An Uphill Battle from the Very Beginning

This is my "trade announcement" from the July 7, 2003 edition of Variety
Industry secret: by the time a deal is announced is in Variety, it happened months ago.

One of the first studio rewrite jobs I got in 2003 was working for a man (not mentioned in the article above for reasons I can't claim to understand) named Charles Roven.

I'm using his name despite my no names policy because frankly the man is larger than life and definitely in the top three Hollywood characters I have ever met. I have nothing but respect for him. His career is so legendary that he is - like his company name Atlas Entertainment - a Titan of the industry.

(Also the story is funnier if you know that it involves one of the biggst producers in the history of movie making and not just some guy.)

I honestly loved the project. It was the kind of big silly comedy that I had come to Hollywood to be involved with, a big, sprawling high concept road movie in the vein of Dumb and Dumber with a gigantic set piece ending that involved the St. Louis arch and "the brown tone" in the third act. It was pretty funny stuff in a broad over the top way which is right in my wheelhouse.

For a guy who makes a ton of really big movies Roven was surprisingly involved in this rewrite of a script with no attachments or greenlight. He had copious notes and lots of smart input. I don't know how he had enough hours in the day, but he did mention at one point that he only slept four hours a night. If he told me he slept with his eyes open so he could watch rough cuts of his other films and give notes when he woke up I wouldn't have been surprised. My point is the guy was a tireless, hands-on film maker. And a fairly intimidating guy. I saw him just a few months ago for the first time in a decade and was surprised that he's pretty much the same size as me. In my memory of working with him he was a giant. But I think that's just his personality.


We had a notes meeting at his house one weekend. Just the two producers, Mr. Roven, and myself. I had the address and was told to buzz the gate to be let in. I had never spent any time in Beverly Hills (believe it or not) and didn't know gate-protocol so I parked on the street, got out and buzzed. When the gate opened I walked in, thinking the house would be, like any normal house, just around the corner.

The house was up an impossibly long driveway at the top of one of the "hills" mentioned in the name "Beverly Hills." It took me 15 minutes to walk the series of switchbacks. Every time I came around a turn I thought "it's right around this corner." Nope.

Imagine this but at a 15% gradient that keeps changing direction

And of course it was a ridiculously hot May day. I was sweating through my shirt within the first five minutes. I thought about turning back to get my car a couple of times but worried that would take even longer. I was holding up this very important man's time and making an ass of myself.

By the time I got to the compound I was exhausted and embarrassed. There was PLENTY of room to park of course. Only a rube like me would think I was expected to ditch my vehicle and drag my ass up the damn hill on foot.

"You walked?" He asked incredulously.

"Yeah. I thought I was supposed to park on the street. I've never been here before."

He just shook his head. "The fate of my movie is in this idiot's hands?" he had to be thinking.

The rest of the notes meeting was cordial but uncomfortable. I was trying not to sweat on his furniture or blurt out "Holy shit this is the biggest fucking house I've ever been in and it's the guest house?!"

The movie didn't go after a different movie with a similar vibe underperformed and the project was never discussed again. I'm sure he's long since forgotten the project but I'd like to think that if I said "I'm the goddamn idiot who walked your driveway" he might recall that if nothing else.

Anyway, I'm telling this story A: because it's kinda funny and B: it's very indicative of, almost a metaphor for, my career:

• Since day one it seems like I've gone on foot when everyone else knows to drive. 
• And even when I am fairly certain I'm doing it wrong I refuse to start over for fear of making it worse. 
• And when I've been given partial instructions, I've been too timid to ask for more specific direction. 

The one thing I've gotten better at is laughing about situations like this. Today if I did this I would play it off as a joke, (God knows I'd have had enough time to come up with something while trudging up that hill) "Why didn't you pay the ransom!" I could say, lifting from Richard Harris. Or "Sorry, I illegally parked at the Starbucks half way up and got towed." Or just, "Banditos!" I don't know, none of those jokes are all that funny, but it would have been better than standng there with a dumb "Hi, you're paying me six figures to write and I don't even understand what the word DRIVEway means" look on my face.

You live and learn.

So they tell me.