บท 7: Just Another Hollywood Story
Chapter 7
Hi everyone, I am back. Sorry for the long wait. I bought Grammarly to help with my writing, and man, is it a pain in my ass. I mean, it points out nearly every fucking mistake. It kind of hits the ego, know what I mean. Anyway, to answer a few comments and suggestions.
Cyniade – I am still on the fence because I agree with you, but Courteney Cox did really well in the movie. So, even if I am not a fan, I am unsure.
Alpha_astro – I wish I hadn't added that because it really doesn't fit. It's more like he hooks up with a lot of starlets. If you can think of a way it works, I will try, but ya I shouldn't have added that tab. That is my bad.
alphin_cj – I am leaning towards Cox more than Hayek. But I also like to write stories that my readers feel like they have a say in. So, right now, I have one for Cox and one for Hayek. If someone can come out and be the tiebreaker, that is great. Otherwise, I will just flip a coin.
Now on with the story.
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"All negotiations come down to two things at the end of the day. What does someone have that another person wants, and how much is someone willing to pay for it? It is as simple as that. Where people often get tripped up is they think they have something that someone else can't offer. That is a lie; there is always a better deal out there. That especially goes in the entertainment industry. You can be an actor, a director, or a writer. It doesn't matter. You can be replaced. Take that as a lesson for life." Caesar Espinar.
-1996-
So, I have to ask: Have you ever met someone who disgusts you both physically and mentally? You don't know why, and you can't understand why. You just met someone, and something about them makes you want to beat their face in. I can't explain it, but that was how I felt when I first met Harvey Weinstein. Now, I wasn't a good guy by any means, but there was something about the man I didn't like from the moment I met him. We didn't even talk that long. My agent spoke for me, and I just sat there and listened to what they were offering for the screenplay of Scream. And honestly, it wasn't a bad deal.
Their offer was $70,000 and an agreement to let me work on the set of Scream—basically everything I wanted. If only they had called a few weeks earlier, I would have been more than happy to sell the script to Miramax. However, Harvey and his brother took a wait-and-see approach. Despite both liking the script, they wanted to know if Se7en would be a hit. They shouldn't have waited. Because Se7en, by the time it hit its final week, had earned 144 million dollars at the box office. Causing a small ripple effect in the industry.
I wasn't a hot commodity just yet, but anything on that level of success would grab people's attention—well, it would catch the attention of the people who actually matter in this business. So, while Miramax's offer was good, it wasn't good enough, and I said no. There were no hard feelings in that, either. They didn't want to negotiate a higher price, and after I told them Andrew's offer on behalf of New Line, they dropped it. They didn't want to risk paying me more because, in their minds, I was still nothing more than street trash who got lucky.
Andrew and his boss, Robert Kenneth Shaye, on the other hand, were more open. After the success of Se7en and some things I didn't know about that were happening behind the scenes, they were willing to take a significant risk on me. Their offer was 70,000 dollars, the same as Miramax, but here was the risk they were taking. I would be working directly under Andrew this time as his assistant producer and would be given a 0.3% cut of the box office and VSH sales.
Now, I know many of you would say that 0.3% is not that much, but here is some quick math. 0.3% of 100 million, which was what Scream earned domestically, was 300 thousand, which was a lot more than what I currently had left in the bank. In fact, after I paid Alexandra 10,000 to be my lawyer, paid my taxes for 1995, and bought a used car and the suit I wore to the premiere of Se7en, I had less than five grand in the bank. So, I could use the money, and as I kept rising in Hollywood, I would need a lot more.
Again, I am sure many of you are wondering why they would agree to give me a cut of anything. After all, who was I? A nobody with one hit movie under his belt is who. So, to answer that question, it's because they most likely thought I didn't know about Hollywood's accounting practices. Which often found ways of turning a net profit into a loss, and you know what? They were right. I had no clue that such accounting practices existed in Hollywood. Unfortunately for them, my lawyer and agent had heard about them, and after some negotiation, they got the contract to say that I would get a percentage no matter what. Even if the movie lost money, so long as the box office exceeded 75 million dollars, they would have to pay me my cut. Oh, and I would have to write the sequel if they wanted to make one, which came with its own stipulations on my side.
As far as New Line saw it, they still came out on top. What were the chances, after all, that I could write two back-to-back 100 million movies? Not very high, and even if it did exceed the 75 million mark, they only come out of pocket a bit. As for the VHS sales, it was the same thing. They only lost a bit of money if I made it past the 75 million dollar mark. Poor suckers had no idea that they were sitting on an almost billion-dollar franchise, and I refused to give up the copyrights as I did with Se7en.
