The Mario Scenario

Fearless

I was in Miami for less than three days, but it felt like a month. Not in that it dragged, on the contrary, it was filled was so much excitement, fear, and emotion—and so little rest—that I staggered off the plane in LAX a slightly-changed man.

I’ve been worried about many things lately. My personality has always been a bit anxious, but the constant waiting has taken a toll on me. More so, I’ve been bothered by the seeming lack of control over my career.

I don’t mean about waiting for Hollywood to give me a shot. I’m referring to choosing which projects I write and where I invest my effort and in what my plans are for the next few years if Hollywood doesn’t give me that welcoming we all dream of.

It feels like my career path is being laid out for me overseas and behind closed doors. And it seems that I am getting updates without all the details. It’s a very scary proposition facing all this because there are decades of work at stake and the film business has always been the only world I've wanted to belong to.

When I left Miami there was no infrastructure for an industry. Hollywood swooped down when it needed a causeway for Bad Boys 2 or South Beach for Ace Ventura exteriors, but the crews and the studios came and went. Almost every film student I knew left town the moment they graduated.

I’ve always dreamed of going back and making movies. Smaller budgets if that’s all I could come by, but films where I was able to display whatever perspective I had on a populous and town that always intrigued me.

I’ve gone home for longer trips, but this one had a stronger impact than any of them. Maybe it was the joy of seeing my mother accomplish turning 70 on Saturday. Or the reality check on Sunday of finding out my father was having heart trouble and was going to be admitted to the hospital Monday morning.

I spent most of Monday in the hospital waiting, and was fortunate enough to be the one that delivered the news to my father: he wouldn’t need surgery if he got his diet and exercise act together.

Last May when we were about to have our first pitch meeting, I learned my father had gone in for an angioplasty—I was a few hours away from pitching at Scott Free, a company owned by two filmmakers that I am a great fan of. The fear of failing was gone.

My perspective had been bitch-smacked. What did it matter if I sold a pitch when I could have just lost my dad?

The feeling now is similar: when life (yours and that of those you love) is so fleeting, why wait around for destiny, or even opportunity for that matter?

This isn’t to take away from anything that’s already happened or the film on the verge of being shot—it’s just a manifesto from this point forward. It’s where my mind is now.

I’m just not going to be scared of pissing people off anymore. I am not going to write scripts I don’t love anymore. I’m not even worried about selling them anymore. Good things will happen. I’ve never been a high-maintenance client and all I ask of my reps is reading scripts when they’re done and sending them out if they think there’s a chance. If the script doesn’t sell, it may have an even better chance of getting made. By me.

I should be able to take advantage of the contacts I have in a city I lived in for eleven years and build my hype and production machine from the ground up.

Before that time comes, there will be requests and meetings and warnings from those who have their interests locked into mine and who feel they are looking out for me. I will have to be fearless and firm. It will be easier after last week’s trip. Even more so when I remember that there are a lot of people backing me up, here and back home.

Anthony just mentioned a saying he heard long ago:

“We are not born with doubts. They are placed upon us.”

I have nothing to fear.

September 14, 2007 6:00 PM | Permalink | Comments (3) | Add Comment

Flying Home (Bird’s Eye View)

Getting out of L.A. is the most beneficial thing one can do to gain perspective. There’s nothing like a midnight run, red eye flight, and lost weekend to refuel the tank.

My goal when we first moved out here was to go home for a few days every three to six months. It took me over a year to go back for the first time. After that, there have been longer gaps, but I’ve averaged about six months between trips. Too long for my taste.

I have most of my family and friends there, and although the humidity sucks, I have always found much inspiration in those characters dwelling on the South-Eastern tip of this country, preaching and cursing in Spanglish.

While I'm in L.A. trying to write the great American Spec, my little sister is growing up and my friends and parents are growing older, all out of view--an exchange I'm still on the fence about...

I’m heading home for my mother’s 70th birthday. Since last year, she’s been asking for nothing else than all three of her sons being home at the same time, so we’ll be making it happen for the first time in many years.

There is nothing like my mother’s long hugs and endless words of encouragement to set me forth for another round on my long road.

Less than 24 hours from now, I will be enjoying Dunkin Doughnuts with my parents on the ride home from the airport. In 72 hours, I’ll be gazing nostalgically at Miami through the window on the way back west.

I hope I will be able to relax during the in-between time. I need to chill out, even if it’s in the Miami heat. Detox from worrying about the constantly shifting variables of the new draft of script 13—and even more so, of the seemingly endless limbo of waiting for news from Argentina; it’s similar to L.A. in that way.

Hopefully, I’ll gain some perspective on being 3 months behind schedule with the new script, still in disjointed contact with my reps from the Boogie Scandal, and on the repetitive frustrations of dealing with certain parties that will remain nameless.

