Writing Movies For Fun And Profit! (12 page)

Because they don’t know what’s in store for them.

A regular person, who wasn’t crazy, you’d have to pay them a million dollars to get them to direct a movie. Somebody who really knows what directing a movie means you have to pay them $10 million.

Being the director of a studio film, while it sounds like a lot of fun, in reality is a job you might not wish upon your worst enemy. At least:
if you’re doing it right, it’s not that fun.

Directing a studio film is like being the captain of an aircraft carrier
that’s pulling out to sea and ALREADY HAS SOME LEAKS IN THE HULL. And there’s a fire belowdecks. And a crazy person (movie star) is your COPILOT. And your admiral is a female lead who’s NUTS and wants to know her motivation for EVERYTHING, and you can’t film her butt, ever. Or the left side of her face. And the script sucks (because it’s been rewritten twenty-five times by different writers).
Wait, what? ALL OF THIS, Already? We should turn back to port! STOP THIS AIRCRAFT CARRIER!!! I WANT TO GET OFF!!!

Too late. You can’t turn back. You’re directing a studio movie. Most studio movies cost around $200,000 a day to produce. Sometimes more. Sometimes WAY more. A movie like
Transformers 2: Revenge of the Fallen
costs almost a million bucks a day. We only pay the president of the United States $400,000 per year. Per YEAR. Really makes you think about which racket you wanna get into, huh?

If you want to practice directing studio movies, here’s what to do:

Step 1. Watch the documentary
Burden of Dreams
about the making of the 1982 Werner Herzog film
Fitzcarraldo,
in the Amazon.

Then:
If you STILL want to direct a movie … (Really? Wow. Okay.) Move on to Step 2.

Step 2. Fill your shoes with mustard greens, go stand in the rain on fourteenth and Broadway, and wait for a dolphin to walk by and mistake you for Kim Jong-il.

What did that teach you, Daniel-san? That directing a studio film, more than anything else, is about:

If you don’t like the idea of making a soufflé while two people who have never made a soufflé look over your shoulder and tell you how to make a soufflé, DON’T TRY TO DIRECT A STUDIO FILM.

Patience. As Guns N’ Roses said in their beautiful anthem “Patience”:

You and I’ve got what it takes to make it
We won’t fake it, Oh never break it.

On second thought, those lyrics are not the least bit helpful. But they do rhyme in a way that only people doing A LOT of drugs in 1988 can rhyme words.

When directing, patience is everything. Because a studio film has more moving parts than, say, a tiny wind-up medieval hand grenade in a Guillermo Del Toro film. Directing a film isn’t a full-time job, it’s TEN full-time jobs. When you’re not on set, you’re scouting locations. When you’re not scouting locations, you’re casting. When you’re not casting, you’re meeting with the wardrobe designer, storyboard artist, CGI team … and on and on. Not to mention the studio executives, who will be sitting on your shoulders like little winged angels/devils from an old-time cartoon. And when they’re hungry, you will look like a steak to them.

And while you’re making three hundred decisions a day: there are people around you who are QUESTIONING THE THREE HUNDRED DECISIONS YOU’RE MAKING EVERY DAY. Especially if you’re a first-time director. Or if your last movie wasn’t a huge hit.

Then, at lunch, twenty lunatics need a decision about something, immediately—and THAT’S WHEN YOU WATCH THE DAILIES OF YESTERDAY’S FOOTAGE.
And you know what? It would have been a lot better if the female lead had let you get that shot of her butt. Dang.
Now you’ll have to do some reshoots. But you won’t be at the same location to match, so you’ll have to build a set to match the place you were. Which means a meeting with the production designer and approving a small MODEL of a set that looks kind of like the place you were. And a butt double. That means you have to set a meeting with the casting director too, to find a butt double. And if the butt doesn’t match, you’ll need somebody to air-brush the butt double’s butt. Then in post you’ll have to color-time the airbrushed butt double’s butt.

Then, after the very first test screening—you cut the whole scene from
the film anyway. Ah, well … no harm done. Just MILLIONS of dollars down the toilet,
and your brain has been destroyed and won’t ever come back.

Directing a film is like spinning plates—that you’re trying to make a Tibetan sand painting on top of. And while you’re doing it: you’re always “losing light,” according to the director of photography. And the Teamsters are griping about how you’re still “wet behind the ears.” And the cantaloupe from craft service is TERRIBLE.

