Apparently the way this works is Ridley tagged Caroline and she tagged me and now I have to reveal five of my most closely guarded secrets to total strangers. Okay, fine -- here's what you won't find out from IMDB or the tabloids...
1. MARILYN MONROE ONCE TRIED TO TAKE ME HOME
I was about 4 at the time and don't know how much of this I remember for real or how much comes from my mother repeating the story. Marilyn was in Banff, Alberta shooting "River of No Return" with Robert Mitchum. She wandered into a Calgary coffee shop one morning while Mom and I were in a booth and took a shine to me. She and Mom had breakfast, talked about babies and when she left, Miss Monroe asked if I'd like to go home with her. I said, "Yes". She laughed and left -- setting a pattern for me and hot blondes that has endured to this day.
2. MY JAW WAS BROKEN BY A KOMODO DRAGON
Officially, just cracked, but still. This was a baby Komodo about 3 feet long guesting on "Beastmaster". I asked the trainer if I could touch him. He was okay with that. The Dragon was not. He whipped his tail around and smacked me. It felt like getting hit with a baseball bat. At the time it didn't seem there was much damage, but by morning I was in agony with a cracked jaw and three teeth broken below the gum line. I spent the next month doing story meetings in the morning and root canal in the afternoon. To this day, I'm sure the LA guys remain confused at why I was suddenly so quiet about their input.
3. I NEVER DID ANY SHAKESPEARE
Although I studied to be a classical actor (Will Dixon's dad was probably my finest teacher) I never did one single classical work as a professional actor. Despite Shakespeare being my favorite playwright and trying like crazy for years to do his plays, Greek plays, Roman plays, Moliere or Lorca, I ended up being most famous for playing either a Nazi or a Carebear. 4. I SURVIVED A PLANE CRASH
Plane took off. Engine exploded. Wing caught fire. Followed by increasing weirdness as the pilot turned back for the airport, dumped fuel, discovered he couldn't get the landing gear down and took us in. His last words, "Folks, this doesn't look like our day, but I'll sure give it a try."
He did and most of us walked away. Two things I remember most. The incredible quiet as the plane went down. And next morning -- the sky had never been as blue and the birds never sang so loud. The best lesson I ever had in appreciating what you have.
5. I TOURED WITH FAKE ZOMBIES
The Summer of '69. The band I was with was chosen as the opening act for "The Zombies", touring behind their monster hit "Time of the Season". We met them at the airport. Four scuzzy, hairy hippies like us got off the plane and one said "Hey, how y'all doing?" in the thickest Texas accent I'd ever heard. It seems "The Zombies" had broken up before the record came out, so some canny promoter had flown 11 bands to NYC, taught them to play four of the Zombies' hits and one member to speak with a British accent to do the onstage patter. The rest of the set was whatever each band actually played. The bands were then simultaneously dispatched to tour parts of North America where they wouldn't be recognized, to milk every possible summer concert dollar available. More in Wikipedia if you're interested. Our "Zombies" would eventually achieve fame with one less member as -- ZZ TOP.
Rather than name names, I'm just gonna tag whoever's reading this. Your turn in the barrel.
I received a very nice letter from my cellular provider this week, informing me that I can now have the pleasure of watching "Spiderman 2" on my mobile phone. I might frame this letter as verification of the moment one of our telecom giants officially acknowledged that they don't have a fricken clue and are completely out of touch with not only their customers' desires but the potential of their own technology.
"NOBODY KNOWS ANYTHING" no longer only applies to screenwriting and Hollywood.
The phone pictured in the Ad is the one I own, a state of the art Samsung a920. It's a pretty good phone. It has a videocam and a camera, emails, text messages, links to the web, plays MP3s as well as having USB ports and a media player. I've had it for a year and still haven't mastered all the bells and whistles, but I'm fairly certain I can also make and receive phone calls.
Unfortunately, my subscription also gives me full access to Bell Mobility's much advertised video service, which I can best describe as a complete waste of time and money.
The service offers news, usually from yesterday; hockey highlights from 2 days ago and business updates from last week, all displayed on a 2" screen. Maybe I could actually make out the numbers on the player's sweaters if I switched over to a Blackberry, but that still wouldn't make the highlights more up to date, would it?
