September 30, 2009
The Difference Between Persistence and Being a Dick
Sorry to be crass in my headline, gang, but this space is not intended for children and nor is this an Emily Post column. I’m not especially thrilled with the coarsening of society evidenced by the recent behavior of Kanye West, Serena Williams or Joe Wilson, either. But that’s another topic. Today’s is the huge difference between being a screenwriter who can handle rejection and one who begs for it.
Metaphorically speaking, Hollywood is a walled city and most aspiring writers spend a number of years on the outside looking in. It’s easy to get resentful about that, especially when you’re working hard for free. Especially when you hear that the guys who wrote the summer’s Star Trek reboot are tackling View-Master for an encore. Pretty soon, the only job open for Martin Scorsese will be the adaptation of the Candy Land board game (or better yet, its sequel). Yes, your screenplay has better characters than Battleship, which solid shooter Peter Berg is bringing to the screen—come to think of it, there aren’t any characters in that game, let alone a story.
BUT—and it’s a characteristically American, big BUT—spec writers don’t do themselves any favors by getting pissy about it. Everyone from A-list screenwriters like Josh Olsen (read his screed here) to rank and filers at management companies and agencies are complaining about the sense of entitlement fledgling writers often show when shopping their wares. It’s really the opposite attitude to that of someone who understands sales. A good salesperson knows that the customer can always go elsewhere, in a heartbeat. How many expensive dresses do you think a shop on Rodeo Dr. would sell if the clerk wheedled passive-aggressively in phone calls or emails to their customers and got mad if shoppers didn’t take the time to try on the outfit, let alone buy it? Dress-buyers would just go next door, or down the street, or two blocks away… There are no shortage of dresses and no shortage of scripts. Except there aren’t a lot of $2 million-dollar dresses out there, and a small percentage of specs can be made for less than $2 mil. Talk about a big-ticket purchase.
To the industry, a script represents an opportunity, yes, but a very risky opportunity. The fact is that most movies don’t make money, and most scripts don’t get made into movies—even after reps and producers have invested massive amounts of time, energy and often money. It’s a huge leap of faith for anyone to devote their workdays to your career or your script.
No matter what you think about the business, the movies we make, or the manners of the buyers and representatives you’ve dealt with… Remember that if they are giving you a moment of their time, they are doing you a favor. This really isn’t a crazy concept. If your sink is leaking, do you call a plumber and expect them to fix it for nothing? Or even to take the time to figure out what the problem is and tell you, free of charge? Reading scripts are these folks’ jobs. There are plenty of scripts demanding their attention, many that their employers expect them to read, and always many more than they have time for. If you aren’t represented and you get someone to read your stuff, bravo! You’ve convinced someone busy to use their valuable time determining whether to buy something from you or not. If the answer is no, honestly thank them for doing something they didn’t have to do and will receive nothing for (except your disappointment). When you walk into Best Buy and don’t buy anything, you don’t deserve to be harangued by the staff for it. They’re happy you considered their products and hope you’ll feel comfortable coming back again. Treat Hollywood companies and the people who work for them as your potential customers.
Like any good business-owner does, approach every contact with your potential customers as an opportunity to show how friendly, knowledgeable and honest you are. You want them to think, whether they buy from you or not, “I like that person. Even if this particular product isn’t what I’m looking for right now, I would certainly consider doing business in the future.”
How do you do that? It’s pretty simple. Even if they are brusque, condescending or dismissive (as so many customers are) you can be cordial, patient and persuasive. Explain why your project is marketable in today’s entertainment climate, and to whom. Suggest that it’s a fresh take on a time-tested concept with characters mainstream audiences can relate to. Whatever the specifics of your script, make your case in a concise, cogent and professional manner. Be friendly and personable but not overbearing. There’s no such thing as “giving ‘em the hard sell” for the spec writer—you’re selling a stack of pages for between tens of thousands of dollars and a million. Your buyer is not going to be bullied into signing a check on the spot. All you can do is send out compelling queries, follow up with a couple of polite emails every few weeks (I don’t recommend a phone call unless you’ve been invited to make one) and hope for the best.