With clearer perspective, I may actually find faith and comfort in knowing:

1-The new script is behind schedule because I am trying to personally raise my bar and that takes time.
2-The hurry-up-and-wait I mentioned weeks ago is for a film that will get made—with a six figure budget, three great leads, and top-level keys—along with my name on it.
3-The reps will wait until further developments before doing anything drastic, and that I will survive any set-backs as long as I keep writing with my head up.

I need to be on the outside looking in, to focus…and to remember that there is life outside this enchanted kingdom.

September 7, 2007 2:24 PM | Permalink | Comments (0) | Add Comment

A Master Card Ad for the Screenwriter

I just signed my first option! Whoo!

The option is for the aforementioned Omission script which my writing partner will be directing and I will be co-producing a little later this year.

We had to go to the Argentine consulate in the Hollywood Reporter building to sign and have it notarized. It happened fast and without fanfare. People stood behind us while my writing partner hassled over the cost of a notary stamp like the toppings on a Whopper at BK. My mind was on getting back to work before my lunch hour was over.

This was the last step in our hands before the Government officially announces the production in the next couple weeks, the money comes through (supposedly) a couple weeks after that, and the IMDB credit looms on the horizon within the same timetable.

Shipping the pages to Argentina (they had to be the originals) cost us thirty bucks each.

The notary stamp next to our signatures: 40 bucks each.

Knowing your script is getting made: Priceless.

August 24, 2007 5:48 PM | Permalink | Comments (7) | Add Comment

Rejectology: A New Science

I was writing and waiting, as usual, when I received an email from our manager:

“hi guys,

i just got off the phone with [Production Company] -- unfortunately, [Exec] read [Sample Scripts] and did not respond to either one of them so they are going to be passing for the [Best-Selling Book] project. I wish I had better news but there isnt anything you can do when they dont like the samples..”

We pitched this producer and their VP our take over the phone two weeks ago. Both seemed keen on our ideas. Our manager had been told it was ours to lose. And up until the conference call, we were under the impression both execs had already read our samples and our take would be the key…

Even the consolation—that the VP told our manager she’d taken for granted we were a “go” and disagreed with her boss—didn’t make it much easier.

I am able to put the feeling of rejection into two distinct sections: 1) empty on the inside (probably because I feel there is nothing left to give); 2) heavy on the outside (as in the pressure of the whole world has wrapped around me and I’m screwed).

Questions explode mutedly in my mind, and I wonder:

“Are they right? Is the script not as good as we thought? Are we not as good as we thought? Will anyone ever see us as better than this?”

FLASHBACK:

I recall walking home to the lab after our first script meeting with our manager. The script was so troubled she wouldn’t read past page thirty. We were sent back to the drawing board; and this by someone that loved our first two scripts enough to take us on as clients.

The street was empty, sun setting—family and friends thousands of miles away—and the world felt large, and me not a part of it.

I thought “All that effort and still not good enough. What do I have to do?”

It didn’t take long to find a formula.

PRESENT DAY:

I have to believe that the samples are strong and that this producer is wrong. I need to believe that the writing is worthy and that one day these stories will appear on screen—and when that day comes, this person will realize they were wrong…

…and this is when I remember one of the films is already in preproduction.

And as our manager told the VP that had to make the call: “…the other is going to be one of the biggest franchises this town has ever seen.”

Nothing is absolute—and we all tell ourselves these things—but I’ll have to see it not happen permanently before I believe it won’t.

So this time I have a little more to hold on to. It does get a bit easier. Sometimes.

I’ll move on ASAP and direct all my focus back to script 13; it may be rejected down the line, but not by me. Like I always tell MPC, Anthony, Jeff, and all the other writers I conspire with: “the only thing in our control is our script.”

Every time I step away from a car-bomb of rejection, I keep my eyes fixed on the future. The next script will be better.

Maybe, even, because I’m a little hungrier.

It’s all subjective anyway.

August 11, 2007 4:21 PM | Permalink | Comments (1) | Add Comment

Hurry Up and Wait

The clock TICKS and TOCKS ceaseless…

I’ve been holding off on posting because I was waiting for big news and wanted something bombastic to come with.

I’m still waiting.

In the last couple weeks, I’ve been referred for assignments, spoken to producers, worked endlessly on Script 13, watched Omission secure top level acting talent, and witnessed the flop of a company’s current feature trouble the life of my first paying assignment. All that adventure, but nothing really solid to mention.

At least that’s what I thought. In truth, the wait itself is something. It’s what we do in Hollywood.

We hurry because time is life and money—and we want results and people egg us on saying there is a deadline—or a producer that can read our script over the weekend—and the buzz is overwhelming, we feel compelled to take advantage right away.