Directing studio films is a huge pain. Some might say it’s more trouble than it’s worth. Unless you get good at it: then you get $10 million a picture, plus points, and you get to live forever in the pantheon of great film directors.

It’s easy, as the screenwriters, to say, “Hey, idiotic director, stop ruining our brilliant movies!” But we must also take into account that making a truly great studio film, given the parameters and the number of people involved, is … almost impossible. And the director is the eye of the poop hurricane.

It certainly helps if you get a director who respects writing and respects the screenplay. And who knows how hard it is to write a screenplay. Often things you spend MONTHS on in the script will get changed in three seconds on location scout. Cross your fingers that you get a director who respects your writing. But—BEWARE THE DIRECTOR WHO REMINDS YOU THAT HE’S “A WRITER TOO.” Ugh. If any director actually SAYS THAT OUT LOUD to you—“I’m a writer too.”—you’d better WATCH OUT. That’s code for
“I’m going to change your script. A LOT
.” You just bought an e-ticket on a ride called SUCKTOWN CANYON (which is some kind of flume ride through things that suck). WRITER-SLASH-DIRECTORS, when they’re just directing, not writing, will make your life a living hell.

There are two kinds of film directors:

1. Facilitators

People the studio trust. The studio knows that it can give them $100 million in cash, a bunch of movie stars, a CGI team, and a huge crew, and they’ll come back with the footage required to cut together into a hit film.
Facilitator: from the Spanish
facil,
or “easy.” Literally meaning: people
who
make hard things seem easy. Let’s call them: Easytators.
*

And the other kind of director:

2. Guillermo Del Toro

Okay, we could have said FACILITATORS and VISIONARIES. But saying Guillermo Del Toro is more fun. And holy crap: have you seen this Guillermo Del Toro guy’s movies? He’s, like, some kind of genius or visionary or sumpin’.

NOTE: AT THIS POINT, IF YOU HAVEN’T SEEN ANY GUILLERMO DEL TORO MOVIES—SPARK UP A JOINT, AND THROW ONE IN THE BLU-RAY PLAYER. BUT YOU MIGHT WANT TO PUT DOWN SOME PLASTIC ON THE COUCH, FOR WHEN YOUR HEAD EXPLODES FROM AWESOMENESS.

You’ll never know what kind of director you’re going to get until it’s too late. And in the end, it doesn’t matter—you don’t get a vote anyway. So treat your director the way you would your studio executive: HELP THEM KEEP THEIR JOB. Be supportive. Do the rewrites they ask you for. Yes, even for free. The more you can stay involved, the better the chances that they won’t ruin your movie. Give them options on any material you write for them (also for free):
If you’ve written all of the options, then they might not feel that they need “fresh eyes.”

The best way to help a director not ruin your film: be someone they want to keep around.
Fix their problems. Help them out however you can.
Remember: like a rattlesnake, a director is probably more scared of you than you are of him. So puff your chest out, ACT like you’re confident, and you’ll seem like you are. And in doing this, you’ll make everyone feel a lot better.

Film is a “director’s medium,” as any director’s agent will tell you. No matter what anybody says, the director is THE MOST IMPORTANT PERSON ON THE SET.
Except for the first assistant director, who is REALLY the most important person on the set
. (You can make a movie without a great director. But not without a great first A.D., not a chance.) So work hard, as a writer, to stay on the director’s good side: by being helpful.

Even better, eliminate the middleman:

Direct your movies yourself
.

Then the fat, lazy screenwriter and moronic, illiterate director are both YOU! Now you can truly hate yourself! (Along with drinking, self-hatred is a big part of directing AND screenwriting!)

If you want to truly be happy in the motion picture business and see your vision reflected in every aspect of a film, there’s only one path for you:

BECOME AN EDITOR.

Yep. Editor.
Be an editor
. The hours are good, the chairs you sit in are “ergonomic,” the work itself is satisfying, and you decide whether the footage you’ve been handed is
Citizen Kane
or
Dunston Checks In.
Plus, your lunch is usually picked up by the postproduction budget! CHACHING! Yes, there is such a thing as a free lunch. As long as you’re the editor.

