, a few are good, some are unfinished, but man, a lot of them are just plain bad. Like, smelly bad. Like, please leave it outside or it’ll stink up the kitchen bad.)

If a script makes it to an agent, studio, manager, someone out in Hollywood with enough clout to spread it around, even if it’s stuck in turnaround for years, there has to be some merit to it. But merit alone gets you a B-. To go further you need at least a B+. Of course, even if you have a solid A, it can float for years because of weird business decisions that have noting to do with the quality of your script.

It just keeps getting more and more unfair, huh?

Writing is hard. Everyone who writes says this. But I’m not sure everyone who writes does this. Which is to say, actually work hard. It’s really freaking difficult to take an objective look at your script, weed out the notes from your trusted readers that have merit, and then go in and fix the problems. Most writers, I think, don’t get to that last part.

I’ve written dozens of hours of primetime cable television, some that have won awards. I have one movie under my belt, done the hard way. What this has taught me is that it takes a lot of hard work. Really. Like, seriously. HARD WORK. Long hours trying and failing and trying again. Then failing again and trying once more. Thrice more. Then convincing yourself you’re a hack, and then talking yourself into trying again.

It’s not enough to say you’re struggling over a script, but in truth all you’re doing is reading it over and over, and in the end, you change 1% of it because you can’t figure out what else to do.

I’ve been handed scripts by writers who say they’ve been toiling over it forEVER, and then I read it and it's still full of typos and inconsistent slug lines. Let alone wildly obvious logic flaws. Or a totally uninspired story.

Of course, it’s still very hard for me to do this revision thing. There’s something about a written document that you’ve spent months creating that feels concrete and unchangeable. But dammit man, you have to keep plugging away. And admit that you’re flawed. And be willing to kill your babies. (See earlier post re: this terrible infanticide…)

Which is why the Harlem rewrite, though it’s been frustrating and intimidating, has been good for me. I’m forcing myself to keep a fresh mind, throw away things that won’t work no matter how much I love them or how badly I want them to work.

Because even though I have all those writing credits, I’m still very much a beginner and I have a lot to learn.

Maybe not as much as the lady who keeps calling me at work because she had the idea for almost every hit show out there before they came out… but I have a lot to learn. The good thing is, I’m willing to muscle my way past the B- mark.

Or try anyway.

Dude, I Got A Great Idea

There’s no shortage of ideas.

Ideas are easy.

Give me a few hours, Arvo Part’s Alina album and a couple cups of good coffee, and I’ll come back to you with concepts for 10 TV shows, four movies and a fetching little commercial for erectile dysfunction pills.

Ideas are easy.

At work, every week I get a dozen calls, emails and written submissions about shows that are gonna be the next Survivor, or the next Borat-meets-The Ring-for-the-small-screen.

Some of them are actually good ideas.

But ideas are easy.

Developing them into something sellable, selling them, and then producing them -– now that’s hard.

And since you’re looking at our development department, only so many can go forward at one time. So choosing is important.

Many thanks to all the people who have pitched ideas -– and thanks to me for creating my own –- but apologies to all, including myself, that we can’t do them all at once.

So keep a paper trail, I tell myself and those who come pitching to me. Keep reviewing the old ideas. Be patient and persistent –- and know when to be one or the other.

Even though ideas are easy, they’re important. So keep them brewing. And make them better. Richer. Tighter. More distinct. Those are the ones that rise to the top of the pile because they’re easier to envision as productions, which is what this is all about.

A friend recently told me that he heard the job of a producer is to make a list and then do it.

Exactly.

Ideas are easy. Now do them.

The Man In 1997

Name that big haired man.

(How do you adjust the size of the photo window? Hmm...)

So last weekend we did some pickup shots on Dismal. Now, principal was in July, when the forest and swamp are at their height of lushness. Now it's November and things are brown. Problem one.

Problem two: a wicked storm blew in on the day we had the camera. By the time we got to Ray's place it was like some supertornado special on The Weather Channel.

I refused to pack it in. Might as well try. Shoot something.

Good thing Ray has a barn.

We dressed a horse stall to be two types of backround ground: one greenish (to match a forest trail) and one brownish (to match the dirt by the bad guy's shack). Don't ask what constituted the brown in the brownish one. Let's just say it was a fragrant shoot.

