“The Thing About Lunch” or “The Worst I Ever Had”

(Year One of Robb’s Illustrious Career)

Let’s get one thing straight. Television production is about one thing and one thing only: lunch.

It was my first job in the business. I was working on a real TV show, on a broadcast network, with my name in the credits. I was psyched. 

I would soon be crushed. It was the worst job I’ve ever had.

At the bottom of the bottom, I had many duties: phones, drive-ons, filing, getting the latest script pages to the writers, director, and executive producer. But I soon learned that none of these mattered.

What mattered was lunch. My real job was to take care of lunch.

“Lunch” sounds so simple, so uncomplicated. It isn’t. First off, there’s more than one. There’s the office lunch, which is lunch for the writers, producers, and P.A.s. But then there’s the catered lunch for the art department. There’s the stage lunch. There’s the taping lunch. And on very special weeks, the screening lunch. 

Don’t get me started on the editing breakfast.

There’s the old line in Hollywood: “What I really want to do is direct.” Well, what I actually got to do was catering.

TV production revolves around lunch. Why? Two words: powerlessness and control. The largest group in the production office is the writers. Writers are moody creative types who are crushingly self-critical and are convinced they are powerless (I’m not pointing fingers here – I’m one myself). The problem is that they’re, well,… actually correct about this. In the big world of production, writers control nothing. NOTHING. And if there’s one thing that makes perceived powerlessness worse, it’s real, actual powerlessness. But where was I? Oh yeah: writers control NOTHING. Oh wait – there is one thing I forgot to mention that they actually DO get to control: lunch. So when they get in to work and get knee-deep into a series of impossible problems they have to solve but cannot control, where do you think they vent their frustrations and lash out in a desperate attempt to overcome their powerlessness?

Lunch.

The thing about lunch is that it happens every day.

Worst job I ever had.

Now, I see you rolling your eyes. I mean, jeez Robb, it’s only lunch. How bad can it be? It doesn’t sound serious, you say. But lunch is very serious. I saw P.A.s fired for picking up lunch and bringing writer/producers back the wrong salad dressing. This was not unusual.

Plus the show-runner, the head writer, the guy who got to most control lunch, was a monster who made my life a living hell. Okay, that’s too harsh. The Kevin Spacey character in Swimming With Sharks – that guy is a monster. This show-runner, he was more of… well, a spineless weasel. A passive-aggressive spineless weasel. With arbitrary dietary requirements.

Before you jump on that last sentence, let me be clear: this gut did NOT have food allergies. Or health concerns. Or food tolerance issues, or anything like that. Nothing health-related. So when I say “arbitrary” dietary requirements, I mean arbitrary. He didn’t eat meat, except when he did. He ate protein only, except when he didn’t. He would let someone else pick the restaurant we would order from, then yell and scream when the menu had “nothing he could eat.”

And when I say “yell and scream,” I mean real, actual yelling and screaming. This was not unusual.

Yes, I went to grad school for this.

By mid-season I finally gave up. Or got smart, depending on how you look at it. Whenever I’d have to coordinate a big lunch, like a screening lunch or a cast reading lunch or a pre-taping snack/lunch thing, I would just go directly to The Weasel and ask him what he wanted. Yes, this would reward his behavior and be unfair to everyone else, but I didn’t care. I just wanted to prevent the drama and the yelling and screaming. And the firing. Especially the firing. This new system would be foolproof, wouldn’t you think? Wouldn’t you?

Are you kidding?

I went to his office one evening, pitching him three of his favorite restaurants for the next day’s screening lunch. He picked a restaurant and I already had a few options figured out, entrees and sides I knew he usually ordered. All that was left was for him to pick. Once he did I made sure to VERY CAREFULLY give him the recap of what he picked, what I would order, the complete spread all 25 of us would be eating from. I was determined – there would be no surprises the next day, no yelling or screaming. Or firing. The Weasel rolled his eyes – my anality was SO annoying – and condescendingly said yes, all this would be fine. I mean, jeez Robb, it’s only lunch.

