Open Mouth, Insert Foot.

Let this be a warning to, like, the three readers I have aspiring to work in the film business. If you find yourself informally pitching a project to a producer, and they freaking LOVE it when you're done.

Shut.
The.
Eff.
Up.

Don't say a single word more. You've sold it. Everything you're doing now is talking them out of it.

I recently had a serendipitous, informal meeting with a producer I'd kill to work with. When he jokingly asked if I had anything for him, I tossed out a quick idea I was working on, a futuristic Sci-Fi biblical Revelations-esque project, sort of like The Matrix but with bad-ass monks and bio-mechanical demons. Yeah, I know...it sounds capital L Lame, but trust me, it's pretty fucking cool.

He was sold. His eyes lit up like 4th of July fireworks. It was exactly what he was looking for. But then I kept talking and talking and talking. Clearly riding off the amazing pitch I'd pulled out of my ass, my mouth ignored the signs that his interest was waning, his darting glances around, the perplexed look on his face when I described the "Theme" of the story, and the little conflicts, subplots involving betrayal and how it mirros Judas betraying Jesus, or the unity of all religions standing together side by side and fighting off the end of the world. By the time my mouth registered the ABORT! ABORT! signal my brain was sending for the last five minutes, I'd talked my way out of a potential job.

I've heard it said a million times before, but why I didn't heed it I hav no idea. If ever there was a case of Less Is More, than this was it.

If I didn't need my higher brain functions, I probably would've taken a power drill to the skull.
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Color me bummed...

Here Be Spoilers!

As a HUGE fan of the american version of The Ring, I've been eagerly awaiting The Ring Two for what seems half an eternity. So saturday A.M. I catch it by myself [to maximize the terror, but also because I couldn't convince anyone to see it at 9:30 a.m.]. The screen goes dark, the beginning creeps the hell out of me, and then...nothing really happens. Sure, there were a few scares, a few moments where I found myself gnawing away at my fingernails like a beaver in a lumberyard, but over all...blah! It was like Rosemary's Baby meets The Omen, and not have as good as either of those.

Most insulting, to me at least, was that they forgot the central premise of The Ring, which is the cursed video tape, and instead wandered off into left field to delve into a backstory of Samara that only raised more questions! Nevermind that the first Ring never answered the questions of How the tape was created and How Samara got her powers. That didn't bother me because, frankly, every question that is raised doesn't always need to be answered. But this one had the chance to explore them further, and instead only added one more mother to the list that Samara had before she took a short dive into the bottom of a well. And riddle me this: if she could get out of the well to kill people who watch the tape, how does closing the well up contain her? And when the well was closed was it in a dream or in reality? An what is the air-speed velocity of an unladen Swallow?

The good:
Some cool F/X, especially the Well Climb and the Bath Tub.

The Bad:
The plot.
The reindeer looked worse than that silly three headed dog in Harry Potter and the Sorcerers Stone

The Ugly:
Juicier dead faces than the first movie.
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Weekend Read

It's a long shot, but my agents put me up for assignment on a nanotech-Sci-Fi project whose producers are looking for a fresh take on the screenplay. Thus, it ended up at the #1 position on my weekend read. I've given it the twice over, and I think I've discovered the problem.

There's nothing wrong with it.

Seriously. Not a single thing as far as I'm concerned. The story is tight at 109 pages. The characters are well drawn and unique and believable, given the fact that it's set in an alternate future. The ending feels genuine and earned, although a bit loose, a.la: X-Men, but frankly, I prefer open ended endings.

Of course there are tiny little things I would change here and there, probably bumping it from a PG-13 project into the realm of the dreaded R rating. Maybe a bit more destruction, and most of the action scenes felt about 1-2 pages short, but other than that, in current form, this is a movie I would go see, and a movie I would probably enjoy quite a bit.

So, it's going to be a pass. I think I've earned the right to say: It's good the way it is. I can't make it any better.

I wonder who'll get the job.


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"I actually think there's an element of psychosis involved here."

Far be it from me to get off on some ham handed rant about what movies I think are underappreciated gems, but I just got back from seeing David Cronenberg's 1999 mind fuck eXistenZ and am left winded.

Now I know what you're thinking: what rock have I been under? Well, the truth is, I've seen this movie maybe a half dozen times between its meager box-office debut back when Neo and Trinity made VR look like a bad bondage party, to this very evening, when I watched it in the 2001ish home theater of the director who's sci-fi / alternate reality project I'm attempting to write. And hot diggidity-damn, if eXistenZ doesn't age just like a 1961 Cheval Blanc.