Anyway, we shot tight and kept the background out of focus and damn if it didn't work.

But then last night the editor found another shot that would come before one of the pickup shots, and it does work better, but now our stand-in actor has to move slightly differently in the greenish shot.

So we're trying to put together another little pickup day this weekend. It's really just a slight expansion of an already planned pickup day. We were gonna get the camera to do a little more helicopter stuff anyway, so now we're just adding a bit more to the day.

Thankfully, everyone on the team is pretty patient.

Because patience is what we need.

Like someone needs a haircut.

Good Work, Y'all

Yesterday I was talking to a friend about the value of your work and then Greg wrote about grace at the Web of Lies, so I got to thinking all spiritual and shit.

As a Buddhist I try to follow the old dude’s Nobel Eightfold Path because I think it’s a good way to live. One of the eight principles is Right Livelihood, which suggests we should “lead a balanced life, neither extravagant nor miserly,” and make sure our “income stands in excess of expenses.” Pretty sage advice, I’d say. But also, Right Livelihood suggests our work should respect and even assist other people and the world.

When I was a teacher, I felt pretty solid with my Right Livelihood. Okay, my expenses often stood in excess of my income, but that wasn’t because of extravagant living, it was because in this country we just don’t pay the people who serve very well. Teachers, police officers, social workers, nurses? Let’s pay these self-absorbed lowlifes shit. But the guy who can hit three-pointers most of the time or the lady who knows how to get away with underpaying workers so she and her Board can make more money? Pay them zillions.

Anyway, I did feel overall that I was helping the world back then. I was trying, at least, to help some kids learn how to learn, how to be good people, how to ask questions about the world.

But now I make television programs. I made one movie and hope to make more.

And so I started questioning if I’m still making my work something that’s important. Not as easy to see. TV and movies? Hmm.

You could make the argument that art (if TV and film are art -– or more specifically, if the kind I make are…) does matter and helps the world. I might buy that.

But I think that what Buddha was also talking about was to be mindful of how you go about your work. I try to be honest, compassionate, humble and all that good stuff while doing my job. I don’t always succeed of course, but listen, the Pope wears Prada shoes and just put out a calendar of photos of him at his country estate, so come on. We’re all human.

Buddha helped define Right Livelihood by talking about what Wrong Livelihood is. He said five professions should be avoided outright: trade in weapons, human beings, meat, intoxicants and poison – so I’m glad my days as a gun-running, slave-trading, butcher/drug dealer with a knack for fatal concoctions are over.

But he said we also should not be scheming and belittling or look out only for our own gain in our work. Hey, that I can do. That I do do, when dealing with people who work with or for me, or for whom I work. I don’t want to come off as a hippie (those days are over too, thankfully, but I admit I spent my time at Dead shows) but I am always sure to conduct myself ethically. I don’t ever want to succeed by screwing other people. That would suck, really.

So, fellow writers, don’t get down on yourselves. You’re okay in what you do -– as long as you do it right.

That is, unless you still have that night job whipping up poisons for The Man. Knock that shit off.

A Whole Lotta Something

It’s been a blast of content creation for me recently.

Pressure’s been heavy at work. A group of international networks contacted us and asked for proposals for two series that they think will do well overseas -– and that they think we can do well. They have a very tight schedule on the development process, but the tightness goes both ways: we didn’t have a lot of time to write up the proposals, but they promise to give us feedback within days and decide who gets the gig by the end of the month.

So, it’s been a flurry of writing for me. We’re talking full series proposals -– but I got them handed in on time Friday and we have a conference call scheduled with the execs for Wednesday. I like this quick turnaround stuff when it’s reciprocal.

The pitches are good. One a little better than the other, but both could be solid and interesting shows. We’ll see.

In addition to that, I have an act breakdown for an MOW due this Friday for another client (this time a domestic network), so the flurry continues. This one’s a great story -– one I’ve hoped to be able do for a long time, actually, so I’m really excited about it. It’s a compelling story but it’s also an important one.

I just hope that in a week I can do it justice. Tough to do a detailed outline of a two-hour story in five days, showing not only the developing drama, but also what the movie will look and feel like.

