Beware the Artful Dodgers

Once upon a more innocent time, the measure of an organization’s legitimacy was proportional to the perceived expense of its letterhead and business cards. I even recall to this day a friend of my mother’s declaring, “Well, obviously it’s a real company! Why would they spend money on such nice stationery if it wasn’t?”

The reality, of course, is that a relatively modest investment of paper and matching envelopes can yield a sizable return for entrepreneurial scam artists who play on the confidence or ignorance of their chosen marks. Today, their playing field has shifted to an electronic one, allowing them to use Internet websites as a virtual calling card of alleged accomplishments and glittering promises.

While no one can fault the mogul-wannabees for getting swept up in the magic of Tinseltown dreams and wanting to be an integral part of it, the spells that are sometimes cast to attract "peeps" to their fold might better fit the definition of curse. In the context of my work as a script consultant, one of the services I provide to my clients is to scope out the credibility and connections of film companies to whom they want to submit their projects. The results have revealed enough smoke and mirrors to fill an entire book, a disheartening testament to P.T. Barnum's observation about suckers.

Sadly, new screenwriters are easy prey for fledgling operations that have neither the capital nor the commitment to deliver on their extravagant claims. The examples provided herein will help keep you smart as you navigate the circuitous roadways to fame and fortune.

NICOLE ON LINE "2"

The ad on www.Craigslist.com called for a savvy development director to provide script analysis and rewrites on major motion pictures. The producer, whom I'll call Billy, was a magazine photographer who woke up one day and decided, "Hey, wouldn't it be cool if I wrote a bunch of movie scripts for all of these beautiful people I've been taking pictures of?!"

His "test," which I passed with flying colors, was to read two movie scripts and write up notes regarding their marketability. Within 48 hours, I delivered my critique, prompting Billy to call and tell me I was definitely in.

"And what exactly does 'in' mean?" I asked.

"Let me get back to you on that," he begged off. "I've got Nicole holding on Line 2. Poor thing. She's still crying her eyes out about Tom..."

Such was the pattern of every call with Billy, who was either just wrapping up a chat with Sigourney, on his way to lunch with Brad and Jen, or trying to get an email off to Christian Slater. Was there anyone on the planet with whom Billy wasn't personally schmoozing? Did Billy also have imaginary friends? Was he actually a pimple-faced teen with a lot of time on his hands? I whimsically decided to reserve judgment until I could see some results...or at least a contract specifying my title and salary.

"Oh you're definitely my VP gal," he assured me. "I just don't have the money in place yet." What he did have, however, were lots of scripts that were "really hot" and that Hollywood was ready to move on at any second. After reading a few, of course, I was hard pressed to figure out what the rush was. Why? Because it was some of the worst stuff I'd ever read.

Nevertheless, I went ahead and made script notes on them, reminding Billy that I'd be keeping an accounting of the time spent so that I could be reimbursed as soon as capital became available. I also continued to press him for a formal contract.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," he said, "I haven't had time."

What he did have time for, however, were 10-15 emails a day demanding that I review more scripts. He also insisted I should start pressuring those writers whom he felt were dragging their feet on rewrites.

To no surprise at this juncture, I found out that the reason for their delays was a product of his insistence that they let him option their work for free. “It’s ground-floor, babe,” he told them.

Apparently even the traditional good faith option of $1 was beyond Billy's limited sense of ethics.

Nearly six months had elapsed by now and Billy had yet to sell anything. I finally decided to bow out and invoice him for the projects I'd reviewed.

"How dare you send me a bill!" he shot back. "And after everything I did for your career by letting you get in on the ground floor!"

Huh?

Not only did he refuse to pay me but his parting shot made me revisit my earlier speculation of him being a teen with no friends. "I was going to invite you to my big birthday bash this weekend," he declared, "but after what you did, I don't like you anymore,"

Darn. And I was really looking forward to wearing party hats with Ashton and Demi...

WE'D TELL YOU OUR SECRETS BUT THEN WE'D HAVE TO KILL YOU

How about the script brokers, talent managers and newbie producers who offer remuneration for your services? The implication that their in-house ideas are actually in demand is a juicy lure to turn around an assignment quickly, get reimbursed, and see your name start scrolling up the credits quicker than you can say “Jack Flash.”

