Saving the Entertainment IndustrySubmitted by w_t_a_y_s_t_r_m at 2007-01-11 06:12:36 EST
Rating: 1.7 on 26 ratings (26 reviews) (Review this item) (V)
Finally. After years of half-assed attempts and piss poor begging, I finally got an interview with an agent. I needed to sell my scripts for some film studio or something to make into some big blockbuster or something so the world would know my name. The meeting was nothing like I expected, and a bit out of the blue, but it was finally happening.
I threw all my resources, documents, scripts and notes into a briefcase, dressed the part and waltzed (not literally) into the agent’s office. Well, that and flew for 10 hours from London to LA and spent a stupid amount of money.
After the general small talk, bitching about the weather and the traffic we got down to business. I had plenty of ideas, so I ordered a black coffee from the waitress/secretary and got ready for the long haul.
“So what have you got for me?” The agent, Jon, asked.
“I was thinking an adaption of this novel.” I said, reaching into my case and passing a copy of American Gods, by Neil Gaiman to him across the desk. “You read it? It’s good.”
“Right,” He sounded a bit hesitant, which didn’t really sit too well. “We’re not really specialist when it comes to adaptations…”
“Well just check it out and tell me what you think.”
“Okay.” The man looked a bit doubtful, but accepting.
I waited. He waited. I waited a bit more. Finally he spoke.
“Where’s the script?” He asked.
“It’s there.” I pointed at the book.
Even more hesitantly he picked up the novel and began flicking through it like a man who had just brought a magazine and wanted all the adverts to fall out. Then his eyes settled on the pages and he looked up at me. “You’ve just highlighted the bits where characters talk in yellow?”
“Yeah.” Inside I was thinking of saying ‘duh’ or ‘no shit, Sherlock’, but my ambition stopped me.
“That doesn’t count.” He muttered looking up at me.
After a few more moments in silence, he closed the book and placed it on the side of his desk. Then he asked me what else I had. Feeling a little dejected I opened up my case and decided what to try next. I moved aside the copies of Jennifer Government by Max Barry and Birthday by Koji Suzuki and pulled out one of the original scripts I’d brought along.
“This masterpiece I call ‘A Song for All Days’. It’s a musical.” I passed it to him and let him have a quick read of the first few pages. While he read he asked for the general story of the film. “It’s a musical.”
“Right, but what happens?”
“Singing. Dancing. That sort of thing. Bit like Cats, but without any animals. Except for the rhino.”
“I won’t spoil it for you.” I smiled and winked, making a mental note that I had to do a rewrite to include a rhino.
“But is there a story for people to follow?”
“Well, sort of.” I tried to remember what I was thinking when I wrote it. “A couple of people go to a club and listen to music.”
“And then what happens to them?” He was starting to sound weary.
“They…leave, I guess.” I started to feel my face begin to burn a little bit. “I don’t know what people do at nightclubs. I’ve never been to one.”
Once again we just sat, looking at each other. Occasionally I’d drop my eyes while I had a thumb-war against myself. I’d forgotten where I was when my left hand nearly got it’s first every victory, when he spoke again.
“This doesn’t count as a film script either.”
“Really?” I felt like someone had punched me in the lungs. I was gutted.
“Really.” He took a quick look at his watch and then back at me. “You have one last chance, before I think we’ll have to call this a day.”
I began to burn up in my face again, feeling a bit shaky and sweat began pouring. Then the panic set in and I went into nervous mode, which meant only one thing: Random Attacks on the Person Nearest.
“TWAT!” I screamed, and throw my copy of Jennifer Government at him. With seemingly no effort at all, he raised his hand and did some Tai Chi twist thing, allowing the book to slide down the back of his arm. The book carried on down, past his back as he continued, twisting his entire body to allow the book to read down. And then with a sharp spin in his chair, he swung his other hand around to smack the book.
The pages exploded from between the plastic covers and flew towards me, all seeming to have a life of their own, twisting and contorting in between us, but expertly landing, each one feeling like a fist. After the pages had settled and I picked myself up from the floor, I faced Jon, assuming he had just got lucky.
Drawing on all my fighting experience of playing Tekken, I dived over the desk at him and began throwing fists. Unfortunately he was not on the receiving end, as he had already moved like a gust of wind to the other side of the office.
“You cannot beat me.” Jon said, a sly smile on his face. “No-one can beat me.”
“Shut the fuck up!” I yelled and made another attack at him. “I’ll beat you!” I’d forgotten why I had started the fight exactly, but felt that I had the power of good on my side, which meant I’d win. According to Hollywood. Until he threw me this curve ball:
“I am Hollywood incarnate.” Jon said, calmly dodging more retarded attacks from me. “Anything Hollywood can do, I can do.”
“What?” I skidded to a halt.
“I’m the spirit of Hollywood.” He smiled again and struck various famous poses from films down the years. “And you cannot beat me.”
As I faced down the personification of all things Hollywood, I began to hear music, very faintly in the distance somewhere. Jon heard it too, and he didn’t like what he heard. Slowly, as the music began to get closer, Jon’s face morphed from one of glory to one of fear.
Just as the music was beginning to sound familiar, the wall burst off the side and in charged roughly seven thousands Indians (as in from the country India, not Native Americans. That would be silly). Jon let out a scream as the charging, dancing, singing men grabbed him and began to drag him away.
“What the fuck?” I wasn’t too sure what was happening.
“It’s Bollywood!” Jon screamed to me. “They’re taking over! Stop them before all cinema goes that way!!!!”
“Bollywood isn’t taking over.” I said, as Jon was lifted and carried out of the building against his will.
“It is!” He shouted back. “Warn Broadway. And the BFI and everyone else in the entertainment industry.” He was starting to cry in his panic, nearly gone from sight and out of hearing range. “Avenge me!” His finally words, before screaming took over and then everything was back to normal. Except the missing wall.
As I walked out of the LA office and headed back to the airport, I tried to take my mind off what had happened and forget the amount of money I had wasted in trying to pursue my career. But my mind kept drifting back to Bollywood and how much I didn’t enjoy those films. If it was true, then I had to stop them.
I changed my ticket for one to New York and got ready to go find Broadway, wherever and whoever it might be.
i really have run out of ideas now.jpg