When lunch came the next day there was yelling and screaming. He came THIS CLOSE to firing me. There was nothing he could eat. Nothing. This really happened. In front of the entire crew. This was less than 24 hours after he himself chose all the food. 

I later learned from a producer that The Weasel had gone on a no-carb diet an hour or two after our little meeting. After our little meeting where he had chosen platters of pasta and breaded chicken. My job was saved when a P.A. agreed to run across the street and get The Weasel a 100% plain grilled chicken breast – no butter or seasonings of any kind (The Weasel complained that it was dry). This was not unusual.

The thing about lunch is that it happens every day. Every. Single. Day.

I had that job for almost two years. That’s a lot of lunches. I had that job until the president of the production company finally read my script and promoted me. The new job was awesome. It wasn’t a writing job, but it was a lot closer. And some other unlucky bastard had to take care of lunch.

Dying of Encouragement, part x+1

Verbatim e-mail I received yesterday from an exec who’d just read I Hate That Guy!:

<<Robb,
Thanks for submitting the script. Great, commercial idea and very castable. It’s not for us at this time but keep plugging away and you should be able to set this up somewhere.

Regards,>>

The guy was very nice and I genuinely appreciate his time and the read. I sent him a nice thank-you email and hope we meet again at some point. 

But hey – how many times can a guy be complimented but turned down and not become bitter?! Sheesh. I guess the answer is some number less than I have been.

I Hate That Guy!

People – yesterday changed everything and my career will never be the same. I had that meeting with the “small but influential studio” yesterday afternoon about I Hate That Guy!. It has been quite a while since my last round of meetings, but they’re always the same: they read your stuff, they call you, they tell you you’re great, they desperately want to meet with you. You try not to let yourself get excited, but as the day comes closer, you talk yourself into it: They like it, so they must want it. Or maybe they don’t want it, but they have a rewrite or some other assignment and they’re looking for a writer. They must want to offer you something – surely they don’t want to have you over merely so they can have their assistant offer you some Evian and then waste half an hour of their own valuable time for some meaningless chat before asking you “so… what else do you have?”. So you try not to let yourself get excited, but you can’t help it. I mean, they called you. These guys might be different. These guys are smart – after all, they’ve proven it: they like your script! Surely these guys aren’t in it to waste their own time. They’re going to offer you something. And they do: Evian and some meaningless chat before asking “so… what else do you have?”. And you leave utterly demoralized.

The bastards do this to me every damn time.

Yesterday was different. I didn’t let myself get excited. Just another meeting, just another Evian. They weren’t going to do this to me again. If I just don’t get excited, they can’t do it to me. Simple as that.

But then in the morning things started happening. Strange things. I got an email from my contact. Giving me the address, telling me where to park. Again. We had been over this on the phone, but he was… confirming this with me. Me, the writer. They were making extra sure I was coming.

Then I got an email from a guy in the business I met a while back. Great guy, legit guy, very helpful. It was great to hear from him. But the thing is, I haven’t spoken with him in over a year. I didn’t remember the guy when I saw his email or read his name. But here he was, out of the blue, on today of all days, asking me about the script… and whether I had an agent. Or if I needed one. Like, hypothetically, if I needed an agent – like, say, this afternoon – and I didn’t have any leads on one, he could steer me in the right direction.

What? What did this guy know? They were going to offer me something and everybody knew. Everybody but me. While I was successfully keeping myself from getting excited, the whole town was talking, and what they were saying was this: these guys are going to buy Robb’s script.

My head was swimming. I was excited. Very excited.