But if my work over the last decade has done anything, it’s taught me how to produce good stuff fast.

I mean, last year for one series, we did almost a year’s worth of work in 6 months. Okay, okay, I wore myself down to the nub of a man -- and had to hire Greg toward the end to help with the final push -- but we did it.

Man, that was fun, wasn’t it, Greg?

Or, fun maybe isn’t the right word.

Man, that was something, wasn’t it, Greg?

As for my own writing, I have what I think is an interesting start to the Harlem movie. It’s been a lot of deconstruction and reconstruction, and I still can’t see the whole thing yet, but the pieces are falling into place a little. Good to be diving back in.

It’s a lot of… something.

Do I Want More Cake? I Don't Know, Do I?

As of yesterday, I’m another year older.

And?

I always think it’s odd when people freak out about getting older. I mean, sure, sometimes I pine for the days when I was 17 and physically fearless. But I like getting older. In fact, I prefer it. I’d be a really weird 17-year-old now if I were still 17 after all these years…

Plus, you should read some of the shite I wrote back then.

Let’s just say the world didn’t need another Jim Morrison writing poetry.

Anyway, a strange thing happened last week. I started writing again.

As I mentioned before, I’d been doing a lot of jotting down of ideas and such, and mostly they were about the crime thriller, but late last week I actually started writing. And on the day I fired up the laptop, I dove into the Harlem rewrite and not the crime thriller. Didn’t expect that. But then, that’s usually how it works, isn’t it?

I got in deep, fast. Thinking out plot points in the shower. Letting characters percolate while driving to work. Writing frantically during every lunch break to get it down in the limited time I had.

It’s been good.

Even though it’s been frustrating -– as writing usually is. Like last night I was trying to defend why I needed to place the movie in Harlem, and why it has to happen during the sixties. Should I move it? Make it contemporary?

Not sure. One thing’s for sure: this weekend I came to terms with the fact that I’m just trying to cram too much into it. Which was a healthful realization to have. Time to strip out even more and make a leaner, cleaner story.

Not too clean, though. I like it when a movie is as messy as life. But I do have to be more judicious with themes.

When deciding what should stay and what should go, I find myself having conversations with myself. Like out loud. In a room, alone. Like a crazy person.

But when I put myself on trial like that -– or when I put my writing on trial –- I tend to be more decisive. Maybe I can lie to myself in my head, just thinking. But I can’t lie to myself out loud.

I just hope for Greg’s sake (over at the Web of L&D) he doesn’t require this same method, or the plane ride to China is gonna be an awkward one.

“Um, sir. Could you please stop screaming? The other passengers are getting scared.”

David Has EIGHT Friends

So there.

Have you seen the video podcast Sam Has 7 Friends? Check it out -– it’s on iTunes in the TV/Film section. Also can be found at www.samhas7friends.com.

Okay, it’s a little soap opera-y. In fact, it’s sort of a MySpace soap opera LA noir. But it’s cool. I’m hooked.

Every day, another 1 ½ minute episode is released. They began in late August and it’ll run through mid-December. It’s about this girl Sam, an aspiring actor in LA who, you guessed it, has seven friends. The filmmakers promise that on December 15th -– dun dun DUN! –- one of them will kill her.

It’s very crafty, this thing. A good concept, a good hook, good use of the emerging webisode platform. It’s shot beautifully for the most part. Also mostly very good actors. Except the guy playing Sam’s agent. He must be someone’s brother or one of the financial backers. Because he’s weak.

I bet this crew is having a blast making this. Probably costs almost nothing and it's a fresh thing. Nice. Bravo to you, whoever you are.

Anyway, check it out. At the very least you get to look at beautiful people living in LA, and you only have to invest a minute and a half every day.

End of plug. Resume wasting time at work, all of you.

Or both of you.

Or... you.

Questions' Authority

Saw The Departed on Saturday. Loved The Departed on Saturday. Still love it.

Got me thinking about questions. Because, when a movie’s over, you want the viewer to be left with questions. The good questions.

Bad questions suck.

(Wait. Have I blogged about this before? How do regular bloggers like Greg remember?)