That brings us to today, where I was sitting in an office with Andrew, trying to find a director for the movie. Hearing him hang up the phone on his desk, I asked the obvious question: "So what did he say?"
Letting out a sigh, Andrew says, "David is out. He says he wants to take a break from filming for a while. Say he needs some rest before he makes another movie."
I nod my head at Andrew and say, "That makes sense. He was under a shit load of pressure with Se7en."
That is what I said, but it was still disappointing. While David may not have been a slasher film guy, I thought he could do it. Well, that and Wes Craven had already said no to us. So did Robert Reiner and several others on top of them. I think David was our 5th pick. Which was a problem as we were already starting to cast but had no director.
"Can we call Wes again? Maybe he will agree to do the movie if we send him the script. The guy shouldn't be too picky after Vampire in Brooklyn." I say to Andrew.
"We can try, but I have to ask: why are you insisting on Wes Craven? You have been telling me from day one that he should be the director. You didn't even mention David till we went through four others." Andrew asks.
Shrugging my shoulders, I say, "He is the guy who wrote and directed Nightmare on Elm Street. He may be coming off the worst horror movie he has ever directed, but it can't be denied he knows his shit."
With a sigh, Andrew couldn't help but agree that Ceaser was right. He would love to get Wes to take on the project himself. After all, Wes understood both horror and comedy to a degree. Which was what Scream was. Andrew felt that if this movie was done right, they could easily make a squeal, and Ceaser seemed to have an eye for picking people for movies.
"All right, I will send him the script, but if he still says no, we're going to have to settle on a good B-rank movie director," Andrew says, willing to try again to get Wes on board.
"Let's hope it doesn't come to that," I say. While I was willing to take a risk on the cast, the same didn't go for the director. Who I always thought was more important than any actor.
"Let's talk about casting; I have already given the job to Billy Hopkins. As you have worked with him before, I thought it best for him to work with you again." Andrew says.
I nodded my head at this. Billy was a good person, as were the rest of the casting crew from the last go around, so I had no problem with working with them again.
"So, do you have any ideas on who you think should play the parts of the leads?" Andrew asks me.
"Not really, unlike Se7en, which I worked on for 2 years. Scream was something I put together when I arrived in LA. I have some ideas on who should play the role of the reporter. I have been thinking about that role a lot. Let's invite Courteney Cox and Salma Hayek to audition for that role." I answer him.
Andrew sits back and thinks about this. Both had their appeal. Courteney Cox had developed a solid fan base due to being on the hit TV show Friends. Which was currently going into its 3rd season, as well as having a role in Jim Carrey's Ace Ventura: Pet Detective. However, there was a problem with the cost. He had little doubt that her agent would ask for at least 2 to 3 million dollars for the role. On the other hand, Salma Hayek was a relatively unknown actress; she only really came onto the Hollywood scene by way of the hit movie Desperado. That said, she had sexual appeal and gave what would be a primarily white cast some diversity. There was also the fact that she would come cheaper than Cox, which was probably her most significant selling point.
In the end, Andrew nods and says, "I will send out the invites."
"Cool, then I will get ready to start casting with the crew," I say to Andrew. I start to stand up but stop when I hear Andrew speak up.
"Hold up a moment, Caesar. We need to talk about something." Andrew says, and I sit back down.
"What's up?" I ask him.
Andrew waits a moment to answer me. Only sitting there smiling for a while, then says, "Caesar, I thought you should know New Line will be releasing Se7en in the coming months."
"Okay," I say to him like it was no big deal.
"I don't know how to say this to you, Caesar, so I will just say it. The Academy Awards just called the other day. You are being nominated for Best Original Screenplay," Andrew says.
If he was expecting me to be surprised, he was right, and something on my face clearly gave me away by the way his smile widened.
After a moment, I respond calmly, "Well, that is unexpected."
Nodding his head, Andrew says, "That it is, but the fact remains that you have been nominated. Now, I don't think I need to tell you New Line is a subsidiary of Warner Bros. They want to push this."
Sitting back, I say, "I would be disappointed if they didn't." I then take a moment to think and add, "This could be good for Scream."
"I am happy you see it that way. Most people only see the tree and miss the forest." Andrew says. Being both surprised and not surprised that, Caesar didn't seem to care much about the award itself.
No, Caesar was the type to only see it as something that could make Scream a bigger hit than he already believed it would be. It was something Andrew had noticed about him after working with him on Se7en. Caesar didn't care that much about personal accomplishments. He saw true successes, real successes in dollar signs. Like any good businessman would.
I laugh lightly at that and say, "Ya, artists tend to be like that, but you know what they call a starving artist, Andrew?"
"What?" Andrew asks, curious about what Caesar's answer will be.
"A dead one," I say in a cold voice.