So I go to the meeting, and instead of being greeted at reception by an assistant, I am greeted by two guys. Okay, I think, one’s the assistant, and one’s the exec. They’ll take me to a conference room and the assistant will leave me with the exec while he fetches our Evians. But this doesn’t happen: we get to the conference room and they both stay. They’re both execs. We have foregone the Evian to get right to this. Whatever is about to happen, it requires two execs. They get right to it – the first one read the script, loved it, and took it to his boss. The boss read it, loved it, and took it to his boss, who is the VP.  The top man. The guy who can make it happen. I am very, very excited.

But the VP just read it, and he hated it. They have to pass.

Time stopped. Do… what? The bastards. They did it to me again.

But man, did they love it. They say I’m a great writer – they’d love to read anything else I have. Anything, finished or not. 3-hole punch or toilet paper. If I wrote it, they’ll read it. They freaking love me. They had to call me in just to tell me how much they love me. That and the fact that they’ll have to pass.

I pitch them Supervillain, but tell them somebody there has already passed. Forget that, they say, they love me – they can bypass the system for me, take Supervillain straight to the VP. Who passed on Supervillain?, they ask me. Jeff Sachs, I tell them. Yeah, they say. He’s the VP. The VP that hated I Hate That Guy. Jeff Sachs. Sorry. So… what else do you have?

The bastards did it to me again.

Screw this, I tell them, standing. Get Jeff Sachs out here, I demand. They are surprised at this. Uh, look, we love you, but we can’t get Jeff out here. Why not?, I ask. There’s two of you: one go get me Jeff, and the other go get me an Evian. You didn’t even offer me a freaking Evian. I am a freaking writer, everybody in town knows you are supposed to offer me a freaking Evian. That’s what you offer writers before you demoralize them. That’s how it is freaking done.

But they don’t move. I realize that no Evian is coming.

I cross to the door. Tell Jeff Sachs I hate him, I say. Tell Jeff Sachs I am going to bring his ass down. Tell Jeff I have a freaking blog, and his name will be all over it tomorrow. What are you, an idiot?, they ask, that would be suicide. No way an out-of-work writer is going to insult a studio VP on the internet, use the guy’s real name. How do you spell “Sachs”?, I ask them. They don’t answer. Okay, I’ll google him, I say, and storm out, victorious. I stride down the hall, feeling great. I will bring this taffy-ass VP to his knees, and if those guys ever see me again, they will be damn sorry.

And they were. (I had to go back into the conference room to ask them to validate my parking, but let me tell you, they were shaking.)

So Jeff Sachs: you bastards do this to me every damn time, and I’m sick of it. So, on behalf of all writers everywhere: suck it, man. Suck it. Suck. It. YOU SUCK.

Jeff Sachs sucks! I hate that guy!

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

* “Jeff Sachs” is not the VP’s actual name. Jeff Sachs is a real guy, and I have some issues with him, but he is not the VP at that studio. What am I, an idiot?

** Jeff – how’s it going? Long time, no see. Want to read my script? You can bring the Evian.

One Step Forward, Two Steps Back

Karma just kicked me in the ass. Less than 24 hours after getting excited about the good news for I Hate That Guy!, I spoke with Supervillain’s producers and we agreed we have reached the end of our road together. They have sent the script pretty much everywhere, and although everybody says they really like it, nobody likes it quite enough. Worse, those independent investors have mysteriously disappeared since the economic downturn hit. The option is over. 

I really enjoyed everyone at the production company and all their efforts, and we had a great working relationship. I wish them the best. We parted on very good terms and we’d love to work together again. Just more profitably next time.

Only two things to do at a time like this: keep writing. And get Supervillain back up on inktip.

Out of Nowhere

Big day today. Out of nowhere, there were two voicemails on my machine when I got home from work, both about I Hate That Guy!. If that script title doesn’t ring a bell, it’s because I never talk about it – it’s been dead for a long while. Well, not “dead” so much as stillborn – it’s been close to being represented but has never been sent out. Anyway, the point is that both parties had very nice things to say about it.