After The Departed, I was left with both types. Though even the bad questions weren’t so bad. This is a great film after all.

Good question:

In one bar scene, the camera’s on a crane (or high sticks?) over the bar and tilts down to reveal that Jack Nicholson has just downed a shot and has a beer lined up, ready to roll. Now, this question I have is predicated on my experience in Massachusetts (where the film takes place), in the mid-‘90s -– so things might have changed since then.

But back then, I learned that you can’t order a-shot-and-a-beer and get both at the same time. Believe me, I tried. State law against one person having two drinks in front of them simultaneously. When I ordered, they’d hand me the shot, I’d do it, then they’d slap down the beer.

So on Saturday I leave the theater wondering, did William Monahan and Martin Scorsese put this in there, knowing the law, as an inside joke to cement their knowledge of all things Boston (their knowledge, by the way, is delightfully deep) by adding a little touch to further show Nicholson’s character is a king? Like, Whoa, this dude can even get a shot and a beer!

Or is this an error -– albeit a slight one -– that just shows one small detail got past them. Not that it matters, really, a detail like this, so the mistake doesn’t take away from my enjoyment of the movie.

Either way, good question. The kind of question I got to talk to my wife about over sushi after the movie. This is what movies are supposed to do. Like Alabama says to Clarence in True Romance: When I see a really good movie I really like to go out and get some pie, and talk about it. Only on Saturday it was sushi. No pie. Anyway, you know what I mean: you delve in afterwards, talk about its intentions, think about its impact. Nothing too film-school-intellectual, please, but a good movie leaves you with good questions. If everything’s tied up with a neat bow, shit, I’ll pass.

But I also left with the kind of question that was not so good, because I didn’t know if it was a mistake that would take away my enjoyment.

I’m wondering: what about the envelope Leonardo DiCaprio gives Vera Farmiga? When they release the DVD are we gonna see a deleted scene where she opens it, then calls Mark Wahlberg? Because the otherwise tight storytelling fell apart there a little bit with that.

Again, not a really bad question -– like, say, the type I was left with after watching The Hulk (for example, “Why did I just watch that movie? Can I ever get those 90 minutes of my life back?”) -– so I’m not complaining too much. But a potential chink in the armor.

Why am I going on and on about this? Because we’re about to dive into the recut of Dismal -– and I want to leave the good questions in there and take care of the bad questions.

And sometimes it’s tough to tell the difference.

Afeared

Every day for a while now, during lunch, I take my little steno notebook out for a sandwich and write.

It’s been good, getting back into it on a regular basis -– even thought right now “writing” is limited to making bullet outlines and jotting down notes on scenes and bits of dialogue.

The four stories I’ve been playing around with have been:
--the Harlem rewrite
--the suspense thriller that started as a dream I had
--a twisty police drama
--a cheeky horror thing

Interestingly, the one that I find myself working on most is the one that came from the dream (as written about a few posts back). But I do keep bouncing around.

Here’s one fear I have, about the dream story: if I dreamed about it, does it mean, subconsciously, that I REMEMBER it? As in, it’s already been done and I’m accidentally plagiarizing?

Here’s another fear I have: soon, I’ll have to choose one of the four to really flesh out.

Because of work and family, I don’t have a whole lot of time to write. So it’s scary to think I might put six months into starting a script (O, to be able to spend hours a day writing and bang them out like Greg and Ryan do) only to realize I picked the wrong one to flesh out and it might have made a fun little outline but it’s a shitty 120 pages.

Because then, it’s six months later. Maybe someone has shown interest in Dismal and wants to know what else I have written. And I have nothing. Maybe the guys who showed interest in the adaptation script (if they haven’t forgotten about me already, which, actually, is most likely the case) will have totally forgotten about or lost interest in me. Because I still have nothing.

I guess there’s no easy answer. As we continue the recut of Dismal, I’ll keep working on these outlines and notes, and then, I’ll just have to suck it up. Use my gut to pick which one I think is the most viable. And then write it.

(Scary.)

ROUSes? I Don't Think They Exist.

Strange and unexpected turn of events. As turns of events often are.

