THIS IS a law of the universe: For every ten people who ask to read your screenplay, who gush that they simply can’t wait to see it hit their inbox, one might read it. One out of ten. And it won’t be soon. Count on it taking weeks, often months.
This is a fact I well know. Since 1986 I’ve never not been working on a script. More times than I can count I’ve been ever-so-close to bumbling my way into a decades-in-the-making overnight success. On my closest encounter, a Hollywood electrician who had ridden the Peter Principle all the way to the place where they keep the D-list directors, tossed my script, wrote his own, made millions disappear, and then did likewise. Never worked again.
In recent weeks, a newspaper editor I once worked for put me in touch with a sci-fi novelist he knows from his college days in the Pleistocene. So I was in touch with his writerly pal, because it was Dave making the introduction, and because it’s always fun to know another writer. We grabbed lunch yesterday at a biker bar in East Providence. When we parted, he asked to read that script of mine, the one that keeps missing the bright lights by a hair’s breadth.
I emailed it to him last evening. Before the evening was out, he read it.
He read it again this morning, and then a third time, before calling to say, in detail, what he thought, and why.
It was funny how many times he said something so dead-nuts on it was as if he’d been following the evolution of my two dozen rewrites over the last decade.
The insight that topped them all? This script needs a female director. I thought I was the only one who knew that! Remarkable that he saw it right off the bat.
And the director he named, going by her previous work—Sofia Coppola—I can’t tell you how many brain cells I burned in years past trying to figure a way past her assistant. Her highly capable assistant.
Job description of all film industry assistants: Make. Everyone. Go. Away.
The film industry is a closed society, you need to know that going in. You may get to crash the party if, through extraordinary kismet, a rainmaker somehow takes an interest in what you do. But that’s the longest of the longest of the long, long, long shots. To get a dime’s worth of notice, you truly need some rare kind of karma working for you, some inexplicable mojo.
I can’t begin to count the number of people I know who work in the biz, from directors and producers on down. Quite a few have succeeded here and there, and on huge budgets. On Oscar night I’ve seen people I personally know standing on stage; have dined with them, periodically hear from them. But after more than 30 years at the craft I don’t know anyone who has the power to get anything done absent a miracle. Not a rainmaker in the lot. Names you’d recognize! And they’re all down here with the rest of us wannabes, throwing elbows to grab at a crumb that falls from the table.
Crazy, crazy, crazy…
Don’t do it unless you love it. And would love it still, and soldier on, even if Merlin himself handed you a 100-percent guarantee that you’ll never, ever succeed.
In the meantime, get Sofia on the line. Have I got a script for her.
Tony DePaul, January 18, 2019, Cranston, Rhode Island, USA
Dear Tony: I have heard (although I don’t know) that it is easier to get someone to look at a film than a script. In fact, it is legally risky for someone to read a script (says their lawyers). In the event that a scene from said script ever finds its way to the screen because the director forgot where they saw it–there can be nasty legal consequences.
Steven Spielberg has publicly stated he will not read a script. But he will look at a finished film.
What does your agent say? (Just curious)
Best of luck with it!
Robert
Oh, they’ll look at scripts, Robert, but only if you sign a release that basically holds them harmless if they steal your concept, and even your execution of it. I’ve signed a bunch of those things over the years. The production companies require you to certify that if they come up with a story identical to yours, they didn’t get it from you.
Tough game…
I remember reading an early draft of what I believe was GlideGirl. When I brought the script to the house, my mom insisted I read it that night so I could get it back to you right away.
Perhaps those who read it either need the graciousness of Mr. Carreiro or be subject to a higher authority. Either way you’re aces.
She’s tough… When we put up the window box on the north side of her house all she did was slap me around, made me stay late and pick up all the tools after it was dark out… Kept touching her finger to a button on my shirt, saying what’s that?, I look down she runs her finger up my face… humiliating…
I don’t remember things quite the same! But I wish I had done the finger thing! Can’t wait for my next project…… The thing I do agree with- you are aces. Keep writing!
Thanks for the kind words, Tony. I thoroughly enjoyed meeting with you. It was fun talking with you, too. The joy of the meeting, though, was having you share your script, “GlideGirl” with me. It was a blast reading it. You have a gift and talent in writing. You have your chops down really fine. When I read the script, I kept hearing Clapton play:
https://www.bing.com/videos/search?q=best+eric+clapton+solos&view=detail&mid=C23D43C63B26F83470E7C23D43C63B26F83470E7&FORM=VIRE
It haunted me and felt as though it was indelibly linked to your script.
Your writing evokes very powerful undercurrents of power, loss, passion, innocence, world-weariness, wanderlust, and musical lyricism.
Sofia doesn’t know what she’s missing. Here’s to the promise of your story reaching its full flowering . . .
Thanks so much, Keith. Will give Clapton a listen now…
Typically dont watch award shows but will set a DVR whence there comes a good reason.
Look at us all. Fans, sure enough, putting the cart before Iron Piggy.
Enjoying the winter reading.
Matt
Bettendorf, Iowa
Haha… Actually I’m about to enjoy lugging firewood closer to the house, I hear there’s a snow dump coming tonight. Jeez, I need a rainmaker, not a snowmaker…
Man, I so wish I could help.
Help me sharpen these battle blades… I’m going in…
Good luck getting Sofia Coppola to take on your script Tony. But if you do, it’s going to be you standing there making an acceptance speech at the Oscars. Don’t forget all us little people. 🙂
I’ll be out sleeping in the weeds somewhere. Maybe next to a new motorcycle, though. Iron Oscar.