I have finished my fantastic, uber-rewrite on the as-yet-untitled edible fruit/creeping vine/manufacturing sector sci-fi flick.
I have done good things. Not sure if I've done enough good things to make Charlie happy, let alone My Manager, who has agreed to read it when the sun finally dies out later this year.
It's tricky, because we've crafted a script that, truth be told, will kick ass on Sci-Fi Channel's Sci-Fi Saturday "The Most Dangerous Night on Television" but which probably would be found a little thin at the multiplex. Not that having a thin production has ever stopped some of the run-of-the-mill horror flicks that come and go unnoticed every month. (The Covenant, anyone?) But since Charlie and I are, well, nobody, we need to have something beyond the pale to get anyone's attention.
Will this get anyone's attention? Mayhaps. but first, I've got to get it past Charlie. Then we've got to get it past My Manager. That's easier said than done.
Still, it feels good to hand it off. There are some seriously cool stuff in the script. Images, sequences, and scenes that rock. It makes me happy to read it, and that's a good thing, right?
No it's on to the next great thing. I have a couple of projects for My Manager that I need to dive into. So I'll probably flip a coin, ignore the results, and work on whichever I feel like.
Rock on.
Thursday, August 30, 2007
Friday, August 24, 2007
Hey! This doesn't suck!
So I've been doing my job for my half of this partnership and rewriting everything that Charlie wrote on our Monk/Sacred Couch/Blizzard/Tarzan remake. And you know what?
I like this script.
I mean it's silly. It's slightly implausible. It reeks of Charlie. But still, I like it.
So I'm rewriting like mad. And I like it even more. Not rewriting his stuff, at least not always, just... fixing scenes that never worked for me. Adding some things to fill out some ideas. Making the characters just a teensy bit more worthy and lovable and real.
And I still like it.
Granted, not as much as I like our comedy. Not quite as much as I like Siege. But this isn't a bad script. Not a bad story. It has some great bits in it, it keeps moving, it rocks, it rolls, it sways like a lover.
So I should finish my excellent rewriting this week, then send it back to Charlie, then, get this, send it to My Manager.My Manager's actually agreed to look at it. Of course, what we'll get back is a "You're kidding right? Trust me, drop this and work on the projects I tell you to work on. There's a good writer monkey."
But that counts as feedback, right?
Right?
I like this script.
I mean it's silly. It's slightly implausible. It reeks of Charlie. But still, I like it.
So I'm rewriting like mad. And I like it even more. Not rewriting his stuff, at least not always, just... fixing scenes that never worked for me. Adding some things to fill out some ideas. Making the characters just a teensy bit more worthy and lovable and real.
And I still like it.
Granted, not as much as I like our comedy. Not quite as much as I like Siege. But this isn't a bad script. Not a bad story. It has some great bits in it, it keeps moving, it rocks, it rolls, it sways like a lover.
So I should finish my excellent rewriting this week, then send it back to Charlie, then, get this, send it to My Manager.My Manager's actually agreed to look at it. Of course, what we'll get back is a "You're kidding right? Trust me, drop this and work on the projects I tell you to work on. There's a good writer monkey."
But that counts as feedback, right?
Right?
Thursday, August 16, 2007
Screw It... Why Not...
So a couple of weeks ago I did something I never thought I'd do.
I've always poo-poo'ed the idea. It seemed too populist. Too... for the masses. I mean, if there was any value to it, it wouldn't be open to ever a-hole with a copy of Final Draft, right?
What'd I do, you ask?
What'd I do, Dave, no doubt, is asking?
Well... I entered our raunchy comedy, Murphy's Law, into a screenwriting competition.
Like I said - normally I'm not a fan. When was the last time you heard about a huge, box-office hit, with record-breaking grosses and star-making performances that came from a screenwriting competition?
Never. Right. Hell, not even Matt Damon and Ben Affleck could churn out a decent flick with Project Greenlight.
Still... I really like this dirty little comedy. It's funny, and it's earned a place in my heart, and... well... right now it's dead in the water. Dave's agent's cousin's valet's pimp has said he/she will give it a read, but beyond that, it's basically a doorstop. My film industry buddy read it and thought it was really funny, but wasn't sure he got what genre it is (have we harped enough yet on how befuddling this comment is?), so I'm not counting on him. That means either we hustle, or we add it to the stack of clunkers that were fun to write but never see celluloid.