Lemme ‘splain. No, is too much. Lemme sum up.*

Over the last few months I’ve been reading a bunch of books and articles and keeping an eye on the trades, and I kept reading about this one company that is alleged to be The Shit when it comes to repping independent films. The list of movies they’ve brought to the world is impressive. Good, solid, need-to-look-more-than-first-glance movies that other people might not have seen the beauty in. They’d be perfect for us. In fact, three weeks ago, I wrote, “Try to get X Company” in my notebook.

Two days ago, an executive at X Company calls us. SHE calls US. Says she can’t tell us how, beyond that they have a “very good tracking system,” but she’s heard about our film and it sounds very interesting to her – can she have a screener?

Jeff gives her our agreed-upon standard answer to all such requests: No, I don’t think so. It’s just a rough cut and we want time to make it right before we send it out… but let me talk to my partners.

We talk, confirm this company is like the Holy Grail, and call her back -– screener on its way.

A follow-up call caught the exec out of the office, so Jeff talked to her assistant. Still won’t tell us how they heard about us, but says two very cool things.

Thing One: “Oh yeah. Dismal. Yeah, I’ve heard that come up in a couple meetings.”

Really? Hmmm.

Thing Two: “Normally, I tell people not to expect a response sooner than three weeks. Buuut, if SHE called you HERSELF, it’s probably a pet project and you might hear much sooner.”

Really? Again hmmm.

So people at X Company have been talking about us, and this exec breaks her normal routine to call us herself.

Really? Hmmm-mmm.

I keep going back and forth between “HOLY FUCKING SHIT” and “Simmer down, O’D. Nothing has happened yet.”

(Okay, I talk to myself. There. I admitted it...)

But Greg The Sage tells me this business is so full of heartaches, we should take any celebration we can get.

So tonight, when the lad goes to sleep, I’m gonna crack that swanky bottle of scotch that’s been waiting for a celebration. Maybe I’ll even rent The Princess Bride.

That’s what the * was for. But you knew that already, didn’t you?

On 35-Year-Old Ass Clowns

Well the nor’easter caused a lot of flooding and thereby some travel problems, so our test audience was only 30 people. But still, it was good.

We held the screening in a classroom set up with amphitheater-style seating, projecting from a computer in the not-very-dark room. Not bad, but not the best sound or picture quality to say the least.

Overall, though, the response was that the audience felt very entertained.

They had some questions -– some silly, some thought provoking. One girl asked how the bad guy changed clothes so quickly.

Um. Well. Uh…

Most of the better questions were things we knew were weaknesses already. Some pacing issues. Some story clarification. And several good specific suggestions actually on how to attack those weaknesses.

Two comments surprised me.

One was from several college-aged kids. They thought the two men on the fishing trip were acting too immature for their age. They said that, since these guys had kids, they wouldn’t be so immature when they’re together. All of us adults in the room just paused. Thought about when we’re out with the boys. Oh, it’s immature all right. I think it was because these two kids must think that once you get to be 30 you stop thinking like a 13 year old. I guess they’ve never seen their dads out with friends. They’ll learn.

The other surprising thing was how strongly so many people felt about what happened to the dog. They want to know how, why –- they don’t want it left up to them. They want the facts. Didn’t realize people would connect so specifically with the dog.

But the best thing to come of the test screening was for the post-production team to see that we’re not finished yet.

I was getting worried, I’ll admit it.

The plan was to rush a rough cut to deliver to Sundance in time. Which we did. But then when we started talking about recutting to get the final cut done, there was some grumbling.

I was astonished.

Does anyone really think we could have put together the best possible film five weeks after the end of principal photography?

I was getting the feeling some did think that. And then, in the interest of keeping people happy, I felt others were starting to agree. Like yeah, a couple of easy tweaks and we’re done. I was worried I was about to be outvoted and the rough cut would live.

Phew.

Now, after the test screening, and after our team meeting at which we discussed all the problems with the cut, it seems everyone is onboard with recutting it until it’s as good as it can be.

Which was the original plan.

But oh is it hard for people to think about changes after something becomes “real.” Funny thing, that. But no surprise. Revising –- really revising -– is always a bitch of a thing to do.

