Last week, I read a script that made me a tad uncomfortable. It attempted, very ineptly, to capitalize on the recent-but-not-as-recent-as-the-writer-thinks poker craze. I don’t claim to be a cigar-chomping cardsharp, but I know this: a 52-card deck does not contain any “1” cards. That’s more than the writer of this script, who explains that an “Ace is the best card you can get. Then it’s King, Queen, Jack, Ten, Nine, Eight…down to One, usually.” Usually.
Several things got my gears going as I read this script. First: I received it the day before Thanksgiving. Usually, the Murdstone & Grinby Company is shuttered for the whole holiday week (plus the Monday after), so getting a script during an unofficial coverage dead zone concerned me. Also irritated me, because while the extra cash is nice, it’s still the day before Thanksgiving, and I’m fucking lazy.
Second: something about it felt off, in an indefinable way. Sure, it had the same very definable problems from which other scripts suffer (notably one-dimensional characters and a nonsensical third act), but something about the diction didn’t feel right. It felt less like a dramatic work than a loudmouth guy at the end of the bar saying, “Hey, buddy. Yeah, you — you know what’d be a good idea for a movie?” before elucidating a ramshackle stream-of-consciousness narrative that felt more like a working-class fever dream than a piece of writing. I don’t just mean it had a conversational style. The only thing separating it from the guy at the end of the bar was a lot of “No, no — just hear me out” asides. ‘Twas a tale told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, signifying nothing. Emphasis on the “idiot” part.
I read through the script, then went back over it to craft yet another tedious synopsis and felt repulsed all over again. It felt more like the shit I used to read for The Manager than anything I’ve read for Murdstone, and I’ve read a lot of crap. The fact that it sold and was most likely a go picture (as are the bulk of the scripts I read) alarmed me.
I couldn’t help thinking, though. I know it’s a problem, and I’m working through it with a certified mental health professional. Last time a script really bugged me, I discovered a few months later that it was not, in fact, a go picture; rather, Murdstone wanted to produce it and kept taking meetings with the writer (who also wanted to direct), much to the consternation of Amelia. She found him as annoying as a person as I did as a writer. Once she read the script (which I politely and secretly e-mailed to her), we both agreed we’d hitched our sails on a sinking ship and had either bite down on cyanide capsules or find a rescue boat before they went ahead with this steaming pile. (Semi-amusing postscript: during my crisis regarding this script, Amelia told me for the first time that Murdstone & Grinby paid me for my coverage, then turned around and hired one of their other readers to manufacture a more enthusiastic response instead of crapping all over it.)
So what if this arbitrary script and its arbitrary timing occurred because Murdstone & Grinby had wild hairs up their ass about this poker script? They needed to know before the holiday whether or not this would be the perfect project to set up after their shitty sci-fi project.
Then, my pondering got even weirder. See, Jim (my boss at the company) had given his notice, effective sometime before Christmas. He had no savings or other job prospects, but he’s decided he wants to chillax and focus more on his writing. I’ve heard tale of everyone from assistants to CEOs submitting their own scripts to readers under assumed names — in this case, a script that contained the default Final Draft title page, with none of the information filled out — so they can get honest feedback. Then, they fire the reader if he or she shits all over it.
Amelia had quite a strong opinion about Jim’s writing ability, so I considered the possibility that he had written this script himself (most likely in crayon, with a typist entering it into Final Draft) and submitted it to me because he trusted my cantankerous opinion. In my mind, it made a small amount of sense. If nothing else, it explained the slipshod “first draft by an utter novice” vibe of the piece.
Before writing the notes, I called her for a consult: did she know if they wanted to produce a poker-themed movie, and/or had Jim dropped any hints that he was hard at work on a horrible poker-themed project?
Holy fuck was she pissed. I inadvertently walked into a steaming pile of my own. See, she has a strong opinion about Jim’s writing talent, but apparently in the past few weeks, Jim has developed a strong opinion about hers. She recently finished a script, one of those “pet projects” that she’d spent so much time developing, she’d been hyping it since the day she started at Murdstone. She finally finished it, then polished it into a “Draft 1.5”-type thing, then sent it out to people she trusted — among them, myself and Jim.
I read it, but I had a pretty good idea of what to expect: a typical, problematic first draft with a lot of good ideas buried underneath crap. Jim had never read any of Amelia’s previous work, nor had he listened to her wax on about craft or cinema history or any of the other crap I have. He got nothing but the hype, for five years, and much like Tucker Max fans, he found himself disappointed by the end result.
Hasn’t every writer had at least one experience like this? You meet somebody who’s so articulate, so bright, and so capable, you automatically assume they have the talent to back it up. Then you read something less-than-stellar, and you can’t help it if your respect for them diminishes. I know I’ve had a few of these moments, and it gets easier as you realize how easy it is for smart, knowledgeable people to pump out crap in the early stages. Most people do. When it blindsides you, and maybe especially when someone has spent five years hyping the project, during which time she would have presumably worked all the shitty drafts out of her system, I can understand why Jim would react the way he did.
So how did he react? Well, at work he froze her out completely, ignoring her as much as humanly possible for a week, blocking her from Instant Messenger at home, and apparently not sending her this poker shit. See, part of the reason the “vacation” timing puzzled me is because it’s pretty common for Murdstone to get scripts during time off — but they almost always go to Amelia, whose turnaround is slower than, say, me.
Amelia quickly assuaged my fears about the development possibilities of the script, and especially about the possibility of Jim writing this script (“No way in hell has he ever finished a script!”), but she derailed the conversation by focusing on her fear that she’s being phased out of the company. It may not have anything to do with the reaction of her screenplay, she posited. Murdstone is in trouble, and despite having more seniority than someone like me, she also has less value. Not to me, but to the people at the company, who take her for granted.
I happen to think she’s overreacting, but who knows? With Jim leaving, they’ve brought in a replacement Amelia fears may hate her. Getting squeezed out may have more to do with this than the company’s alleged economic woes. If she gets canned, I lose my inside wo(man), which means I’ll never see it coming if I’m next. The only solution, to quote Roseanne, is to suck up at the speed of light.
This, I can do.
Anticlimactic postscript: I sent the coverage, received no enraged complaints or firings, got more scripts on Monday, got the check yesterday, deposited it today. Good times.
Posted by Stan on December 5, 2009 5:05 PM