I think this old Kids in the Hall sketch does a good job capturing a particular type of absurdity that’s inherent in the professional life of a writer in Hollywood. Until the moment where things become real – which, as I’ve always told you, Jimmy, is when the check clears – there are a lot of activities and developments that seem as if they should be very exciting, and yet nothing about your day feels different. At all. Your senses are telling you that, no matter what you may think is happening, in reality, nothing is happening. And more often than not, those senses are right.
I was a little spoiled by the Queen Lara experience, because it was only a week after the script went out that we were all signing deal memos and shaking hands (It was another four months before I got paid, but that’s another story). That was an extreme exception to the normal way of things.
Contrary to popular belief, most Hollywood meetings are not like this
My Vegas project has a team around it: the young, struggling producer who is my friend; the big, RichandFamous producer who is shepherding the project; the up-and-coming director, and the Big Star. Of those four people, I have met exactly two – my young producer friend and the director. The young producer has met RichandFamous a couple of times, and speaks regularly with one of his executives. RichandFamous has sat down with the Big Star on at least one occasion for the specific purpose of discussing my script; which, since they’re trying to make the movie, they probably both like a great deal. But I have absolutely no further contact or detail about that meeting. I don’t know what they said, if they intend to change anything, or what they were drinking. Presumably, when and if it’s finally necessary, I will meet both of them. In the meantime, I wait for my young producer friend to call or e-mail me with the latest information about who is having meetings about my script and where.
Last night he called to say that RichandFamous producer had a meeting with a company. My friend is not 100% certain what this company does, because they are new. We have both Googled it – and when you’re at our place on the food chain you do a lot of Googling to cover for the things that are just assumed to be known by People in the Know.
The company’s website is still in development, and our point-of-contact executive is still listed on the website of his previous employer. But the only reason to meet them is money. Either through equity raising, direct investment, international sales, or some combination of these and other financial gadgets, they have the potential to put up some or all of the budget for the movie.
What’s the budget? I don’t know. They are coming back with a proposal detailing what they can raise. I don’t know if this figure will represent 100% of the budget in their mind, or some smaller portion which will have us searching somewhere else for another component. I have the vague sense that it is a good thing that, since they are preparing this proposal, it means that the dynamic of the relationship is that they are selling us their money-producing capabilities rather than us trying to sell them the package. The package, it seems, is satisfactory in all respects.
When the proposal is presented, I give it a 20% chance, tops, that I will see it. The most important numbers will probably find their way to me, though.
So do you understand how this is kind-of-sort-of great news, an exciting phone call to receive, yet so vague and distant and potentially-vaporous that it’s difficult to peg an emotional reaction to it? I’m always glad to know someone likes one of my scripts, and it’s especially nice to think that the odds of making a movie and making some money have made a minor adjustment in my favor. But until I actually see these people in a room with a contract, or at least read a budget topsheet or a letter of intent, my adrenaline stays put, and I have a day job to attend to that I’m obviously not quitting today.
Can’t you see how much progress I’m making?