11/18/22
Newletter162
The Crack of Dawn
Here’s an old joke that’s probably not PC anymore: the Lone Ranger and his trusty sidekick, Tonto, are on a hill. Thousands of Indians are attacking from every direction. The Lone Ranger says, “What are we going to do?” Tonto replies, “What do you mean, we, white man?”
In 1966 a fellow was visiting his big-shot producer buddy in L.A. The big movie of that moment was Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf? with Elizabeth Taylor and Richard Burton. As they sat around the producer’s pool in Beverly Hills, the visitor said, “You know what would be a good movie idea? Elizabeth Taylor and Richard Burton in Shakespeare’s Taming of the Shrew?” It was in fact such a good movie idea that the producer was able to set up the deal and get it into production right away. His buddy sued him for stealing his idea. But what idea did he have? It wasn’t a story idea; it was the casting of two actors in a 400-year-old play. It went to court and the judge ruled in the favor of the buddy, saying in essence, in Hollywood, Taylor-Burton-Taming of the Shrew, is a strong enough movie idea to get a movie made, even if it’s not a story idea. This precedent only exists in California.
One day I was driving west on Sunset Blvd. through Beverly Hills. I stopped at a light, looked to my right, and sitting at the wheel of a Rolls Royce was George C. Scott. I’m a tad ashamed of this, but I followed him home. He turned on St. Pierre St. in Bel Air, and so did I. Mr. Scott pulled into a gated mansion, then the gate shut behind him. I sat in my car on the side of the street and watched him get out of his car and go into the house. After a minute I thought, “What am I doing here?” and drove away.
This is a standard Hollywood story, but since I’m a name-dropper, plus I enjoy revealing the ugly underside of the film business, I’ll tell it. Lawrence Bender, who produced all of Quentin Tarantino’s movies up until Django Unchained, I believe, used to hang around the bungalow where I lived on McCadden St. in Hollywood. So did Quentin, and that’s where they met. This was in 1986, six years before Reservoir Dogs (1992). So, Lawrence told me had some “Texas investors” who wanted to invest in a movie, and did I have a story or script he could give them? I said that I had a story in my head and I pitched it to him and he liked it. He said he’d pitch it to the Texans, which he did, and they liked it. Now what happens? Lawrence didn’t know. I said that I’d be happy to write a 12-page treatment, free of charge.
Let’s back up. The reason Lawrence came to me in the first place was because I had made a movie – Thou Shalt not Kill…Except – and it had been released. I had one credit and he had none. And though we were both about 28 years old, and newbies in the film business, I wasn’t nearly the newbie that he was. Lawrence was fresh off the boat from New York.
I spent the next couple of days writing a treatment entitled, Humans in Chains. I gave it to Lawrence and he liked it. OK, what’s the deal? This is why the writer is in the worst position in the filmmaking hierarchy. If the writer doesn’t make a decent deal right there at the very beginning – before anyone has any money, or even has any clue what the budget might be – they will certainly be screwed if it ever gets made.
Well, I’d already been around long enough to have a ready answer at this fraught moment. I said, “I want Writer’s Guild rates for the script [even though I wasn’t in the Writer’s Guild, but you can just use their contracts and their rates], so if it’s low-budget I’ll take guild minimum for a low-budget movie [get this: low-budget for the Writer’s Guild is anything under $20 million, although it was probably $10 million in 1986], or I’ll take guild minimum if it’s high-budget [which shows that I’m a reasonable person], and I have to direct.” Lawrence nodded, said yes, we shook hands, and he said that he’d write a contract. I said I’d polish up the treatment and we’d meet in a few days. I showed up at his apartment with a new treatment and he indeed had a crude, 2-3 page contract. The contract stated that I got $5,000 for the script, lock, stock and barrel, and no, I couldn’t direct. Lawrence was all excited, feeling like he was doing exactly what he wanted to do – be a piece of shit, asshole Hollywood producer.
I finished reading the contract, dropped it on the floor and said, “Fuck you!” I took my treatment and left.
Humans in Chains finally got made almost 20 years later as Alien Apocalypse (2005).
Lawrence and Quentin broke up. Unbeknownst to me, Lawrence had trained to be a ballet dancer. So now he got to do what he really and truly wanted to do deep in his heart – make a TV show about the trials and tribulations of ballet dancers, called Flesh and Bone (2015).
Everything works out in the end.
Have a great day.