After the screening, driving to Jeff’s house for the meeting, I pulled up at a stop light next to the editor. We looked at each other. Paused. Then immediately and furiously gave each other the finger until the light turned green.

As I pulled away, the composer, in the passenger seat of my car, said, “What the hell were those kids talking about, ‘too immature for guys in their 30s’?”

So, to all of my fellow 30-something dads: pull my finger.

Testing 1, 2, 3

In a couple hours we hold our test screening of Dismal.

So far, everybody's loved it. But so far, everybody who's seen it loves us. Or likes us. Or at least knows us.

But today, the audience will be full of strangers. They don't know us. They don't know how hard we've worked for two years, what we've sacrificed, all that we were up against. They don't know we only had 18 days to shoot and a crew much smaller than normal.

There's nothing to cloud their vision, save whatever hangups they might bring in on their own. If they like it, they'll say they like it. If they hate it, they'll say that, too. Which is exactly what a test screening should be.

I'm excited. And nervous. And excited.

Here goes.

What's Up Chuck?

Went to work yesterday feeling fine, but within half an hour I got wicked nauseous. Drove home, and when I was almost back to the safety of my very own bathroom, I did some rather indelicate regurgitation. The ol’ pull over, whip the door open, blast.

Still not feeling great today, so it's two days home from work.

(Sorry about the regurgitation thing. No one wants that image planted in their head. My bad...)

Anyway, I barely wanted to get out of bed yesterday, so I did absolutely no writing. Today I’m feeling a little more mobile, so I’m gonna try. Not a lot of energy though, so it’s hard to get my mind focused and my body motivated.

First up: finish the freaking script for the Dismal trailer so Andrew can cut that bitch.

Then, finalize the feedback form for the test screening we’re doing Saturday.

And then, the more interesting stuff: work on the outlines for the next two scripts, or one of them anyway. Don’t think I have it in me to dive into the Harlem movie right now…

I might have had it in me yesterday morning, but a lot of the stuff I had in there then, isn’t in there anymore.

Okay. I’m sorry again.

Not Dreaming Of Daisy

Had one of those awesomely detailed dreams last night.

It was the opening scene for a crime thriller, complete with dialogue, movements of a ton of people, opening titles and a score.

Isn't the brain cool? I mean, even a pedestrian one like mine? Where did the backstory come from? The faces of all the people? The Massive Attack-like music? The floor plan of the club where that guy was doing that thing?

I take this as a good sign. We all remember the dream in college in which you get to the end of the semester and realize you never went to one class and have failed it. When I was teaching, I had dreams of class sessions, some inspired, some ridiculous. When I was knee-deep in producing the latest show I did and I was working 16 hours a day, my dreams often took the form of Avid editing -- start a scene, pause, rewind, recut, start over.

So now dreaming about a movie opening, maybe it means my mind is getting back to focusing on crafting a new script from the ether. Or wait. Would that take a dream about typing on an old laptop in the dark with a glass of bourbon next to me?

Anyway, this morning my son fell asleep as I drove him to daycare, which means only a 10 minute nap, so I wanted to give him a little more time to rest before toddlers started howling and throwing Elmo dolls at him. We sat in the parking lot, idling, Cannonball Adderley playing on the stereo, him conked out in the car seat, me scribbling down all the details I could remember from the dream.

Who knows. Maybe it'll be something.

If not, at least it reminded me about the weird process of creativity and made me take down some story notes...

And no, dear, Daisy Fuentes did not make an appearance. Promise.

Free Time? What Free Time?

It's there. Dismal is in the offices of the Sundance selectors. Whoever they are. So our future in Utah is no longer in our control.

Today (my anniversary by the way), Ray, Jeff and I meet to plan out the remaining work on Dismal to get ready for the next festivals we'll submit to. SXSW and Tribeca both have early December deadlines, so we hope to be finished with the fine cut by Thanksgiving.

This means a more editing to tighten up a few places, fix some problems, make the moments we haven't made yet, plus giving the various fellows the time to do the full score composition, full sound mix, full color correction, etc.

And we'll cut a good trailer, print up some one sheets and prepare a press kit for when we'll need them.

But what I think this means for me is that while there's still much work ahead, it's mainly managerial stuff, which should free up a little more time to get back to that thing we do.