And I'm not ready to let that happen yet. So I'm beating the bushes. Talking to people about it. Showing it to anyone that'll read it. And, yes... I've crossed that line and submitted it to a decent-sized competition, that judges both overall as well as genre features.
Here's hoping that there's a "Raunchy Teen Comedy With Natalie Portman Jokes and Gratuitous Use Of The Word 'C*ck'" genre.
- Charlie
I've always poo-poo'ed the idea. It seemed too populist. Too... for the masses. I mean, if there was any value to it, it wouldn't be open to ever a-hole with a copy of Final Draft, right?
What'd I do, you ask?
What'd I do, Dave, no doubt, is asking?
Well... I entered our raunchy comedy, Murphy's Law, into a screenwriting competition.
Like I said - normally I'm not a fan. When was the last time you heard about a huge, box-office hit, with record-breaking grosses and star-making performances that came from a screenwriting competition?
Never. Right. Hell, not even Matt Damon and Ben Affleck could churn out a decent flick with Project Greenlight.
Still... I really like this dirty little comedy. It's funny, and it's earned a place in my heart, and... well... right now it's dead in the water. Dave's agent's cousin's valet's pimp has said he/she will give it a read, but beyond that, it's basically a doorstop. My film industry buddy read it and thought it was really funny, but wasn't sure he got what genre it is (have we harped enough yet on how befuddling this comment is?), so I'm not counting on him. That means either we hustle, or we add it to the stack of clunkers that were fun to write but never see celluloid.
And I'm not ready to let that happen yet. So I'm beating the bushes. Talking to people about it. Showing it to anyone that'll read it. And, yes... I've crossed that line and submitted it to a decent-sized competition, that judges both overall as well as genre features.
Here's hoping that there's a "Raunchy Teen Comedy With Natalie Portman Jokes and Gratuitous Use Of The Word 'C*ck'" genre.
- Charlie
Blogged with Flock
Friday, August 10, 2007
Where It's At
Time for a big round-robin update on the writing stylings of Charlie and Dave, Partners in Fear.
We have this big comedy. It's funny. Honestly, people read it and tell us that it's damn funny. This makes us feel good. Giddy, even. So we gave the comedy to a guy Charlie knows who has worked in big-time comedy. His response?
"This is really funny. I don't know what genre it is, but it's very funny."
Uhm.... what genre? It's funny and you don't know the genre? How about... oh I don't know.... comedy?
But anyway. We're figuring that ship won't be sailing our way in the near future, so we've thought about what to do with this very funny script.
"But David!" you say, "You have a Manager and an Agent! Give it to them!"
Well, yeah. Except that My Manager loves me for my sci-fi/horror/fantasy. My Manager has other comedy clients, and Managers in general aren't keen to mix and match. But I finally sucked up my gut and asked My Manager if they would look at the script. The response?
"Sure. Send it over."
So OK, there's that. Sent it over, we'll probably hear something in about two weeks. Because everything takes two weeks in Hollywood. Part of the Space/Time Continuum thing.
(Side Note: How cool is the word "continuum?" It has two u's next to each other. Two u's!)
In the meantime, we're still waiting for Siege to bust out. We've been waiting (just so you know) for this particular project to bust out since December of 2005. That's becoming a long time ago. And yet, to quote Phil Collins (which I don't think people do often enough) We Wait and We Wonder.
In fact, I think I might have named another post with that very quote. Huh.
In other news, after months of banging on Charlie's Electronic door begging for an update on our Masonic/Fast Food/Frog-in-Blender/Jungle epic, it's my turn. I'm sitting on it. I should be working on it, but I am instead working on projects for My Manager that have nothing to do with Charlie.
I'm like that.
But it's near the top of the queue, so Charlie will just have to bear with me and shut the Hell up.
Beyond that, business as normal.
See.. if it's funny, it's probably a comedy. That's my thought.