We make our deadline, drop the baton in the producer’s friend’s hand…and wait.

And wait.

And, if you’re not an actor* eventually someone may actually call with a response.

I’m waiting for:
-news on the assignments
-face-time with the producers
-myself to feel confident enough with script 13 to show it
-the Omission money to come through so it can match the talent attached and my plans for this fall…
-and I’m waiting to see what happens to Boogie now that the last film the studio made flopped and the rights to the character are up in the air because the creator has died*.

When we moved to L.A., we were constantly waiting for our reps to take our first spec out. The plan was always to hit the market "next season"; we hustled to meet the deadlines with wide-eyed expectations, but something always came up.

We waited years. Just stockpiled scripts.

Here’s what I learned: there’s nothing we can do to expedite things.

The only remedy is to get the clock out of our mind: focus on the current project or on something not related to film at all; play with the cat; take the wife for a drive or to a museum; have friends over for dinner; obsess over the Yankees—whatever it takes.

So the way to deal with it is to soak up life at the moment.

I don’t have great news right now, but don’t have bad news either. And I have the potential for great news. That’s got to be worth something. More than something.

I will sleep peacefully tonight.

Until the alarm SOUNDS.

Eventually time will tell.
________________________________________________________________________
Footnotes:

*R.I.P. Roberto Fontanarrosa (1944-2007), creator of Boogie El Aceitoso and other characters, his death was front-page news in Argentina two weeks ago.

*My cousin Julie, an actress, told me actors are never called unless they get the part; they find out they didn’t get the job when they see the person that got the role on TV.

August 3, 2007 6:59 PM | Permalink | Comments (3) | Add Comment

Breaking the Wall, Breaking the Wall

I
broke
down

the wall.

There was never any doubt in my mind that I would.

I broke down the wall—

Did I ever!

For me, the wall is a necessity of trying to write the best script possible—and having the experience to know what works and what could be better. It’s like watching alternate versions of portions of the story in real time.

For example:

INT. MY APARTMENT – LAST MONDAY MORNING

I was trying to define my lead’s goal and my villain’s goal and confirm they were in high-stakes conflict, without any possibility of compromise.

(A typical challenge any writer can encounter—whether beginner or pro, but…)

Script 13 is a supernatural thriller featuring two stories—taking place 160 years apart—that eventually collide. Each story has to be fully structured as an individual piece, then tested to see if it compliments its counterpart—then the overall effect of the two has to be considered.

Toss in keeping the supernatural elements clear and hole-less and you’ve got a lot to work on…

(I know I’m asking for trouble with that structure, but it excites me.)

I have hundreds of high-lighted research pages, tons of scribbled post-it notes, a rough draft where the events take place chronologically, and constant opinions I’m asking for—

It’s a lot to dissect and sort through, brick by brick… And the wall builds from that. A tool built from necessity.

Like the creative process, it is both a curse and a blessing.

The last blog came out sounding like I was about to hang myself—probably from the wall.

That wasn’t accurate. The truth is I embrace it: my wall, my friend.

I bring it down with decisions.
Reveal the open road until the next wall requires building.

Hours after my last posting, the wall was down and script 13 was better.

(LEAD’S GOAL: check. VILLAIN’S GOAL: check. INABILITY TO COMPROMISE: check.)

Brick. By. Brick.

I will build others…

And they
will eventually
come down

as well.

July 13, 2007 7:36 PM | Permalink | Comments (1) | Add Comment

The Wall

I do not believe in writers block—not in the usual sense.

I don’ run out of ideas so much as have trouble deciding between them. I put more bricks in the wall with every option I present myself. I could make most of them work, but which to choose? Which is right? Indecision might be my fatal flaw, but I can’t help it. I have to keep throwing ideas at the wall until things fit perfect. I’ll explain better later.

I have to get the sledge in motion—

July 9, 2007 9:28 AM | Permalink | Comments (2) | Add Comment

Networking

My wife just got a new job after months of great interviews and unemployment.

How? What made this opening different from the others?

Someone she knows recommended her.

How else do you beat the competition in a highly-competitive world where everyone has the same goals and seemingly similar talent?

“It’s all about who you know.”

This line has been repeated so many times in reference to the film business (and business in general), that it has gone beyond cliché. It is one of the uber-clichés.

Everyday that goes by reaffirms my faith in its truth.

The Sixth Degrees of Separation Theory is true. Living in L.A. and knowing who’s who, I have come to one degree of separation from many of my heroes: Coppola and Scorsese and even the late, great Stanley Kubrick. I have gotten that close, but my contacts were a lot smaller. Yet they were able to push me onto someone who could help.

How did I get my first script read by someone on the other side of the fence? My aunt called me and said my cousin knew someone in Hollywood.

