“Swimming with (Hollywood) sharks” Part II

And so I went from hero to zero in a split second.

 

The last thing I ever wanted to be was difficult, but we were not talking about the same project. I needed to let Mr. Jaws know – in so many words – that as exciting as his new vision was, it would take my story down a completely different path; that even though both stories shared a myriad of elements, they couldn’t possibly be more different.

 

Needless to say, Mr. Jaws was not happy; he had taken time from his busy schedule to fly into NYC to convince me that their new direction was the way to go; instead, he was going back to L.A. empty-handed. I felt horrible and yet empowered because I had put my foot down. I had artistic integrity… yes?

Maybe… but did I still have a movie to write?

 

In the movie business credit is everything and in order to get that credit you have to work… a lot – yes, quality is paramount and we, as artists, are obligated to strive only for the best quality writing possible; but is there a limit to how far one can test the limits of creative integrity before we find ourselves right back where we started and fresh out of a job? Sadly, there is; and I found that out the hard way.

 

Had I been a little older or a bit more experienced, I would have thought things through; but the truth is, I wasn’t and I didn’t – and although I did try to undo some of the damage done during our first lunch meeting, the relationship was already compromised. Our lunch was not the last time we spoke – we reconnected via phone a few times after that and I made strategic suggestions as to how we could marry both ideas, but it was too late. Mr. Jaws seemed more and more disinterested every time we talked… until one day we stopped communicating altogether.

 

A year and change went by and going to work became exponentially more difficult with every passing day – most of my friends and co-workers were curious about the project and questions about it were being asked; they wanted to know when I’d be quitting my day job and moving out to L.A.; when I thought we’d start shooting; they wanted to know about casting choices – I won’t lie… that shit drove me crazy. It made me feel like I was living a lie… mostly because I was too embarrassed to tell the truth – to tell them that I had literally fucked it all up and that, much to their dismay, they’d be seeing my ugly face around the office for a while longer.

 

But just when I thought I couldn’t possibly get more depressed, I spotted a trailer for an upcoming movie whose main focus was a duffle bag… and guess what it contained? You got it! Eight fricking heads!

 

I went home that night and drank almost as much as I did when I celebrated the offer to write the script. Was I upset about not giving in and writing it just the way they wanted me to? Was I pissed about not having my first movie – my first project ever – sold, filmed, and shown in theaters across the nation? You bet your life I was! I was furious with myself for being such a proud idiot!

 

In the end, I should’ve compromised right from the get-go – I should’ve seen this huge opportunity for what it really was – a way in! Having a film out would have given me the chance to write others… write better and more interesting stories –maybe even content worth fighting for – not this one. This one wasn’t worth it and I knew it.

 

So here I was… deeply demoralized – no film, no glory, and what’s worse, no money. That’s right, Mr. Jaws owed me money – it is true that his movie, the one he ended up shooting, was nothing like the one I wrote; and in many ways, I was happy about it – however, my story was the inspiration for his, and for that reason alone, it was my right to at least get the “story by” credit along with some of the cash that was promised to me on the contract we both signed.

 

But it didn’t happen… he was a Hollywood shark. I heard later on that he’d peddled the story around town, sold it, and moved on. In other words, I had absolutely no way to pin him down and get paid; no way of proving our creative discussions during our lunch meeting ever happened; he didn’t even attach his name to the project. It was his word against mine. Yes… it was over.

 

The moral to this story is simple – take the time to meet the right people in the biz.; this will be time well spent – and don’t just option your work to anyone; patience pays off in the long run. The other lesson here is: work hard, and when tested, work even harder; because compromise is the name of the game, and no one – I repeat, no one – is irreplaceable.

 

See you next week;