*sigh*
We have this big comedy. It's funny. Honestly, people read it and tell us that it's damn funny. This makes us feel good. Giddy, even. So we gave the comedy to a guy Charlie knows who has worked in big-time comedy. His response?
"This is really funny. I don't know what genre it is, but it's very funny."
Uhm.... what genre? It's funny and you don't know the genre? How about... oh I don't know.... comedy?
But anyway. We're figuring that ship won't be sailing our way in the near future, so we've thought about what to do with this very funny script.
"But David!" you say, "You have a Manager and an Agent! Give it to them!"
Well, yeah. Except that My Manager loves me for my sci-fi/horror/fantasy. My Manager has other comedy clients, and Managers in general aren't keen to mix and match. But I finally sucked up my gut and asked My Manager if they would look at the script. The response?
"Sure. Send it over."
So OK, there's that. Sent it over, we'll probably hear something in about two weeks. Because everything takes two weeks in Hollywood. Part of the Space/Time Continuum thing.
(Side Note: How cool is the word "continuum?" It has two u's next to each other. Two u's!)
In the meantime, we're still waiting for Siege to bust out. We've been waiting (just so you know) for this particular project to bust out since December of 2005. That's becoming a long time ago. And yet, to quote Phil Collins (which I don't think people do often enough) We Wait and We Wonder.
In fact, I think I might have named another post with that very quote. Huh.
In other news, after months of banging on Charlie's Electronic door begging for an update on our Masonic/Fast Food/Frog-in-Blender/Jungle epic, it's my turn. I'm sitting on it. I should be working on it, but I am instead working on projects for My Manager that have nothing to do with Charlie.
I'm like that.
But it's near the top of the queue, so Charlie will just have to bear with me and shut the Hell up.
Beyond that, business as normal.
See.. if it's funny, it's probably a comedy. That's my thought.
*sigh*
Monday, August 06, 2007
An Important Message
I realize the stated mission of this blog is to talk about our writing endeavors, which most commonly manifests itself in the form of us bitching about how Siege will never get made.
Every once in awhile, though, I feel like we need to diverge from the writing world and focus on bigger issues.
For nearly 7 years, the United States of America has been governed by an admistration rife with ineptitude, croneyism, mismanagement, and secrecy. We've been led into a poorly planned and executed war, justified by mistruths and misrepresentations. With elections just over a year away, I think its critical that I turn my attention from the frivolity of entertainment and focus, with you indulgence, on a subject matter that really means something to the future. OUR future. I refer, of course, to Crocs.
Yes. Crocs.
Those craptacularly ugly plastic clogs that look like something my cat would poop out if he accidentally ate an industrial sized vat of neon orange rubber cement.
When did these things become so ubiquitous? I was out this weekend, and I swear, everywhere I turned people were wearing this unholy footwear. Men. Women. Children. Babies. Everyone was wearing them. How did we become a nation of Croc-wearers?
I mean, first off, they don't really look good on ANYONE. Men just look effeminate in them, mincing around in their naff frog-green rubber shoes. Women look manly in them, as they're big and clunky and look like something a burly Dutch beer-frau would wear while serving drinks in a crowded tent. Little boys look... well... not very BOY-like in them. That leaves little girls. The only acceptable market for Crocs, in my book, is little girls.
But you're all wearing them. And with socks, no less! What's that about? Looking like German tourists, lumbering around with black calf-high socks and a pair of pink rubber shoes underneath?
I'm told they're very popular with people in certain professions, because of their comfort. Nurses and doctors apparently love them. Sure... I can see that. Let's wear a shoe that's full of holes and open in the back as we walk around a germ-infested hospital, working with body fluids and blood and sharp instruments like scalpels and syringes and stuff. Stellar idea, Croc-wearing medical professionals.
Cooks, I'm told, also love them, thanks to that a-hole Mario Battali. Again, I can't begin to express how excited I am to know that the person preparing my $50 filet is clomping around my food all-but-barefoot, sweating away under a pair of PVC pumps. God forbid you drop a knife, because it'll GO RIGHT THROUGH THE HOLES into your sweaty foot.