Never mind the age of the internet, these guys are behind radio and bi-weekly community newspapers.
I know Bell Mobility has access to current information because it's part of the ginormous media conglomerate that includes the Globe and Mail, CTV, TSN, ROBTV, Expressvu et al. And to be fair, my phone also allows me to watch MuchMusic live, along with CBC, FOX, and TLC were I to purchase a "Fuel" bundle.
But what Bell Mobility lacks in immediacy, they make up for with eye candy. I can tune to a channel called "Babes and Hunks" where (in the Babes section) the titles range from "Bathtime" to "Kinky Undies" and see 90 seconds or so of barely legal young women dancing in bikinis and lingerie.
This reminds me of those old flip card penny arcade machines that offered Mack Sennett Bathing Beauties for a nickle. As they say in LA, content never changes, only context.
There are actually three separate female model channels in "Babes and Hunks". Interestingly, the "Vixens" sub-channel seems to feature young women who are Asian or Black. Is Bell trying to insinuate something here...?
For research purposes, I checked out 2 titles in "Hunks". Both featured guys I'd guess were 16 and Eastern European playing with their soccer balls.
You surfers from the CRTC will be pleased to know there is identifiable Canadian content. That would be "Nicole from Hooters in Hamilton" (as we all know Hamilton is Babe Central in the Hooters empire). Nicole informs me she likes "camping and long walks on the beach" as she stretches in her bikini.
I'm not going to ask who watches this crap. I know. It's people stuck in cubicles at Bell Mobility. People who never see windows let alone encounter other human life forms unless it's in the lunch line at the Druxy's down in the lobby.
I'm certain this is the case because only people with absolutely no access to any form of media except their complimentary company phone would find any of this insipid drivel interesting.
They are part of a corporate culture so insular and out of touch, they now apparently believe somebody wants to pay $5.99 to watch a 2 year old movie dependent on visual effects and Dolby sound on a 2" screen and hands free headset.
Wait.
That's an exaggeration.
The Ad says "starting from $5.99" and, given Bell Mobility's various "frame enhancements", the actual video image on their top of the line Samsung a920 is 1"x1.25".
Unless they Letterbox it.
Excuse me?
Yes. Some of Bell Mobility's offerings are letterboxed, reducing the size of their screen to 1.25"x.5". They look something like this.
Boy, that'll deliver Spidey in all his glory, won't it? "I think he's the little red dot between those two skyscraper shaped things."
This just is not the way to use this technology, let alone attract new customers.
One of my heroes is Mark Cuban. Those of you who don't link to his blog, should. (He's on my list -- up and to the right). Mark made his Billions by being on the forefront of internet broadcasting and now owns the Dallas Mavericks, HDNet, 2929 Productions, Magnolia Films and a whole lot more.
We first met in a hotel elevator where I cracked him up with "Hey, you're that guy from the future!" and our paths have crossed a few times since.
Mark "gets it". He understands where we might be going in this business, correctly predicted the post Google decline of YouTube, initiated the concept of simultaneous release patterns and continues to warn the media dinosaurs that without quantum change, their extinction is imminent. He has this to say about the bells and whistles on my Bell Mobility phone -- they're TIME WASTERS.
They have replaced buying magazines, crossword puzzles and the like as ways to fill our odd moments. They are snacks not meals and they are certainly not the way anyone wants to experience a motion picture.
Last year, I attended a seminar on new distribution systems that included representatives from major studios and networks, Blockbuster, Tivo as well as P2P and cellular providers. They all had their individual grand plans for the shining future. But all were dependent on the same thing -- selling the content they already owned over and over again in every imaginable format until the only guy who hadn't seen it was deaf, dumb, blind and living in a mud hut in Gabon.
Noticeable to anyone not drinking the Kool-Aid was that as the returns on distribution diminished the technology required to disseminate and access it became ever more expensive. They were spending dollars to chase dimes.
At $10/month Bell Video already offers me nothing and for another $5.99 I will be able to download a movie I can't even see.
If the Bell guys really understood their customers and the way that audience uses their digital services, they'd realize that nobody is going to spend the two hour and seven minute running time of "Spiderman 2" staring at their cell phone. Even the nine year olds who might be gullible enough to fall for this began downloading chunks of "Spiderman 3" two weeks ago! You Bell guys remember two weeks ago. It was when Buffalo beat Toronto in the hockey highlight reel you're still running!!!