Keep in mind: when a film wins the Academy Award for Best Picture, the person who accepts the award is …

Not the director, sure as hell not the writer, and not anybody from the studio. Those folks are lucky if they get thanked. The producer is the face of the movie, and they get to keep the trophy to prove it.

The short version of the producer’s job description is:
everything.
The producer is literally responsible for every aspect of the entire film, from getting the rights to the story to hiring writers and steering the screenplay process, the casting, hiring the director, postproduction, and on and on. And of course: firing people.

AND YELLING AT PEOPLE. And they yell at people A LOT. And when yelling isn’t enough, they throw phones at people, because everyone the producer is dealing with (if you ask them) is a rotten, spoiled baby who’s lucky to be working at all.

And …
They’re kind of right.
We are lucky to be working in showbiz at all.

Most movie producers are crazy—because being a movie producer is a job that no sane person would want. As far as we can tell, no sane person has had the job yet. Not and succeeded at it, anyway.

Being a movie producer requires a big, bold personality. And, as we mentioned, TONS OF YELLING. It is NOT a job for the meek, the humble, the introspective, or anybody you’d describe as “a really great guy.” Since the days of Thalberg and Selznick, the position of producer is one for oversexed, megalomaniac ÜBER-HUMANS who for some reason feel the desire to play wedding planner to a group of dim-witted rodeo clowns, who are also, for the most part, oversexed and megalo-maniacal.

Great producers, like Thalberg, die young. Those are the lucky ones. The ones who survive have to deal with the rest of us showbiz types—hiring us, firing us, screaming at us until their stomach lining supernovas or their liver LEAPS out of their body and runs away to go “find itself” at a spa in the Arizona desert.

When high-level executives get FIRED from movie studios, their severance packages often come with a deal to become a “producer on the lot.”

IF YOU THINK ABOUT IT, THIS MEANS THAT TO THE STUDIO PEOPLE,
BEING MADE TO BE A PRODUCER IS PUNISHMENT
.

Being a movie producer means having a keen eye for a great novel that will make a thrilling film. It also means making sure that the Jonas Brothers and Demi Lovato are ON THE GODDAMN RED CARPET AT THE PREMIERE, MENTIONING THE GODDAMN NAME OF THE GODDAMN FILM WHILE THE TITLE IS CLEARLY VISIBLE BEHIND THEM ON THE GODDAMN MARQUEE!!! AND GETTING THE OPENING DATE RIGHT!

Yes, LOTS AND LOTS OF YELLING is required. And occasionally throwing a phone, paperweight, or fax machine at an intern.

Note: Throwing electronics at your assistant or an intern is NEVER ACCEPTABLE in Hollywood. Unless your last movie made a shitload of money. Then all bets are off. Then—go nuts. Throw a Bentley at your assistant or at a Wayans Brother. Or throw a Wayans Brother at a Jonas Brother! Who cares after $200 million in domestic box office, right? In fact, if your last picture made some serious box office, why not save time and HIRE AN INTERN to throw phones and stuff at your assistant? Fun! And then why not give a couple other kids COLLEGE CREDIT to FILM your intern throwing things at your assistant? And then: ENTER
THAT FILM IN SOME FESTIVALS, GET DISTRIBUTION, WIN SOME AWARDS. And get this: you as producer will ACCEPT THOSE AWARDS! Fun!

The recipe for a great producer:

Two parts artiste,

Six parts sideshow barker,

One part serial killer.

Stir.

WHAT DOES THIS MEAN TO YOU, AS A WRITER?

When you’ve perfected your spec script or pitch, you’ll try to sell it all over town. You take it to executives at studios, you might take it to some directors (who might get you in the door to higher-ups at the studios), and you’ll also take it to a few PRODUCERS. If a producer likes it, you’ll then go around to studios WITH the producer.

The upside to taking your script to a PRODUCER
: With a producer attached, the studio isn’t JUST buying your script, they are ALSO buying a producer who’s going to develop your script with you. A good producer (who’s smart and who’s been around awhile) can make a script much better. And if the studio greenlights your movie, that producer will produce it for the studio: hiring the director, etc. A BIG-NAME producer might give the studios more confidence to buy your movie, knowing that the odds of it turning out good are better with a producer who’s made a lot of good movies. Good producers also know the town—who at the studio to pitch to, which studios have loose bags of cash lying around.