And while I'm at it, what's the deal with Mario Battali? When did a 300 pound, red-headed, pasty-faced guy become Italian? I don't give a crap what his name is, that guy's as Irish as they come.
Where was I?? Oh yeah. America - can we please get past this fad and go back to wearing normal shoes? If I have to spend one more weekend looking at you in your horrid powder-blue galvanized Crocs, looking like a demented cross between the Little Dutch Boy and Corky from "Life Goes On," I may saw off my feet in protest.
Oh yeah... and vote Obama.
- Charlie
Every once in awhile, though, I feel like we need to diverge from the writing world and focus on bigger issues.
For nearly 7 years, the United States of America has been governed by an admistration rife with ineptitude, croneyism, mismanagement, and secrecy. We've been led into a poorly planned and executed war, justified by mistruths and misrepresentations. With elections just over a year away, I think its critical that I turn my attention from the frivolity of entertainment and focus, with you indulgence, on a subject matter that really means something to the future. OUR future. I refer, of course, to Crocs.
Yes. Crocs.
Those craptacularly ugly plastic clogs that look like something my cat would poop out if he accidentally ate an industrial sized vat of neon orange rubber cement.
When did these things become so ubiquitous? I was out this weekend, and I swear, everywhere I turned people were wearing this unholy footwear. Men. Women. Children. Babies. Everyone was wearing them. How did we become a nation of Croc-wearers?
I mean, first off, they don't really look good on ANYONE. Men just look effeminate in them, mincing around in their naff frog-green rubber shoes. Women look manly in them, as they're big and clunky and look like something a burly Dutch beer-frau would wear while serving drinks in a crowded tent. Little boys look... well... not very BOY-like in them. That leaves little girls. The only acceptable market for Crocs, in my book, is little girls.
But you're all wearing them. And with socks, no less! What's that about? Looking like German tourists, lumbering around with black calf-high socks and a pair of pink rubber shoes underneath?
I'm told they're very popular with people in certain professions, because of their comfort. Nurses and doctors apparently love them. Sure... I can see that. Let's wear a shoe that's full of holes and open in the back as we walk around a germ-infested hospital, working with body fluids and blood and sharp instruments like scalpels and syringes and stuff. Stellar idea, Croc-wearing medical professionals.
Cooks, I'm told, also love them, thanks to that a-hole Mario Battali. Again, I can't begin to express how excited I am to know that the person preparing my $50 filet is clomping around my food all-but-barefoot, sweating away under a pair of PVC pumps. God forbid you drop a knife, because it'll GO RIGHT THROUGH THE HOLES into your sweaty foot.
And while I'm at it, what's the deal with Mario Battali? When did a 300 pound, red-headed, pasty-faced guy become Italian? I don't give a crap what his name is, that guy's as Irish as they come.
Where was I?? Oh yeah. America - can we please get past this fad and go back to wearing normal shoes? If I have to spend one more weekend looking at you in your horrid powder-blue galvanized Crocs, looking like a demented cross between the Little Dutch Boy and Corky from "Life Goes On," I may saw off my feet in protest.
Oh yeah... and vote Obama.
- Charlie
Blogged with Flock
Friday, August 03, 2007
Better Than Sex (With or Without Lindsay Lohan)
One of the great feelings in the world is finishing up a writing assignment when you have a writing partner. I vaguely remember what sex feels like, and it's at least that good.
The rush of accomplishment. The buzz of completion. The high of being able to send it out.
And, unlike sex, I can relish the joy of it for at least a day or so before my partner weighs in with disappointment.
Dave'll get my emailed copy of the un-named Donkey-punching/weigh-loss-drama/Sirk-melodrama/soccer-playing-dog screenplay... he'll be excited to know I've completed it. He'll read it. THEN he'll feel some pangs of dissapointment. Then he'll drop me a congratulatory email with some words of encouragement ("Don't worry... it happens to all writers every now and then... you were probably just nervous or drunk..."). Then he'll do his obligatory rewrites of my rewrites. And then we'll be done.
Yes. Light on the horizon for this pass at this script!! I mean... how long have we all watched me post about finishing this f*cker now? MONTHS! And its done! Done, I tell you!!
I'm gonna go have a smoke.