Unfortunately, that’s not the way it works. There is also enough of a proliferation of them advertised on the Internet that it's challenging to separate the legitimate operations from the fly-by-nights until your foot is actually in the door. The objective of these companies is to establish themselves as script clearing houses and put together deals to then pitch to financiers. In order to do this, they need lots of scripts. Yours.

Scripts are solicited in two ways. The first is to invite original treatments and select those that best match the company's creative vision. The problem with this, however, is that the company owners rarely have any prior experience as film or literary agents. In the lucky event they actually do sell something, you’ll be parting with a higher percentage of that sale (as much as 50%) than if you simply hawked it yourself or signed up with an existing agency to represent your interests. In the meantime, you’ll be precluded from entering competitions or independently pitching any of the scripts you have entrusted to them. Since their own reputations have yet to be established, it will take an even longer duration to advance the interests of their clients.

The second method involves the assignment of existing plots that the company has generated in-house. These are "hot" ideas that they think Hollywood will gobble up based on past trends and demographics. Because the company owners aren't writers themselves, they try to match writing styles to specific projects. In a lot of cases, however, you’ll be developing an entire feature based on as little as a logline. In other words, they contribute 1 sentence and expect you to fill in 120 pages worth of creative blanks. Pending the acquisition of film financing, they promise to pay you between $500 and $10,000 for this service.

What's wrong with this picture?

In the first place, no one has actually nibbled on any of these presumably quick-selling plots. To hear the hype, of course, there is always an urgency to get them written and polished as fast as possible. There further seems to be an emphasis on volume; i.e., over 700 ideas that need writers. While numbers like that are certainly ambitious, the fact they cover every genre and sub-genre imaginable suggests a scattergun approach and lack of commercial focus. You'd be better off to go with a group that specializes and puts its energy into marketing a handful of clearly delineated projects; i.e., family fare, comedies, animation.

In the second place, many of these groups glamorize their websites by listing all of their catchy titles and labeling them as movies currently in development. If they actually are in the works, however, why is there never any mention of attached stars, directors or production companies? Ironically, the very thing that is supposed to impress you to join them is the one thing they're squirrelly about proving.

When pressed, they will reply that this information is confidential. While on the one hand they don't want their writers to engage in behind-the-scenes deals, too much secrecy suggests that all the grandeur exists only in their heads. It is easy enough to check out the validity of claims and accomplishments through the Internet Movie Database (www.imdb.com), film chat rooms, industry associates, and local film commissions. (I have yet to find any newcomers registered with the latter in spite of their high reliance on aggressive networking.) As expansive as the movie biz is, it’s also very close-knit when it comes to looking out for one another. One bad apple can indeed cast aspersions on a dozen others that simply have the misfortune of being well intentioned but inept.

Aspiring writers should also proceed with caution if told that his/her name won't go on the final credits. One such company defended this practice by saying that producers like to have the names of their own cronies on the final product. This runs contrary to the excitement of getting gigs in the first place. If you want to build your portfolio, don't go with any group that pays you paltry sums and insists you remain anonymous.

Before you get taken for a ride to nowhere, ask prospective companies the following questions. If they refuse to answer or make inflated claims that can't be confirmed, proceed at your own risk:

What is your experience in the film industry?

How many screenplays have you optioned/sold?

What can I expect to be paid (and when)?

What is the duration of our contract?

Will I get screen credit for this work?

Who will hold the copyright on works I submit?

I free to write for other companies while I am writing for you?

Am I free to sell my script elsewhere if you go out of business?

What are the terms of dissolving our contract?

SOMETHING WICKED THIS WAY COMES

The final example of questionable ventures relates to the bright lights of Broadway and the importance of having a graceful exit strategy.

"You've written musicals before, haven't you?" an associate of mine inquired. It seems that two women she knew--and whom I will call Gwen and Sybil--were looking for an experienced playwright to do a script for a score they had written about a tortured Bulgarian artiste. Thinking it could be fun, I made contact and asked them to send me a synopsis. I also went so far as to invite them to a fave Pasadena bistro for a glass of wine on one of the evenings they indicated they'd be in town. If I'd had my wits about me, I would have further instructed my fave waiter, Andrew, to rescue me after the first 10 minutes.