That makes Andrew laugh a bit. Happy to hear it, in a way.
"So, what do I have to do?" I ask him.
"Well, we have called the cast. Everyone is on board with pushing the movie. Of course, you have to do some interviews. Get your face out there. You are now one of the youngest people ever to be nominated for an Oscar and the youngest screenwriter. So, this is a big deal." Andrew says.
I nod to what he says and ask, "And what do you think my chances of winning are?"
"Honestly?" Andrew asks.
"Honestly," I tell him.
Andrew takes a few moments to answer me by rubbing the back of his neck. While he would never say it out loud, Andrew wasn't going to lie to himself. He was somewhat scared of Caesar. After his rap sheet had been printed in the papers and Andrew had gotten a look at it, he knew what he had always suspected was true. Caesar was fully capable of extreme acts of violence.
"Honestly, not very good. Not only are you up against some strong competition, but….." Andrew pauses for a bit to think how best to say what he wants to say.
Seeing that he was scared to tell me the truth, I said it for him, "But my past could prove a problem."
Andrew nods at hearing that, then says, "We are going to try to play you up as a true American success story, but to be frank, Caesar, the crimes you committed in the past are pretty bad. I don't think the board will vote for someone with your colorful past."
"Well fuck…. A win would have been better for Scream," I say to him, sounding more upset about the potential loss of money for the movie than I was about the award itself. And in a way, I was upset, too.
I had no desire whatsoever to be known as a great artist or movie maker. That shit didn't matter at all when you walked the road to success. If you want to be known as a great artist, prepare to be poor and remain a nobody for the rest of your life. If you want to be known and remembered, do whatever it takes to reach the top. Only after you get to the top can you look to become an artist.
"Agreed, but win or not, this is big for us. When people hear you have been nominated, they will come to see Scream to see if it is as good as Se7en. That said, we have to go over your image and how to present you to the wider public." Andrew says.
Hearing this, I look at Andrew and say, "We don't have to change anything, Andrew. Times are changing. The bad boy's image is back and better than it has ever been. The public will love and hate me. Which is the same fucking thing in this business."
"That is true," Andrew says, unable to disagree with Caesar but still adds, "Just don't take things too far."
I laugh at him and say, "Don't worry, Andrew. I am not stupid enough to risk it all on a moment of self-satisfaction."
When I got back to my shitting apartment, I walked over to the phone I had installed and picked it up. Dialing a number I had committed to memory. After a few rings, I heard someone answer the phone.
"Hello," I hear Salma's sweet and sexy voice on the other end say.
"Hey, Salma, it's Caesar," I tell her.
"Caesar, how is it going? I didn't expect to hear from you so soon. What's going on?" She asks me with a bright and friendly voice.
"Nothing much. I just thought I'd call you and let you know I sold my script to New Line." I tell her.
"Congratulations, Caesar, I am happy to hear that," Salma says, sounding like she really was happy for me.
So, I replied, "Thanks, and by the way, I got you an invite to audition for a part in the movie. The producer or one of his assistants should send your agent a copy of the script within a few days."
"Really? That is great," I hear even more excited in her voice. "What's the role?"
"The role is a snarky and ruthless investigative journalist. It's also one of the leads in the movie." I say into the phone and can somehow feel her getting even more excited upon hearing this.
"That is wonderful, Caesar. Thank you." Salma says.
"Don't thank me just yet. You still have to get the role. And Salma, your composition is Courteney Cox, and most of the characters in the movie are white." I say to her, which basically is like pouring cold water on her.
"Shit," Is all she says. She knew who Courteney Cox was. Shit everyone in America knew who the fuck Courteney Cox was. People could say what they liked, but America, and especially Hollywood, was still a very racist place. Whether that was due to the actual feeling of racism or just becoming the majority of America's audience was white, it was hard to say. Regardless of the reason, it was hard for non-whites to succeed in Hollywood, and now she was up against America's newest star and a nearly entirely white cast. Her chances of getting the role were slim, to say the least.
"Ya, the chances are low. I will push for you as much as possible, but my word will only go so far. So you're going to have to be on your best game." I say to her.
Hearing a sigh, Salma says, "Thanks, Caesar, really thanks. I will do my best, trust me."
"I trust you, and I may have a way to push you forward," I tell her.
"Oh, and what way is that?" Salma asks.
"What are you doing on March 25?" I ask her.
"Nothing, why?" Salma asks me.
"I need a date for the Academy Awards," I answer her.
The phone goes silent for a bit, and then Salma says one word, "What?"
I smile and say, "I have been nominated for Best Original Screenplay."
Again, the line goes silent, and I can barely hold in my laughter when she says again, "What!"
This was turning out to be a pretty good day. I think to myself.
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