Writing.

It's been a while.

I mean, I've done a lot of writing for the regular job -- which has been fun and has worked out well, since we're on the verge of signing two pilots and some MOWs -- but no scripts.

My plan is first to bang out some outlines for the next two movies for 1944, then dive back into the Harlem movie. Then, as I'm working on the Harlem rewrite I can let the 1944 outlines percolate, and when I go back to fixing the 1944 outlines I can let the Harlem rewrite percolate.

Seems like that's the way it works for me. Good to have one thing to work on immediately, to distract my mind from the other thing -- which is when the good ideas come for the other thing. And vice versa.

I think most writers I know work this way.

And outsiders think we're just being lazy and unfocused.

Sheesh.

Now let's all waste some time Googling my current favorite phrase, from Greg's Web of Lies and Deceit: rusty Chinese tongue muscles.

Park City Bound

Okay, it's actually LA bound. Turns out the Sundance submission offices are in Los Angeles.

So much for independence in the mountains.

Anyway, we finished the rough mix today and they're laying back tonight.

Tomorrow we run dubs and send it off to beat the September 25 deadline.

Very cool.

It's just a rough cut, though -- still needs some picture changes, only has temp music, sound, etc. -- so we still have lots to do before the next round of festivals.

But anyway, it's nice to have met our first goal.

That is, if the dubs work out, and if we make the FedEx deadline, and if the container doesn't get pulled off the plane, and if...

Did Anyone Get The Mailing Address For Sundance?

Early last week, we finally got the approved rough cut of Dismal locked. Or, I think we got the approved cut locked – after the last set of notes I didn’t get a chance to watch again since it had to ship out. But hopefully all the changes are made. Makes me nervous, not seeing that last cut, but I trust our editor, so I know it’s okay.

Please. Tell me it’s okay.

The movie’s hovering at about 94 minutes, which I think is perfect, and now it’s off to the composer, color timing and the sound editors.

Or it was supposed to be.

Somehow, the sound guys never got the stuff they needed.

Arrrrgh!

These are some crack sound editors, so I know they’ll catch up, but it’s one of those little details that can really make a project stumble. They were supposed to have it a few days ago, and the deadline for Sundance is fast approaching.

After almost 10 years in the business, it still amazes me how complex it is, and how so much can ride on small things not being done – or being done wrong.

There was this show we did once. A crime show about a biker gang. The main enforcer of the gang was a giant martial arts master who, when he was arrested, sent a couple FBI agents to the hospital and shattered a door frame in the police station when a roundhouse kick he intended for a cop’s head missed by a hair. The guy was a monster, and I tried to relay this to casting very clearly: I need a bad ass motherfucker in the true sense of the word, someone large, with an intimidating physical presence, someone with a mean look who is very comfortable on a big Harley. A bad ass motherfucker.

What casting apparently heard was: he’s part Asian.

What they cast was a tiny little Chinese man who couldn’t have weighed more than a buck twenty, who had never been on a motorcycle, and who was frightened by the sound of grips yelling “Hot points!”

And I find this out when the crew and cast show up on location in Ohio, ready to shoot. Director calls me: "Uh. David? You know that bad ass motherfucker we talked about?"

Somehow we pulled off the show, but we obviously had to lose the idea of this character as an enforcer. Of library protocol, maybe, but certainly not of a biker gang.

Anyway, it’s the little details. You try not to obsess over them. You try not to micromanage. And you don’t want to be an ass about it, but damn if that doesn’t come back to haunt you sometimes…

Enough bitching. Gotta make sure we have that address down right.

Children's Books

Today is my son's birthday. The awesome little fella is one. His favorite book is, "What Does Baby Say?" Nice big, simple pictures of cute little kids saying things to fit their mood: "What does the hungry baby say? Ba-ba." I love reading this book -- and others like it -- to him. I love watching my wife read these books to him. Sometimes he's just not in the mood and instead wants to point at the ceiling fan or crawl after the dog. But most times he's looking intently at the illustrations, his big beautiful curious eyes moving all over the page, looking at all the little details, pointing, always pointing, at the stuff that he thinks is cool. "Duck! Duck!"