I don't have all the answers for what will work as Mobile phone video. But I have one. It's an idea my banker is eager to finance and the 14 - 25 year olds we've test marketed call "Awesome!". But I can't get anybody at Bell Mobility to talk to me.
So, if you're languishing in one of those cubicles, surfing the net in search of real porn or maybe a glimpse of what's going on in the world, give me a call. I think I can get your company into the 21st century and maybe get you an office with a window plus enough money to take Nicole for a walk on that beach she loves instead of ogling her over a plate of wings or squinting at her on your phone.
There is a truism widely held in the sports world that a team with character will always beat a team with talent. It's been a theme of sports movies from "Knute Rockne, All American" through "Rocky" to "Invincible" and imbues the best moments of my favorite series of this season, "Friday Night Lights".
Anyone who's played organized sports at any level might have learned certain skills from their coaches, but what they really gained and carried forward were the far more important character traits that make not only a great athlete but a great person. For the most part, those traits can be summed up by something we call "Heart".
Every good film or series I've ever worked on has had to go up against competition with more talent, bigger money and better connections. But they all survived and prospered because someone either chose to be or evolved to be their Heart.
When CBS picked up "Top Cops" they put us up against "Cosby" and "The Simpsons", saying they believed in us. To which our Executive producer shot back, "What do you do to shows you don't believe in?"
But we had some guys with Heart and for four seasons we more than held our own, sometimes beating one of them and on the rare occasion beating both. Being passionate about what we did shone through and made us a success in spite of the odds.
Sometimes that person with Heart has been me, sometimes it's been someone else. You always discover who it is very quickly and innately understand that whether you like them or not, they are the reason for your success. You support them, give them all of your talent and energy and invariably things turn out well.
I've walked from a couple of projects where I realized I could not overcome the corporate culture or would not be allowed to do my best work. It's a wrenchingly painful and difficult decision. You're always turning your back on the chance to ply your trade, friends who have no choice but to stay and a shitload of money. But I've always known that you cannot place your passion somewhere its not wanted. Not understood or not appreciated can be a given and you live with that. Not wanted is something else entirely.
Because I also believe that "nobody wants to do bad work", I've always struggled to understand why some people work so hard to do just that. They're not usually bad people. They're certainly far from stupid or fanatically addicted to a particular creative vision. But for some reason they have an aversion to Heart and it invariably leads to failure.
Recent case in point -- Ryan Smith of the Edmonton Oilers.
I acknowledge up front that it is sacrilege for a Toronto Maple Leafs fan to show any admiration for any dog ass player for any other dog ass team. But with the Leafs going nowhere for their 40th consecutive season, you tend to change channels somewhere in the second period of their games and a few years ago, I discovered a player with an astonishing Heart -- Ryan Smyth.
Ryan grew up adoring the Edmonton Oilers. They were his home team and the only team he ever wanted to play for. When he was a kid he landed a job as their stick boy and while attending a charity event for the team, one of the star players accidentally backed his car over him. Ribs crushed, he was rushed to the hospital, where the doctor later showed him the tire tracks across his shirt. Ryan's response, "That's Glen Anderson's tire. Make sure my mom doesn't wash my shirt."
Ryan made the NHL and the Oilers, becoming their shining star for 12 seasons, earning the moniker of "Captain Canada" by playing with unbelievable courage and determination. Last season, he led his last place team to within a goal of the Stanley Cup. This is how his local newspaper described Game Three of that series...
"The maintenance crew came out with scraper and shovel to pick up the pieces Ryan Smyth left on the ice. Blood, mostly, but also three teeth. His teammates had stood over him as he lay there clutching his mouth, then sprang up suddenly and skated to the bench.
No one was in the least surprised as Smyth had needles shoved into his lip and gums, was stitched up where his mouth had exploded, and returned for the third period.
He took his regular turns and put in 20 minutes of the 42:24 of overtime -- setting up the triple-OT winner that merely saved the Oilers' playoff lives."