How I got my manager: someone I knew.
How I got my agent: someone my manager knew.
How my first feature is getting made: someone my writing partner’s father knows.
How I landed my first assignment: someone my first feature’s producer knows.

Even my job at Writers Store: someone I know…

That doesn’t mean talent isn’t important. Most of us aren’t beautiful or connected enough to get by on our looks and contacts alone. And talent does rise to the top. But you never know when someone you know may introduce you to someone.

If you don’t know anyone yet, don’t fret.

You could meet someone today.

June 30, 2007 4:26 PM | Permalink | Comments (2) | Add Comment

Diving Back Into My Baby

Status Check: In the midst of starting Boogie (it’s great to write a cover page with contact info for a paying company versus an agency), using FrameForge to storyboard Omission, and prepping for potential assignments, I’m back to where I most want to be—script 13.

The Machiavellian drama has subsided for the moment and I can shift my focus back to that little baby script I left to cool all those weeks ago.

Since our last date, I was able to do something I’ve never done before—finish a draft and let it sit two weeks before diving into a rewrite. They say you should do this in almost every book ever written on the craft, but I’ve always had deadlines, and MPC’s constant refrain is:

“We’ve got to hurry up, Moreno. We’ve got to hurry up, Moreno.”

This Week: MPC has been coming into the store everyday on my lunch hour and we’ve been hashing out bits and fragments in the event room. Even after years of dreaming about it, and months of heavy research and outlining, there are still things that have not been defined.

I used to get so stressed out about these things. My days would be ruined or my mind distracted while in the car or at work or out at places like the Getty. All I would be able to think about was the gaping hole in my story—

The missing piece that would prevent anyone on the outside from seeing the gem I thought it was. I feared I would die before solving the issue, stitching the hole; that for the rest of time, this script would be in limbo with a gimp leg (or Pivotal Moment).

Now, things are different.

I’ve worried about the scripts and I’ve worried about the business. And I’ve realized it’s much better to worry about taking your story to the next level then worrying about who will take your story to the next level.

I also entrusted the rough draft to my coworker Sam, who I consider to give the best notes of anyone I have ever met. Anthony and I call him “the goose that lays the golden notes.”

I showed Sam the RD, although no one ever sees them, because I wanted an outsider’s opinion, and since he has heard me talk about it so often, I knew he would forgo the comments about typos and on-the-nose dialogue and address more immediate issues. I was right. His notes will help get it closer to home for the next draft.

The good thing about targeting specific areas to fix or enhance, is that even when you kill your darlings, if you are being true to the story, the loves you cut are replaced with even better ones.

I’ve written too many scripts at this point to think this draft will do the trick. If this is draft two, I know it’ll need two or three drafts before the reps see it and another two or four before it’s close to going out.

This is the way it is. And I am forever learning to embrace the process.

What else have we got?

June 22, 2007 5:38 PM | Permalink | Comments (1) | Add Comment

The Wife of the Screenwriter Speaks

They say you should never blog in anger.

So, this week I am passing the reins to my wife Maria, who volunteered to share the experience from her perspective:

MARIA: I was making our grocery list, and as always asked Mario what he felt like eating this coming week. His response: (CENSORED-mm)

You can only imagine the week he’s had.

I think of Mario’s writing career as wallpaper, always in the background but inconsequential. I should clarify: it’s not that I don’t believe in my husband or his talents. I’m sure one day he’ll make it, and in the meantime, I’ll do anything in my power to make the road easier. However, for me, it’s all fairy dust and unicorns until the checks clear.

Still, I have to deal with every bump in the road, listen patiently and nod in acknowledgment.

This week’s drama circles around Mario’s representation. These somehow intangible characters have become antagonists on Mario’s journey.

The story began when Mario and his writing partner Marcelo accepted a writing assignment in Argentina. It’s their first writing assignment and first paycheck. CHA-CHING! Of course, it won’t be much, but I married an artist after all. And if this thing’s a success, who knows?

Mario’s agent and manager were not as philosophical about it. They feel cheated and lied to. They said the payment was a joke, that they had reduced their quote (which quote, I ask?).

A conference call followed: lots of misunderstandings, lots of arguments, lots of hurt egos, not a resolution in sight.

Mario told me the story in thirty-second-intervals while he answered phone calls at work and called Marcelo for updates on the fallout.

Tonight when he comes home, Mario will tell me everything again. What he felt with every word and every silence. His blood pressure will rise; he’ll turn red, then he’ll make a sudden move, pull something, and after a rub down and a light dinner, he’ll sit on the living room floor and curse under his breath while he plays his new video game.

In the meantime, I still have to figure out my grocery list.

June 15, 2007 1:35 PM | Permalink | Comments (4) | Add Comment