In a couple weeks it will be my daughter's birthday. The incredible young woman will be 18. She's at college now. She recently started a conversation with, "Dad, I think I'm an existentialist" and wants me to send her the collection of Hemingway short stories she accidentally left behind. She's jonesing for Hemingway and the existentialism she finds there. Cracks me up. I love talking books with her -- listening to her get excited about what she's read and what she thought about while reading it, sharing stuff I've read with her and the thoughts I had reading.

Every night of my daughter's life, until she learned to read herself, I read her a book. Now, that's what my wife and I are doing with our son.

Cheers, kids, to your books. Trust them: they won't let you down.

Whose Hat Has Your Head Been Under?

It hit me last night -- or, this morning, really -- as I drove home from an edit session at 3:45am.

Not a deer crossing I-64 in a frantic flight from Hampton Roads sprawl. No, what hit me was a thought that eased my recent bout of self-disappointment. Not that that’s a word, even hyphenated, but you get the idea and I’m too tired to whip out the thesaurus.

I’d just spent seven hours with the editor and one of the other producers, whittling down the Dismal cut so that we’re pretty close to where we want to be by the next screening with all the producers.

We needed to cut about half an hour, maybe a touch more, and so the bulk of the revision was hacking stuff out. It was a weird, splintering experience.

As a writer, I really wanted to hold on to a lot of the moments and lines and story developments in there. I mean, I spent a lot of time coming up with them, and frankly I think most of them worked pretty well -- developing character, building tension, adding depth to the story.

Don’t get me wrong, there were some places I thought, “What the hell was I thinking when I wrote that,” but overall, I thought the story worked nicely.

But we had to lose half an hour. Shit had to go.

So I reminded myself what hat was currently topping my slam-bald head. Right now, I’m a producer. I happen to be the producer who wrote the script, but still, I’m a producer. Producers have to keep the full scope of things, the Big Picture if you will, in mind always, and not get too bogged down in the art if the thing.

I mean, the thing needs some art of course, but it has to keep asses in seats, too.

So anyway, as producer, I worked with the team to get the cuts made –- sacrificing some of the subtle moments that intellectually I enjoy, but don’t get us where we need to get. My wife calls it “being willing to kill your babies.”

And they were good cuts.

(Poor little babies.)

And then, as I was weaving down the highway with fatigue, I realized I don’t need to get down on myself for not writing a lot right now. Because right now, I’m not a writer. Not primarily anyway. I’m a producer. And having the skills of a producer, well honed and exercised regularly, can only help me in the long run. The Big Picture if you will.

I don’t know. Maybe I’m just exhausted. I mean, damn. A Shania Twain reference for a title?

So Why Don't You Kill Me

Whoa.

That was a long break.

I'm a loser.

But you knew that.

So here's a quick update -- not that anyone's reading this anymore...

On Dismal: The rough assembly came out last week at 2 1/2 hours. It was just an assembly -- but you could see the movie within, so it was very exciting. Peed my pants. Really.

We sat and reviewed and gave notes to the editor who is busily chipping away. Sound editors and composer are all waiting with bated breath for the locked rough cut so they can work their temp magic in time to make the September 25th Sundance deadline. Which we're still on schedule to make.

After that, we all get back to work to make the fine cut, to send out to other festivals and distributors.

The editor's also hoping to have a trailer by the end of September.

So we have ins at Lions Gate and Sony, and I'm trying to get in touch with a friend of a friend with contacts at The Weinstein Company. Other suggestions? Rogue? Focus?

As for festivals, we're gonna try Austin, SXSW, Tribeca and Toronto. Suggestions?

Oh yeah. And we're shooting a day and a half of pick-ups/inserts this weekend.

And on the Harlem movie: Not a damn thing in months.

Here's the conundrum I face. I have SO MUCH SHIT TO DO just with family and my regular job. Add to that all the work left to do on Dismal and my time runs slam out. But then there's the Harlem movie that my heart is really telling me to get done now, plus there's the three other scripts I want to outline for 1944 Films, so that when someone sees and likes Dismal and asks what's next, we can tell them.

Man.

Everybody says this, but... there's just not enough time.

Wow. Not only am I a loser, but I'm a cliched one.