So now I have a meeting about it with some development execs at a small (but influential) studio, plus I’ve exchanged emails (and scripts) with a manager who also liked it. This is easily the most interest this script has generated in its lifetime. We’ll see what happens.

Thanks inktip. (And thanks Role Models.) This is the once-in-a-long-while ego boost that keeps the dream alive. Amazing how much mileage us struggling writers can get out of these fleeting moments…

“Playing With the Pieces” or “Why It Takes Me So Long”

I don’t like to outline. I used to, I may again, but not right now.

In school I outlined – we all did. I wrote 3 features this way, with each outline getting better and more detailed than the last. I would refine the outline first and then write. If an idea came to mind while I was writing, I would stop writing, add the scene to the outline, and then tweak the outline again and again before resuming writing. By the third feature, my process was disciplined and precise.

And completely lifeless.

It was actually a chore to complete that third feature. Part of this was because I was writing the script on spec for a producer (based on his idea) who bailed halfway through, but the other part was because the writing was so lifeless – all the “fun stuff” had been explored and laid out before, at the outline stage, so the writing itself felt like dictation. The script turned out okay I guess, but the process was an exercise in drudgery, without life or spark or energy. Without discovery.

So with my fourth feature I decided to try an experiment: I would take the 4 structural chunks of the script and only look at 1 at a time. I could outline, use index cards, anything I wanted, but I could only work on 30 pages at a time – thinking about anything beyond that 30-page unit was off limits until it was done and polished. To challenge myself, I consciously tried to write myself into a corner every 30 pages. And each section would end with an ambitious climax or cliffhanger, one which I had no idea how to top or get out of. It was great.

The good news is that this fourth feature ended up being Aftershocks, still the script I am most proud of. The bad news is it took 7 years to write. I honestly had no idea how to end the thing as I would set it down and then pick it back up months or even years later, letting it breathe as I worked on other scripts and other ideas in between. False starts and dead ends on the second and third acts took years. But once I figured them out… well, as I said, I’m pretty proud of it.

Something changed when I started writing Aftershocks: I started writing an idea that

Loglines

I just renewed one of my scripts on inktip.com and I need new loglines. I am happy with the loglines I have on there currently – and I have been for a long while – but that is the problem: they have been up there for a long while.

 

The site advises that writers change/improve their loglines fairly regularly because there are a finite number of companies searching the site, and if a producer sees your logline and thinks s/he is not interested, and then s/he sees the same logline still up there month after month for years, s/he will surely recognize it and think (a) I didn’t want to read that then and I don’t want to read it now or (b) that script still hasn’t sold? It must suck. The logic goes that shaking up your loglines will make them appear new and fresh and perhaps emphasize other aspects of the script which may then appeal to that producer who has read right over it many times. My current loglines have been up for at least 12-18 months, which is much much longer than they suggest before changing them.

 

Hey, I’m stubborn.

But I’m also happy with the current versions. These are the loglines that need to be replaced:

Aftershocks: Jim Noone erased his memory, disappeared, and adopted a new identity to escape his past. His plan worked perfectly – until the woman who loved him follows one last hopeless lead to find him. Semi-linear “puzzle” movie with a twist ending. Character-driven drama.

I Hate That Guy!: The world’s biggest a$$hole has had enough of the world’s biggest saint and decides to bring him down. Raunchy dark comedy – Hard “R.”

Thoughts? I am particularly reluctant to change the Aftershocks logline because I think it communicates quite a bit in a tight package. But then again, the logline hasn’t generated many hits in quite a while.

Like they say, writing is rewriting.

The Strike (And Me) Part One

As the WGA strike enters its 4th week, things get more and more interesting around here. And by “here,” I mean the fringes of the business. With the strike, writers can’t write or submit anything and studios can’t read or buy anything. So… where does that leave all the agents?