They literally arrived arm in arm, a tall woman and a short one, both clad from head to toe in gossamer black and sporting perky English accents reminiscent of the Pigeon Sisters in The Odd Couple. They instantly stepped forward as one unit to embrace me.

"We're so thrilled to meet you," Gwen (the composer) gushed, "aren't we, Sybil?"

"Oh yes," Sybil (the lyricist) agreed, "simply thrilled."

Rather than jumping right into the business at hand, I proceeded to casually inquire how long they'd known each other.

"Oh practically forever," Gwen replied, fondly reaching across the table to squeeze Sybil's hand.

Sybil's eyes sparkled conspiratorially as she turned to me and confided, "We were witches in a prior life..."

Judging by their Goth ensembles, I was inclined to believe this was a predilection they still clung to.

Granted, I consider myself open-minded enough to smile politely when strangers tell me they're aliens, angels, or whatevers. Hey, you never know. In the event some of them actually do possess powers that are not-of-this-world, I don't really want to get on their bad side by suggesting they might possibly be--well, nuts.

"So what's your favorite musical?" Sybil wanted to know.

We need to make sure you’re the right match,” Gwen explained.

"A toss-up," I replied, "between The Music Man and Beauty and the Beast." I asked what their favorites were.

"We just adored Urinetown!" Gwen replied. "Oh yes," Sybil chimed in. "We've seen it 15 times!"

I began to sense that the creative divide between us was steadily growing wider.

"So what did you think of our synopsis?" they eagerly asked, almost in unison.

"To be honest--"

"Oh yes, please do," they insisted.

"Well, I really don't see that there's enough 'there' there for a full-scale production."

Gwen instantly glowered. "But we've already been approached by a major—“

Yes, very major—“ Sybil reiterated.

Broadway producer who thinks this is sheer brilliance."

"That's great," I replied, "but the main characters just aren't very likable. Maybe if you were to--"

"We think they're likable," Sybil archly interrupted.

What’s wrong with you that you didn’t like them?” Gwen challenged me.

I just didn’t find them compelling.”

You don’t know them like we do,” Sybil countered.

"There also seem to be a lot of loose ends," I pointed out, concurrently wondering what had ever possessed me to keep this meeting. “I feel as if something’s missing.”

"That's because we didn't give you the whole thing," Gwen said.

"We didn't want you to steal it," Sybil added.

"But you're certainly welcome to tell us your ideas," Gwen continued.

I resisted the urge to ask how I could be sure they wouldn't engage in a little thievery of their own. Instead, I nudged the conversation toward their plan for handling credits and royalties.

"Well, since there are two of us and only one of you," Sybil explained, "it’s rather obvious you'd get the smaller share."

"We were thinking 5% would be about right," Gwen opined.

"But you're asking me to write the entire script," I reminded them.

They giggled--or rather, cackled--in stereo. "Yes, but it's only a few words here and there just to string all the songs together. It's not as if you're doing any actual work..."

As the evening finally crawled to a much welcomed close, they mentioned they still had two more playwrights they needed to interview.

"Just one more question," Sybil said. "What do you think of Sonia the Pet Psychic?"

"Uh--excuse me?"

We absolutely adore her!” Sybil gushed.

"She’s a complete goddess!" a starry eyed Gwen said.

We couldn’t possibly work with anyone who didn’t adore her as much as we do,” Sybil confessed.

We make our husbands watch her program every week,” Gwen added.

Husbands? Or had they really meant to say ‘familiars’? I tried to imagine what type of men would be married to them. Maybe it was the downside of trading up from originally being frogs.

As we parted company and they wafted out to valet parking to reclaim their brooms, I paused at the bar to talk to Andrew about a script of his I’d been doing a critique on.

So how did it go with the lesbians?” he asked.

Actually they’re witches,” I corrected him.

Lesbian witches? Cool. What did they want?”

Hopefully not to turn me into a hamster by tomorrow morning for not liking their musical.”

Andrew drolly contemplated this for a moment. “Could you read my script before then,” he asked, “just in case?”