Remember that Hollywood is a small town. If you’re convinced that someone you had a nasty conversation with at one company is just a jerk, don’t think you can just cross that name off your list. They have friends, they talk, and they just might move to another company you contact—possibly into a higher position. Chances are they’ll recognize your name if you guilt-tripped them, got pushy, lost your temper, or anything else that presents an emotional speed bump in their day. Now, to them, you’re the guy selling the expensive stack of pages who’s also a dick. Good luck with that.
Hey, I know there are plenty of jerks in this town, and plenty of good scripts getting passed on (or not even read) every day. The best revenge is to make them wish they’d treated you better when they read about your spec sale in Variety.
As a wise man once said… I want you to be nice until it’s time to not be nice.
—Dalton (Patrick Swayze), Road House.
4 Comments
I admit that I have to agree with Stogie Joe’s article and was knocked on my butt by Josh Olsen. As a fledgling screenwriter, a term I believe no one cares to attach to themselves, it can be confusing out here in never-never land, increasing in boggle the more distant one is from LA. Of the more than 100,000 screenplays that descend upon the industry annually much can, or should be, dismissed with the wave of the hand. How do you separate the chaff from the wheat?
Enter readers throughout the industry, who wield tremendous power, second only to the dragons at the gate, the receptionists. From what I can fathom, readers, on the whole, don’t feel good about telling writer’s their scripts suck. Even Josh Olsen feels more than a twinge of guilt in having to condemn a writer and his great American screenplay to the ride with Charlie on the MTA. When is the last time you have completely destroyed someone’s dreams? How do you let them down gracefully and gently and with finality?
Readers would do all of us newbies a favor if they could be more honest. It is difficult, if not impossible much of the time, for a writer to accept that his baby will never reach maturity. Who should be saddled with the gruesome task of telling the parent?
With the stacked-against-me statistics that are the reality here, I could get discouraged. But I don’t and won’t because I love my stories and I get a real charge of mental, and sometimes physical, energy when I find a way to make a scene better, a character more real and lovable (or hateful), or think of a great ‘twist’ to spice up the plot. Scriptwriting is just so darned good for me that I can’t get too upset about the production and marketing possibilities being on the short side — at least not yet. Stogie Joe just became one of my virtual mentors; what a cool knothole in the fence around Hollywood!
The paradigm for screenplay analysis should be…”bad” screenplays are actually unbearable. “Decent” screenplays are really God-awful. Screenplays that are “good” actually suck. Only “great” screenplays are truly good. If your screenplay isn’t great, what is it?
Through a connection my first screenplay was read and critiqued by a professional screenwriter. That screenplay was to be a horror/thriller flick and I thought it was not only good but exceptional. Certainly a lot better than the crap I had paid to see. During the climax when the hero was being pummeled by demons from hell, I wrote a paragraph of action that began with, “Words cannot describe the horror Dave sees as his face twists…” The professional wrote on my screenplay in big, red letters, “Words damn well better describe the horror! That’s your damn job!” I thought, “Wow, what a great response. And, “Duh! How stupid am I?” And, “Boy, do I ever suck at writing!” And most importantly, “Thank you so much for being honest and I beg your forgiveness for wasting your time.” Since then I have taken at least seven screenwriting classes, read a dozen books and countless articles on screenwriting and listened to months worth of audio classes about screenwriting. I have read several dozen screenplays from other writers and I now know that if I don’t believe every single word I write is anything other than great, it isn’t and no one else will think otherwise. If you, the writer, cannot honestly determine whether your script is anything other than great…it isn’t. I don’t agree with everything Robert McKee preaches and teaches, but one thing he’s got a bull’s eye on is that every single word in a screenplay has to move the story forward. Every word. If not, it can’t be a great screenplay. And if it isn’t a great screenplay, what is it?
Thanks, Stogie. This is a great little article. We Brits are supposed to know all about ‘fair play’ - but do we? Hmm. Sometimes. Good to be reminded.