That Screwy Ballyhooey Hollywood

Got an email. "Like your writing. Have a film project I’d like you to work on. Call me. Billy Buddah."

So I called him.

After he finished listing the "numerous indie sleeper hits," which he’d co-produced over the years, he instructed me to meet him at the IHOP at the corner of Third and Bulldyke and that I should bring a pad and a pencil because "we got work to do, bubela."

Buddah was a small, wiry, all-black-wearing opportunist with a bald head full of razor rash and a handshake reminiscent of an unconscious halibut.

The third or fourth thing out of his mouth was, "Want you to write a coupla black lesbian characters that are gonna get it on during some course of the story …donn’t care when, don’t care how, but I wanna see ‘em in the sack before the end of the movie, okay…?"

"Well...I guess I can finagle something…"

"No no, no guessing, no finagling…Guessing is a word I am not familiar or comfortable with…if you’re gonna work with me you’ll need to know my vocabulary, it’s vital…"

"Alright…"

"No guessing, no maybes, no trying, no thinking about doing it, ya unnerstand…? You can, you will, you must, end of discussion…"

"Absolutely…"

"Nuther thing I’m partial to is inter-racial relationships between white guys and black women…and I don’t mean light-skinned women. African-black. Black as coal, black as tar black women. It’s a passion of mine…and not only a sexual one. I was in the streets in the sixties during that whole civil rights brou ha ha singin’ 'We Shall Overcome' along with everybody else and being a Jew, I’ve always sort of aligned myself with black causes and I know where they’re coming from…So, what do you think of it so far…?"

I thought about it so far. 

“…Of what so far…?"

"The premise. Can you do anything with it…?"

"You haven’t told me what the premise is…"

"I told you! Black lesbians and inter-racial relationships!"

"No disrespect to you, Billy, but it doesn't give me much to go on..."

"Do you want this gig...?"

"Yes, of course I want the gig..."

"'Cuz I'll get Joe Eszterhas on the phone right now and ask him..."

"I'll do the gig! I thought you already had a premise in mind, something mapped out..."

"...Uhm, excuse me, is it my job to map things out for you...?"

"Well, no, not necessarily..."

"Would you like to know what my job as a producer is...?"

"I know what your job is..."

"My job is to put together a package..."

"I realize that..."

He counted on his fingers. "It is to find a director, a writer, and a star...That, in a nutshell, is my job..."

"I understand..."

"Your job is to write a screenplay...It's not my job to 'map' things out. It's not my job to delineate every plot point, every character nuance, every obligatory scene, every climax...that's your job...are we straight...?"

"We're straight..."

"Good...Now brainstorm me, throw some ideas at me, what can you do with it...?"

"I...can't work this way, Billy..."

"What do you mean you can't work this way?"

"Let me go home, sit down at my typewriter and think about it..."

"Bubela..."

"I work best that way..."

"Are you gonna cop that prima donna trip with me? Because if you are, Alan Smithee's available for this project..."

"How many writers do you usually work with...?"

"Depends on the project...sometimes you need a little tweaking, a little punching up...your strength may be dialogue, somebody else is good with plot, another guy's good with structure, it depends..."

"So I'm gonna be one of God knows how many others...?"

"Look it...you gimme a draft that knocks me on my a*s, I guarantee you, you'll be the only writer. If, on the other hand, you gimme one that's forty, fifty, sixty percent there..."

"I'm not naive. I know how the game is played, but..."

"You'll get screen credit, the Writer's Guild requires that..."

"I know that!"

"What if it's s**t? Is that what you're worried about? Too many cooks in the kitchen and you're left with the screen credit...?"

"No, of course not, nooh..."

"That's the chance you take, bubela, you know that as well as I..."

"But, Billy...I need more than just black lesbians and inter-racial relationships..."

"They made a whole friggin' movie from one image in 1939. Do you know what that image was...?"

"What was that...?"

"It was the image of a seventy foot ape on top of the Empire State Building..."

"'King Kong.'"

"Yes! 'King' f*****g 'Kong.' The guy who wrote 'King Kong' had to build an entire story around one image! Was that a lot to work with? You talk about a challenge! I've given you more to work with than that!"

"He had 'Beauty and the Beast' to work with as a..."

"Regardless of what he had to work with, the schmuck had to come up with a way to get a seventy foot ape up the friggin' Empire State Building! Are you listening to me? Don't give me that s**t you need more to work with, you're a better writer than that!"

"Okay..."

"Whaddaya think, I'm shootin' for an Oscar here, for chrissakes? We'll be lucky if this thing goes straight to the streaming services! Russ Myers was an auteur compared to the director I hired, alright? I'm not asking you to write 'Chinatown,' for God's sakes!"

"I understand..."

"It's business! This is not art! You want art, work with Merchant and Ivory. Or whichever one of 'em's still alive...Not here! Why, you gettin' cold feet now...?"

"Noo..."

"Are you comfortable with the assignment?"

"Yah, I'm cool..."

"I want a first draft in three weeks..."

"Fine..."

"Jesus, I was bluffing. Are you serious? You can do it in three weeks?"

"Why not...?"

"That's what I'm saying..."

Buddah's cell phone rang. "Hello?" he said. "...Gretchen! The lovely Gretchen, how are you?...Ahh, you know, the usual boundary issues and the overwhelming lack of self esteem to deal with, but other than that... Can the Good Doc see me today?...Great! Three o'clock is perfect!...I appreciate the call back, love. Alright, bye bye..." He ended the call. "I'm gonna get this chick..."

"Who?"

"My analyst's secretary...She is gorgeous..."

"You see an analyst...?"

"I figure I don't smoke, I don't drink, I don't do drugs, I might as well have some kind of crutch..."

"Is it helping...?"

"I don't know, but I get to write it off... So are we straight? You need anything else from me...?"

I thought about it. "I don't think so..."

"Awesome. See ya in three weeks..."

I went home, sat down at the typewriter, stared at the blank sheet of paper for an hour and a half, and decided it was time I started seeing an analyst.

Reviews

[roarke]

Heh, Billy Buddah, great character name. Grippy, quick dialogue. Make Billy wilder, crazier. And the writer character, after his verbal response, add what his inner thoughts, reactions to billy’s comments are. And last but not least, take Billy’s sketchy scenario suggestions, and have the writer start spit-balling increasingly outrageous plot and scene suggestions. Don’t hold back, this set up is gold.