10/1/22
Newsletter114
The Crack of Dawn
I started my website, Beckerfilms.com, in 1998, which was pretty early in the history of the internet. Because Xena was on at that time and very popular, my website immediately had a lot of traffic. And since I had a Q&A, I had a slew of folks writing in every day. Somehow Harvey Weinstein came up. Even though I respect him as a producer and think he’s made quite a few good movies, some imp of the perverse within me caused me to write, “Harvey Weinstein just looks like a scumbag to me,” which I posted. Then I felt kind of bad because I didn’t know Harvey, I do like a lot of his movies, and I judged him strictly on his looks. I took it as a lesson: don’t judge people by their looks.
Speaking of scumbag producers, at about the same time I attended a party in Brentwood – a very nice, upscale neighborhood; Julie Andrews and Blake Edwards lived across the street from where the party was – and I joined the folks seated around the pool. A writer named Chaz was holding forth about the recently deceased producer, Don Simpson, about whom he had just written a book. Chaz was a well known gossip columnist for the Hollywood Reporter, and therefore taken quite seriously. Don Simpson had been partners with Jerry Bruckheimer and had made such cinematic masterpieces as Flashdance and Top Gun, both of which made a lot of money. But Simpson was a ten times the scumbag that Harvey Weinstein ever came close to. I won’t even mention the atrocities Don Simpson committed. So Chaz, who is a smart guy, stated, “Nobody in Hollywood was ever as good as Don Simpson at developing a script.” At which point I could not help but chime in, “If he was so good at developing scripts, please name one good script he had anything to do with.” Chaz immediately became indignant and retorted, “Don Simpson’s movies made a billion dollars.” I said, “Uh-huh, and what’s the good script he developed? Being the best, and all. Flashdance?” Now Chaz became angry and snotty, declaring, “Since you work on Xena: Warrior Princess you must know more about it than me.” And for once in my life I had the appropriate rejoinder at the right moment. I said, “Yes, I do work on Xena: Warrior Princess, but I’m actually in the film business; you are a barnacle on the ass of the film business.” Thank goodness Chaz has a sense of humor and burst out laughing, and thus a fight did not ensue.
But wait, scumbag producers is a big topic. There was this one motherfucking scumbag producer named Jim Jacks, and since he’s dead I don’t mind using his name. Jim was instrumental in advancing the careers of Joel and Ethan Coen, Sam Raimi, Kevin Smith and Richard Linklater. Jim was also severely unfriendly, unkempt to the point of dirty and slightly aromatic, and entirely ill-mannered. Sam, Rob Tapert and I came out of a screening on the Universal lot to find Jim talking to Nicholas Cage. Jim waved us over. As we walked up, Jim said, “Nick, this is Sam Raimi and Rob Tapert,” then he stepped between me and Nicholas Cage, Sam and Rob, thus forming a group from which I was excluded. This maneuver actually has a name. It’s called “The Hollywood Hello.” Jim’s and my path crossed a number of times. I pitched him a few scripts over the years at his office at Universal. Each time he wore the same expression of deep, deep boredom, his eyes rolled slightly upward indicating how close he was to vomiting from having to listen to such an vile, awful story.
I attended the premiere screening of Dazed and Confused (1993), which Jim produced. I was with Rob Tapert, to whom Jim said hello, but intentionally not to me. Thirty minutes into watching teenagers hit each other with bats and I’d had enough and walked out. But I couldn't leave because Rob was still in the theater watching. I stepped outside onto the sidewalk all by myself and lit a cigarette. A moment later out came Jim Jacks, as rumpled as ever, nervous and sweating out the first screening of his newest movie. And there was me, patiently smoking my cigarette. Jim looked right at me and we acknowledged each other. Jim had seen me go in with Rob, so obviously I had walked out of his movie and was now killing time for an hour until it ended. Happily, I lit one cigarette off another and watched Jim anxiously pace back and forth in front of the theater. We never exchanged a word.
Having grabbed the brass ring in Hollywood, Jim Jacks spent the remaining ten years of his life producing five Scorpion King movies, four of which were direct-to-video, then he dropped dead of a heart attack at the age of 66.
Two producers are crawling through the desert dying of thirst. They come upon a fountain and a pool of crystal clear water. One of them is about to drink, when the other one stops him and says, “Wait, let me piss in it first.”
And a jolly good day to one and all.