sick, we're all sick and poor

All sick, ill.
The interns, too.
Acme is a giant petri dish.
Eating only Ramen noodles for the past three months has helped matters much, I am sure.
And peanut butter.
No jelly.
Perry has pneumonia or bronchitis or a hang nail or something.
He’s taking to documenting our penury by growing a beard.
He looks like he gonna go out and invent baseball or market some frothy root beer.

Said no to 1 million dollars

Yes.
That's right.
I cannot believe it, but it's true.
We said no to a million dollars.
Boring and sad story short...
(I really don't know why I spare names here... But in the future, if anyone asks about them...)
We gave these well-funded but totally ignorant Hollywood wannabes until 5 pm today to go back to the original agreement.
Last week an addendum was faxed to us, essentially changing all terms that they had already agreed upon.
They wanted to own the entire project.
They wanted a 90-10 split of profits.
They said the wanted to own the copyright.
They said they were offering us a typical studio deal.
Which, I told them, would make all the sense in the world -- IF YOU WERE A STUDIO!
Which might make sense if they were offering things even a mini-studio would have in their arsenal.
Like stars at the ready.
Like offices.
Like a production company.
Like distribution.
It was so absurd.
They never strunk me as overly smart, but now I simply think they're pultroons -- and with little taste.
We told them that we may be hungry and desperate, but we're not stupid.
We told them to go back to what they had initially agreed upon or it's a deal breaker.
Or it'll be over.
We told them to go back and read our business plan;
Or better yet, simply read the business for a first time.
We were offering equity investment;
The sale of the project was never on the table.
A couple of phone calls come in.
The say, and I quote,
"I can't believe you're going to ruin the deal."
Our response..."We're not ruining it. You are."
I could hear it in his voice that he really didn't think we'd turn down 1 million.
But we did.
It is over.
And, here's the thing: I feel fine about it.
So does Perry.
It was, without queston, the right thing to do.
In fact, it was the only thing to do.
Consider this: one of their favorite movies is SAW.
These people are why bad movies are made.
Taking that money would have killed this project.
Taking that money would have killed Acme.

Reality Shows and Sex Tapes

On the plane back to NYC.
I must recount Wednesday.
Yesterday.
By far, this was the strangest pitch I have ever witnessed.
But because I haven’t seen the footage, I am hesitant to call it documentary gold, but from what my eyeballs garnered, it’s at least a DVD extra.
So.
Okay.
The only way to say it is to just come out and say it.
We taped a pitch in a strip club.
I suppose I shouldn’t even be that surprised.
But I am.
I just am.
And why shouldn’t I be… everyone wants to be in show business, right?
This was with Gil and Dave, by the way, who have been most accommodating, nice, somewhat flattered (maybe?) that we're shooting so much of them.
They're good topics, a fun study in partnership and creativity.
They, if truth be told, remind me of my partnership with Perry (only they don't lock horns as often);
Who knows, they may still be on their best behavior.
Anytime a pitch meeting comes up with them, I have to approach their agent, Sam, for the contact info --
she's been helpful in that she gives us the telephone numbers.
That's it.
Okay: not entirely true.
If a producer wants a confirmation from her, she'll give the thumbs up.
But when I first heard where Gil and Dave were going -- a strip club, at lunch -- I called Sam, who, for the first time, was reluctant to give me the number and her contact.
Think she was just protecting her Gil and Dave.
Actually, I know that's what she was doing because Dave was tied up on his cell phone, talking with her, and said that he didn't care if we came in with them...
My phone rings: it's Sam and she gives me the info.
And I begin my negotiation so that the Acme crew can shoot the pitch.
Perry turns to me, and for the tenth time during this production, he says, “We’re making the wrong movie.”
What he means by this is that someone should be filming us, filming our negotiations and trials and hurdles and utter jumping through hoops without a budget to make this movie.
I have never agreed fully with Perry on this account.
Not really.
I mean, who wants to watch filmmakers flop around like bass in a boat?
But today…
Today, whole-heartedly, I agree with Perry.
Jump foreword...
I wish there was a camera with me negotiating with the manager and owner of the strip club.
But alas, I was alone, and it is my mental movie that I will try to blog.
I skip lunch, arrive early so as to negotiate the use of a camera in the strip club -- not expecting the club to be open for business, (and given Gil and Dave's reaction upon arriving, I'm not sure what they were expecting either, but I am now getting ahead of myself... ) people were there, strippers were stripping, dollars were tucked into garters, sloppy lap dances and It’s only 1 p.m. and I have to be honest, the beefcake of a doorman was completely nice and accommodating, so was the owner and manager, this was after they vetted me, however, and, hey, no problem, I’m escorted through the club by a dancer, totally naked, and then past a bevy of other dancers walking, sitting, waiting their turn to take the stage while surfing on laptops, doing business? Writing term papers? I don't know. One is reading the newspaper. And I go through a back door which opens into a brightly lit and rather substantial workout room, treadmills, bikes, weights, a punching bag, and, okay, the dancer says to me, she likes my Groucho socks, and then we arrive at the furthermost door where, therein, is an office, walls the color of tobacco spit, a large flat screen TV, it's hooked up to a computer which, in turn, is linked to, and why not, a porn site, mousing around the internet, there behind the desk is a guy named Kevin Blatt.
Kevin Blatt is responsible for marketing celebrity sex tapes.
In particular the Paris Hilton sex tape.
Yes, The Paris Hilton Green tinged sex tape.
and then, yes, The Paris Hilton full color: One night in Paris. sex tape.
AND...
the Tommy Lee and Pamela Anderson, too, if I'm not mistaken, and if I am, then so be it.
So, Kevin is also from Cleveland, which is my hometown, and he went to a neighboring high school.
Two years behind me.
I’m a little weirded-out that I’m negotiating with him.
And, as it happens, it’s not much of a negotiation.
With the Cleveland connections he consents immediately.
I exit, hoping to find someplace to get a quick bite.
There is an auto body shop and a place that sells gravel
Perry calls.
We’re all set, I tell him.
He’s still a half-hour out so I have time to just relax.
Kevin, a manager whose name is Dino (?) and a well-dressed woman who, I assume from the size of her chest, is a dancer, come out for a smoke.
Small talk amongst the four of us.
Smoke finished.
The woman leaves.
Conversation goes something like this:
Kevin: “She’s fucked.
Dino: “Yeah.”
Kevin: “Sweet kid though. Really a sweetheart. She called me last night, came over.”
Dino: “You’re not. Are you fucking her?”
Kevin: “No. She’s like my sister. She wanted to talk. Plus (he turns to me), I decided a while back to only fuck porn stars now, no dancers, no hookers. With a porn star you at least know what you’re getting. No diseases. These women are checked once, twice a week.”
Me: “R-right. Sure. Right.”
Dino: “So when does it all go down?”
Kevin: “Next week.”
Dino: “Really. That soon. She's fucked.”
Kevin: (to me) She’s got some legal trouble.
Me: She seemed, well, I don’t want to say unfriendly but she seem a bit sour.
Dino: I would be, if I was her.
Kevin: No shit. She’s gonna do time.
Me: For…
Dino: She didn’t rat.
Kevin: She got mixed up trafficking coke for some shady guys. Stupid.
Me: Really?
Dino: Girl always takes the fall.
Kevin: Girl always takes the fall.
Dino: Always.
Kevin: Basically she didn’t rat on these guys and she’s going to get 11 months. Maybe more.
Dino: Girl always takes the fall.
Me: Why do you keep saying that?
Dino: Because it’s true.
Kevin: It is. She should have never gotten involved with them. I feel bad. But, yeah, girl always takes the fall.
The conversation continued.
Eventually, I made up some excuse and went to the car where, upon calling Perry, I say, “I agree. We’re making the wrong movie. I really wish we just taped the conversation I had.”
Tried to give a detailed recap but it proved difficult as he was getting a ride with Gil and Dave, whom we were able to film pitching a few more of their show ideas...
Anyway....
Gil and Dave pitching Kevin Blatt...
The dv tape speaks for it.
It’s a bit crazy.
It's highly entertaining.
I’m loath to blow it out of proportion.
So I won’t.
I'll wait to see the footage and see exactly what comes next.