- Charlie
The rush of accomplishment. The buzz of completion. The high of being able to send it out.
And, unlike sex, I can relish the joy of it for at least a day or so before my partner weighs in with disappointment.
Dave'll get my emailed copy of the un-named Donkey-punching/weigh-loss-drama/Sirk-melodrama/soccer-playing-dog screenplay... he'll be excited to know I've completed it. He'll read it. THEN he'll feel some pangs of dissapointment. Then he'll drop me a congratulatory email with some words of encouragement ("Don't worry... it happens to all writers every now and then... you were probably just nervous or drunk..."). Then he'll do his obligatory rewrites of my rewrites. And then we'll be done.
Yes. Light on the horizon for this pass at this script!! I mean... how long have we all watched me post about finishing this f*cker now? MONTHS! And its done! Done, I tell you!!
I'm gonna go have a smoke.
- Charlie
Blogged with Flock
Wednesday, August 01, 2007
I'm having great sex with Lindsay Lohan in rehab.
It's just tawdry, the kind of no-holds-barred pumping action we got going on between us, me and Lindsay Lohan. She's an animal, with a thirst for serious action, the raunchier the better. When she gets going, nice and raw, it's like a primal force has been unleashed on my Manly Member.
I'll try to get some pics next time, she's always talking about wanting to go all "Paris Sex Tape" on me.
...
...
OK, no. I'm not having sex with Lindsay Lohan. For all I know, the very nice, ordinary girl is still a virgin, waiting for marriage.
And I'm not in rehab. Though I am trying to give up sodas for a while. Too much caffeine. That's a kind of rehab, right?
See, the thing is, this blog is all about Charlie and me and our writing. And right now, we're waiting. Waiting for Producer Dude, waiting to hear from Charlie's contact, waiting for Charlie to finish his damn revisions on the covert/overt/omelet/jungle pic.
Today, Producer Dude, flushed with non-movement, has asked us to send him the synopsis of Siege for the seventeen billionth time. So we're digging it out once again, dusting it off, yet again, and feeling really bad that we have nothing exciting to report on our blog.
So I thought that, maybe, you know, a story about me and Lindsay Lohan having nasty monkey-sex while in rehab would be something you guys would maybe want to read about. Give you a thrill. Just close your eyes, and picture me, with a big pile of naked Lindsay Lohan on to of me, gyrating, grooving, thumping, the best body parts wiggling and jiggling all up in my face.
Hot!
And we thought maybe we'd pull in some random page views from folks surfing for "sex with Lindsay Lohan" on Google.
If that's you, welcome to our blog!
If we keep going nowhere, I'll have Charlie write up one of his Natalie Portman fantasies, those are usually good for a laugh.
I'll try to get some pics next time, she's always talking about wanting to go all "Paris Sex Tape" on me.
...
...
OK, no. I'm not having sex with Lindsay Lohan. For all I know, the very nice, ordinary girl is still a virgin, waiting for marriage.
And I'm not in rehab. Though I am trying to give up sodas for a while. Too much caffeine. That's a kind of rehab, right?
See, the thing is, this blog is all about Charlie and me and our writing. And right now, we're waiting. Waiting for Producer Dude, waiting to hear from Charlie's contact, waiting for Charlie to finish his damn revisions on the covert/overt/omelet/jungle pic.
Today, Producer Dude, flushed with non-movement, has asked us to send him the synopsis of Siege for the seventeen billionth time. So we're digging it out once again, dusting it off, yet again, and feeling really bad that we have nothing exciting to report on our blog.
So I thought that, maybe, you know, a story about me and Lindsay Lohan having nasty monkey-sex while in rehab would be something you guys would maybe want to read about. Give you a thrill. Just close your eyes, and picture me, with a big pile of naked Lindsay Lohan on to of me, gyrating, grooving, thumping, the best body parts wiggling and jiggling all up in my face.
Hot!
And we thought maybe we'd pull in some random page views from folks surfing for "sex with Lindsay Lohan" on Google.
If that's you, welcome to our blog!
If we keep going nowhere, I'll have Charlie write up one of his Natalie Portman fantasies, those are usually good for a laugh.
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