YOU CAN’T GET BLOOD FROM A STONE

Hello.

Today, we’re going to talk about actors.

By which I mean that I’m going to write about actors from my very narrow perspective and you are going to stop reading what I write around about now and flick to the last paragraph to see if it is worthwhile. And although I haven’t yet written the last paragraph, I’m pretty sure this piece won’t be all that terrific, so well done you.


If you are going to be a screenwriter, or have the misfortune to already be one, then it is important to know (and fully accept) your place in the process.



I’m sure you’ve heard the old joke about the Polish starlet looking to boost her career who was so stupid that she fucked the writer, and if you’ve read William Goldman – and everyone has, right? – you’ll know that even very good writers like him are often treated like shit. So, let’s just assume that this is an absolute and not worry about it right now and instead take a look at how you might try to give yourself an edge when everyone you’re dealing with regards you as lower than pond life.

A few years ago, I was approached by the people who ran a film company for Mick Jagger.

These people had an original idea that Mick had ‘thought up’ and they needed a writer to ‘flesh it out’, ‘bring it to life’ and ‘make it sing’. (I’m not making any of this up.) Oh, and they didn’t have any money to pay for the treatment, but ‘obviously would pay for the script if it was commissioned’, which was nice. Now I have a response to people who ask me to work for no money and my response is: I’m pretty sure that you don’t do your job for no money so why not go fuck yourself? I didn’t do that this time, because I am one of those people who love the Rolling Stones (and think the Beatles are hapless buskers, obviously) and I so much wanted to meet Mick Jagger that I considered the meeting to be my payment and thus allowed myself to toss aside an absolute, inviolable rule without a second thought.

I still have the document which I produced, although I don’t think I can reproduce it here as it isn’t my own idea and I would rather not be sued by a Rolling Stone if it’s all the same to you? So we can gloss over the details and assume that it was pretty damn perfect; as laugh-out-loud funny, smart, knowing and hugely commercial as ever.

Now, meeting a Rolling Stone is surprisingly tricky, even if you have an appointment.

I had to be at Claridges at a fixed time and wait for my mobile to ring, at which point an aide would tell me what to do and where to go. AT NO TIME was I to speak to anyone about Mick Jagger and as he wasn’t booked into the hotel in his own name, I WASN’T TO ASK for him at the desk. On the appointed day, a little before the appointed time, I wandered into London’s loveliest hotel and looked for somewhere to sit and collect myself. A man in a big hat approached and asked how he might help, and I said he couldn’t. He wondered aloud whether, perhaps, he might direct me somewhere, and I said I was fine. Then he said that he was the concierge and I was sitting in his chair and so I moved, although it was clear that he didn’t much like the look of me and wondered what I was up to. I was just starting to sweat when my phone rang and a cut-glass voice said ‘Room 408, you can go up now’.

I swallowed, stuffed my papers into my bag and then headed for the lift, at which stage another person with a hat stopped me and wondered how he might help. Now they obviously had me marked down as ‘trouble’ and I was headed up to their ‘suite floor’, so I tried giving the room number, but they asked for the name. I said I didn’t know the name and they looked at me as if I had enquired as to their availability for anal fisting, at which point I just gave up and said ‘I’mheretoseeMickJagger’ all in one big go and suddenly they eased up and let me head for the lift, all sweaty and nervous. (I later discovered that he had used the clever pseudonym ‘Michael Jagger’ – pretty smart, right?)

[I appreciate that this is turning into a bit of an ‘I met someone important once’ story, but there is a point to it and with luck you won’t notice that the point could have been covered off in a sentence. And also I didn’t have much prepared for this column and I have to finish a script polish, so chattering on a bit works for me. And finally, when you have met a Rolling Stone, THEN criticise, but until that point you might just back off, buddy.]

So, I got out of the lift (never an ‘elevator’) and walked along the beautiful corridor towards room 408 and by the time I got there I was even more nervous and then I saw that the door had a ‘Do Not Disturb’ sign on it and I was plunged into a deep well of confusion. They had said that I should go up, but He might not know this. How would He feel if I disregarded His very clear sign and interrupted His day without a second thought? I knocked. Nothing. Then I saw the little bell by the door – doorbells for hotel rooms! – and I rang it. Still nothing. So I walked away and He opened the door and thought I was bottling it and so He shouted after me and the whole thing started very badly...

Okay, so a thousand words into an eight-hundred word column and I still haven’t made my point. My point is that I went into a room with an actor who, had he liked my pitch, could have greenlit my take instantly (he had a ‘put deal’ at Paramount at that time) and I walked out of the room without a deal for one reason, and one reason only. See if you can see the reason; I had taken his germ of an idea and made it work, the treatment was funny, profound and structurally sound – the action was frantic and frenetic and took place in Russia, where our star was mugged and chased and forced to rely on his wits in order to survive all sorts of depravation and, and... yes, you got it.

*Smacks head on wall*

I lost Him, dear reader – I cleverly snatched defeat from the jaws of victory. You see although the story rocked and it fulfilled every objective He had set for it and it had possibilities of being both a commercial and critical success, it meant that He would have to film in the cold for three months or so and be chased around in the snow and get wet and have to suffer horribly, before He eventually won and returned victorious as a better, fully-rounded person. And Mick Jagger didn’t want to run around in freezing weather in a shithole (apologies to any Russians who may be reading) for three months – he wanted to be in the sun on a beach near a five-star hotel. And who could blame Him?

So, he passed and my American agent sacked me for being ‘commercially unaware’ and I didn’t get to write a film for a Rolling Stone, although it has used up 1660 words here, so I have, I suppose, had some value from the whole sorry mess. Although you are probably feeling a bit short-changed right around now, I guess?

Look – these days, most studio deals aren’t done with the studios at all, but with production companies which are owned by stars and run on money supplied by the studios in order to keep their stellar meal-ticket on the lot. I had a script last year which nearly sold because Ashton Kutcher’s company really liked it, even though no-one at the studio had read the thing. The fact that Ashton Kutcher was manifestly unsuitable for the role made no difference – if he had climbed aboard, it would have happened. He didn’t and it didn’t. But in this world the actor is king, and it will serve you well to think about that at every stage of the process; what will the actor get out of this if they add their wattage to your script? Will they win awards, enhance credibility or even just have a nice time? Their agent will want an answer to this question before the client even gets to read the script and so you will need that answer before sending it out. Money isn’t going to do it – they will want a hook. And as the writer, you will need to provide it...

You know that ultimately, audiences will want a reason to like your film and we have already accepted, I think, that the script reader and producer will also need a reason to tick the yes box. Somewhere in the middle is the final piece of the puzzle – the piece that will help you to get the thing financed, distributed and marketed. The star is your ace in the hole and you will need to treat them right, so don’t make the job any harder than it need be.

And don’t have a Rolling Stone try to fuck a groupie in an Estonian snowdrift, only to discover that the groupie is a guy with an ulterior motive and a big knife. Unless you want to be stuck in a rut writing blog recollections about that time you ‘met someone important’ in a pathetic and ultimately unsuccessful attempt to get noticed, anyway...