Financing weirdness

Bianca called.
Says an addendum to the the financing term was faxed.
came out of nowhere;
that it was agreed upon prior,
but that this is not totally unusual;
Always happens when money is about to be exchanged...
But she sounded curt.
Sounded, well, not too happy.

In LA, yet again.

To be brief.
Interviews going well.
Just can't imagine how all this will zipper together.
Bianca says that she met with potential investors and the term sheet volley will start without haste.
Gulping down hope.
Gulping hope down.

TV Pilot has wrapped

At 4:30 a.m. America’s Most Extraordinary Dancer wrapped.
A guy named Har Mar Superstar was host.
The people I worked with were utterly outstanding and I’d work with each and everyone of them again if I had the chance.
My only wish is that it would not be on a reality show.
The job is finished.

Financing? Maybe

Hope.
In this case, hope is bad --
As my hopes are up that financing will come through by the end of the month.
These two groups are really into the project.
These are investors that we pitched last October.
And they're interested in financing the whole project.
The Father-Son team is still interested, too!
Dang. Do you hear it? That's hope coming through.
Cant' help it though.
Bianca said that they have agreed to the term sheet.
And that the ball now is in their court.
I have hope that this is all going to come together.
Hope.
Hope.
Hope.

More Reality TV...

The 8 finalists for the show.
Some of the worst dancing I’ve ever witnessed.
One man in particular.
He's 49 years old.
I found him at a party.
He’d writhe and worm around the floor, strike Adonis-like poses and then begin tap-dancing. Truly “Extraordinary.”
So when he comes to the semi-final round, it becomes very clear, very fast that the man is damn-near retarded.
I tell the executive.
He doesn’t care.
He’s an extraordinary dancer, No, he’s not even kinda retarded, I think he’s actually retarded, Doesn’t matter, he’s here, we’re shooting him.
So we do.
I feel horrible.
He goes out there and my only redemption is that he feels amazing.
He exits the stage, comes to the wings where I’m to shoot the on-the-fly interview and he says, “This was one of the greatest moments of my life.”
My cameraman looks to me and says, “Dude, we’re going to Hell and you’re leading the way.”
Fuck.
At least we can now send him home, right?
Wrong.
The executives begin arguing that he – the retarded man! – is the most “Extraordinary” and that he should move on to the final.
I cannot believe my ears.
I will not be able to hold my tongue.
Ten minutes into the discussion, however, I realized that common sense would prevail; he’s was not going to be chosen as one of the two finalists.
Sheesh!
But we still have to shoot the reaction shots of not only the two who move on but those who do not.
The man is devastated and begins to cry.