If no deals are getting done and no money is changing hands, agents are starting to feel the squeeze. After all, 10% of nothing is nothing. But agents have one thing to look forward to: the after-strike euphoria. The longer the strike goes on, the longer there is nothing getting produced or bought or scheduled, the bigger the vacuum that is created. And once the strike ends, there will likely be this huge frenzy of buying and shooting as studios try to fill that pipeline with quick and constant product before dead air hits the TV and multiplex. At least, that’s what everyone is counting on.

So if you were an agent, and none of your existing clients will write anything new during a strike, and yet you want to accumulate as many scripts as you can to have ready to feed to this hungry beast once the fast is over, what do you do with all this free time brought to you by the strike? You go look for new writers to represent. And that means… Robb (and a hell of a lot of other writers on the fringes of legitimacy).

Since the strike began on November 1, my script downloads on inktip.com have picked up a little. I am sure there is a ton of increased traffic on the site, and I am getting a modest number of eyeballs. I’d been keeping an eye this and didn’t see anything to get excited about – until today. William Morris – one of the biggest and most powerful agencies in the business – today downloaded both my scripts on the market, Aftershocks and I Hate That Guy!. This is easily the biggest player to check out me and my stuff in quite a while, probably ever. This could be good – Supervillain is still under option, which looks good on my inktip resume as people check me out. And as Supervillain’s producer told me the other week, a financing deal for Supervillain may benefit from the building vacuum as well. The key is that these two sides could feed off each other, each one creating heat and legitimacy for the other. We’ll see.

Could be good.

Now, to bring myself down from this nice moment: Just imagine if I had more COMPLETED scripts to put up on inktip… like Psycho Ex or Dead Guy…

Sigh.

Kind of Like “Grumpy Old Men” Meets “Kill Bill”

This is probably in very bad taste, but come on, that’s the fun of it: The world’s oldest person has died at age 114. This happens from time to time and it always makes the news. So it always reminds me…

About 3 years ago, I got this story idea. Now, it wasn’t a real story idea, it was more of a parody of a story idea. A “this idea is so bad and so tasteless that I will dismiss it but Will Farrell or the Farrelly Brothers or somebody will make a movie of it and end up making $500 million” idea.

A few years back I wrote a script called I Hate That Guy!, which is a revenge movie. A complete and total jerk guy is on a mission to take down a saccharinely sweet perfect saintly guy and utterly destroy him. The script is so dark and “South Park” scummy – pedophilia jokes, 106 uses of the F-word, a really offensive AIDS-joke climax – that I would not put my real name on it if it actually sold. Call me bitter, but I guess I like that kind of over-the-top lowbrow humor where people are out to destroy each other for ridiculously cheesy gain. The script was kind of like John Waters’ “Desperate People” with a heaping, steaming pile of the Farrelly Brothers’ “Kingpin” thrown in. When I heard on NPR a few years back that the world’s oldest person had died, I realized this might be another piece of the puzzle to throw in there: the “Grumpy Old Men” treatment.

Let’s get it started

Congratulations, you have found Robb’s second attempt at a blog. Maybe this one will take. The “Active Projects” thing below is the same thing found in “Projects” above.

Active Projects:

• Psycho Ex: 12 pages (22 with outline). Moving quite nicely. Momentum = 10.
• Dead Guy: 22 pages (31 with outline). In Act 2 hell. A lot of thinking going on. May actually be a novel and not a screenplay. Momentum = 6.
• Who Wants To Be A Supervillain?!: complete and currently under option.
• Aftershocks: complete and viewable through inktip or through me. Placed in top 10% of all scripts submitted to Bluecat Screenplay Competition - semi-finalists and finalists notified later this month. This also may become a novel at some point. Novel Momentum = 2.
• I Hate That Guy!: complete and viewable through inktip or through me.
• Stuck: complete and dormant.
• Cheesy Rider: complete and dead (but fondly remembered).
• The Thinking Man: complete and just plain dead.

So, what else do you want to see here? Any suggestions? God knows you have all been waiting for yet another blog to visit.