Those of you reading this who haven't seen eXistenZ, I would strongly encourage you to do so. Unless, of course, you have an aversion to surreal stories about blurring layers of reality, bio-mechanical guns that use human teeth as ammo, spinal cord sphincters and about the closest thing to a rimjob an R-rated movie can get away with. Did I mention that it stars Jude Law [early widows peak period], Jennifer Jason Leigh, William Dafoe, Ian Holm, and Sarah Polley?

I admire Cronenberg the writer just as much as I admire Cronenberg the director, and for my money, eXistenZ is the perfect fusion between his story and style. Sure, there're a few moments where the C.G. looks second rate, and the acting is quite odd until the very end. Never the less, Cronenberg isn't afraid to go into odd realms that few directors can tread without totally going off the deep end into the land of Total Obscura, as well as leaving some questions up to the viewer to answer.

So if you've got an empty spot in your Netflix queue, and a few hours to spend in during and after the mental mirage he pulls off, give it a day in the DVD player.

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Development...

So after half a months wait, the first draft of my horror script came back like a boomerang in barbed wire. With more caffeine and nicotine in my system than was thought humanly possible, I sat down with the producers to hear my horror opus get torn apart like a c-cupped blonde in a tug of war between Freddy Kruger and Jason Voorhees.

While I'm not exactly a virgin to this process, I'm far from some street hardened Sidewalk Susie roaming the late night streets of Development-Land. Translation: my experience is limited. None-the-less, it's always interesting to hear the lines:

"You really nailed this one, I mean, it was just so...fresh."

(beat; then)

"But we've got some notes."

My experience(s), and as confirmed by a few others, has been that the first two-to-four meetings during development, the C.E. and V.P. or whoever the heck is ushering the story through literary puberty, tends to talk to the writer like they're a ticking time bomb ready to blow. I'll admit, I'm a bit "on edge" because the story I turned in I feel represents a great story. Not just good, but great. Otherwise I wouldn't have turned it in. Still, this isn't Dog Day Afternoon and I don't have a bank full of hostages at gunpoint, so let's dispense with negotiations, roll up our sleeves, and dig in.

I've got thick skin. I can take any criticism dished out. In fact, I enjoy getting notes! Is that odd? I love other peoples opinions on my own writing. I may not agree with them, I may not even think the question they're asking is of any importance, but I'll be the first to genuinely say: Let me think it over.

Thankfully, I haven't yet run into a scenario where the notes sucked. If and when I do, my gut tells me I'll simply swallow my pride, nod my head, and say: Let me think it over.

And then throw those notes out.

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Well, The Academy isn't TOTALLY Insane...

I'm really glad they gave the Oscar for Best Original Screenplay to Charlie Kaufman. Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind was one of the most original movies of 2004, and while I think it went well of over the heads of mainstream America [as does much], I was genuinly concerned that it might even be a bit too smart for The Academy this year.

None-the-less, when he awkwardly took the stage and mumbled like a shy kid on the cusp of puberty, screenwriters like myself the world over were doing backflips. While the Actors and Actresses and Producers and Directors may revel in the time onstage to thank a small army of assistants and assistants assistants, telling the band to STFU when they cut them off, some of us lowly writers are solitary beasts for the most part. I think Charlie may have accidentally captured something so universal to why I'm sure many write, when he simply said:

I don't want to take my time. I want to get off this stage.

As a writer, much of my work is not just behind the camera, but behind closed doors, in the mental upstairs of my mind, a quite different place than up at the podium accepting a golden statue live in front of a billion people. That's the place we wake up to, work in, eat, breath, sleep, fuck, shower, etc. That endorphin buzz you get when your creativity is flowing, let me tell you, there is NO drug or feeling in the world more addictive than that. Everything else, including the awkwardness of being on a stage before the world, pales in comparison.

To me, the biggest reward is just doing my best, day to day, and doing what I love, and hoping, praying, attempting to create, something that others like as well. Awards and Box Office grosses are secondary to everything else, and despite the desire to get the Oscar, to open at Number One, to outgross Star Wars, us writers really just want to entertain others. We may not be able to lead the troops like directors, look beautiful and play ugly like actors, or grease the rails like producers, and yes, some of us are awkward in public, at parties, and our eyes sometimes glass over in mid-sentance as a thought runs through our head. But goddammit, without us, neurosis and all, you'd simply have Police Academy 6

That said, I wouldn't mind a little Golden Statue myself. But then I wouldn't be a Hollywood Hack, would I? ;-)
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