The Devil’s Guide To Hollywood (48 page)

I read about Shane’s sale—and my record being broken—on the front page of the
Los Angeles Times
while I was vacationing at the Kahala Hilton in Hawaii. Shane’s sale pissed me off. I wanted my record back. I wanted to see an article on the front page of the
Los Angeles Times
about me setting a
new
record.

I flew home from Hawaii and sat down immediately and started writing the most commercial script I could think of.

Twelve days later, I had my record back. I had the article on the front page of the
Los Angeles Times
about
my
new record. And I had my
3 million.

Arthur Miller lied, too
.

H
e didn’t tell anyone for many years that he wrote the first draft of
Death of a Salesman
in one day and part of a night.

Always lie about how many drafts you’ve done
.

T
ell the studio or the producer that it’s your fifth or sixth draft but that it’s just the first one you’re turning in.

Gore Vidal tells this story: “After about three weeks, I turned in my first draft. The producer couldn’t believe it, he wanted me to work forever and ever because he wanted his money’s worth. I remember telling him, ‘Yes, but what I do in the first draft is generally the best, and people usually end up going back to it.’ He said, ‘No, no, no, no, we must work harder.”

ALL HAIL

William Saroyan!

Agent Swifty Lazar: “One day L. B. Mayer mentioned that he was looking for some new stories. By coincidence, Saroyan had just called me—he always rang when he was broke. I explained what Mayer was looking for and urged him to come up with something. I then told Mayer that I had a Pulitzer Prize–winning writer with a great story. A few days later, I brought Saroyan to Mayer’s office. As Saroyan took him through the plot, L. B. Mayer began to tear up—he was a real crier. My heart was less moved: I knew Saroyan was making it up as he went along.

“ ‘That’s terrific,’ Mayer said, when Saroyan finished weaving his tale. ‘Now go wait outside and I’ll talk to Irving about it.’

“Saroyan dutifully strolled out to the parking lot.

“ ‘How much?’ Mayer asked.

“ ‘He wants one fifty,’ I said.

“ ‘He’s got it.’

“I went to Business Affairs to work out the payment: fifty thousand up front, fifty thousand when he hands in half the story, then a final fifty thousand when he turns in the ending. Elated, I hurried out to the car to tell Saroyan I’d gotten him fifty grand to start.

“ ‘What’s the total?’ he asked.

“ ‘One hundred fifty.’

“ ‘Get me the one fifty. I need all of it right now.’

“ ‘You’re crazy.’

“ ‘Tell him I want the one fifty now or no deal.’

“I went back to Mayer’s office and explained the situation—and he agreed to give Saroyan a check in full. I raced back to Saroyan and told him I’d deposit the check, take my commission, and give him the rest tomorrow.

“ ‘No, I want the money in cash, now.’

“ ‘You’re crazy, can’t you wait two days?’

“He apparently couldn’t—his bookies had threatened him.

Back I went to Mayer, who called Business Affairs. And they arranged for the bank to bring the money over to the studio in hundred-dollar bills. I took the loot to the parking lot, and stood with Saroyan as we counted the money out on the hood. With every ten thousand he took, I’d take a thousand for myself, until I had my fifteen grand and he had the rest. Then he went off to pay his bookie.”

Get a piece of the ice pick and white scarf sales
.

M
y lawyer got me a healthy percentage of the merchandising from
Basic Instinct
after a long struggle with the studio’s Business Affairs lawyers.

Of course, there
was
no merchandising for
Basic Instinct
.

If you sell your script, try to get a credit as executive producer, too
.

T
here are so many producer credits these days that your agent shouldn’t have much of a problem getting this in your contract.

If you get the credit, it means you’ll get your name on-screen and on the poster (the “one sheet”) twice—as writer and executive producer.

Seeing your name on-screen twice might help the audience think that this is
your
movie and not the director’s.

What kind of power does being executive producer of your film give you?

N
one.

I know. I executive-produced many of my films. Anyone from the actor’s manager to the producer’s son to the director’s mistress can get a producer credit today.

“Producer” and “executive producer” credits have become more or less meaningless except for people like Jerry Bruckheimer, Brian Grazer, or Scott Rudin, who truly are old-time Sam Spiegel–like producers.

What being the executive producer of your film might give you—if your agent insists—is your own
director’s chair
with your name imprinted on it.

Naomi and I have several of these scattered around the house. Our cats love them, but because of their height, they’re a potential death trap for toddlers.

So take care. If your
director’s
chair breaks your child’s neck, well, that would be the ultimate irony, wouldn’t it?

Back-End Points

What Eddie Murphy referred to as “monkey points,” a percentage of profits. They are called back-end points not just because the terms are defined in the back of a contract but because—since the points never pay off, due to the studio’s accounting practices—they stick it up your back end.

ALL HAIL

Preston Sturges!

He was the first screenwriter to get a percentage of his film’s profits. He sold
The Power and the Glory
, an original script, in 1930 for a small advance and big back-end points.

Now that you’ve sold your script, you’re really in deep shit
.

M
ike Medavoy: “The average studio now has thirty people doing story notes, twenty people playing producer (and taking screen credit for it, too), and focus groups composed of disaffected Generation Xers causing entire films to be reedited into cookie-cutter models.”

Google the studio execs you’ll be meeting with
.

T
he first time I met Brandon Tartikoff, I was armed with every detail about the life of Ryne Duren, a near-blind former New York Yankees relief pitcher who, I knew, was one of Tartikoff’s heroes.

As soon as I walked in, I spotted a framed baseball card of Duren on a wall. I was off to the races, talking about Duren, telling Brandon things even
he
didn’t know. The object of my meeting was to try to get Brandon to approve my friend Tom Berenger in the cast of
Sliver
. Thanks, I am convinced, to Ryne Duren, Brandon agreed to cast Tom “as a favor” to me.