The Oilers owners rewarded several of Smyth's teammates with fat new contracts for their spectacular playoff run. But they allowed the one for their star and hometown hero to languish. Some said it was in the hope he would have a less stellar season and be cheaper at season's end when his contract expired. But despite having less talented players on the ice beside him, Smyth did not have a less impressive season. Even though the owners had traded away or sold most of their finest assets, Smyth remained the team's Heart and Edmonton fans loved him for it.
And yet, twenty minutes from the NHL trade deadline, the Oilers decided they could live without their heart and traded him away.
Greater hockey minds than mine say this was an astute move by the team. It saved them money they would have had to spend on a star who will certainly soon begin to fade. It earns them some young players in return, one of whom it was later revealed, the son of one of their scouts. And it gives them the salary cap space to go out and buy a new star come summer.
But I'm willing to predict this is the end of the Edmonton Oilers current ownership. Since the trade happened, the team has lost ten straight games. Oiler fans have been barred from their arena for carrying signs or wearing T-shirts denouncing the move. There are already $2 Million dollars in lost ticket sales (far more than they would have had to pay to upgrade Smyth's contract) and significant cancellations of future season tickets. Far more important, the message sent to both star players and ones with Heart is clear -- what you do is not respected in Edmonton.
I still don't know why a team or a show would cut out its Heart but I think it comes down to a confusion about what's important in such endeavors. Like your own body, there is a heart and there is a brain. The brain knows it's in charge. It runs things, makes all the big decisions and handles the money. It gets so caught up in its own importance, however, that it forgets that it can't survive on its own.
The Heart is the one that beats, not the one that can administer a beating.
Best of luck in your new city, Ryan. You'll soon be their Heart. And being imbued with the character you have, I know you'll never forget your old body in happier times.
There's a teller at my bank who's the kind of person you just don't notice or remember. There's nothing noteworthy about her physically. She's not particularly outgoing. She's just one of those people who does their job well and goes home. She may have another side, a wild shooter girl party streak, enforcer on an all-star Bank league hockey team, compete on Canadian Idol, but I doubt it.
Yet for the last few months, every time I go into the bank, I look for her and I make sure I ask one of the staff how she's doing if she's not there. She was there today, looking worn and tired and a little down. She'd had a rough night.
We lost another soldier in Afghanistan last night and that's where her boyfriend is, serving with the Canadian army. The way the system works is that there is a news release that "A NATO Soldier" has died or been seriously wounded. A few hours later that news bulletin is updated naming the country the casualty is from, followed hours later by an identification of the unit and then the name of the deceased.
I learned this from her one day last fall. It was the first day Canada designated for people to wear red in support of our troops over there. It was also the day another of our servicemen was killed. I got to her wicket and commented on all the flags in the bank and the red ribbons the staff were wearing and she told me they'd kind of gone all out because of her boyfriend. I asked how he was doing and she wasn't sure.
Once a casualty report comes in, the families go into a kind of emotionally frozen "waiting" mode, knowing that as each hour passes, the chances increase that it's someone else getting that dreaded call and not them. Because she's not really family, she won't get that call, it'll go to her boyfriend's mother.
A couple of hours earlier, they'd learned the casualty was in her boyfriend's unit. Since then, nothing. She was scared. The line up behind me was huge. So, I told her to pretend there was something wrong with the cheque I was depositing and go make her phone call. She scooted away and came back looking relieved. The name was out. It wasn't him. And then she felt bad for feeling relieved. Because she knew what someone else was now going through.
There may be a lot of those calls in the coming weeks. Canadian troops are part of a new offensive in Afghanistan and predictions are that casualties will be high.
I don't know whether we should be in Afghanistan or not. Having seen the films of Afghan women being executed in soccer stadiums for teaching school and ancient wonders being dynamited because they represented the "wrong" religion, I'm leaning toward figuring somebody should be doing something.
What does concern me is that our politicians sent our men and women over there and don't seem to be doing as much as they could to help them succeed in their mission and get back safe. The clip below is "Exhibit A" in that argument. It's from VBS.TV, a group I've championed here in the past. Another story our mainstream media is ignoring.
Some of the guns and bullets you'll see in the clip are destined for people bent on killing my bank teller's boyfriend. They're being manufactured and sold with the obvious knowledge of a country that's supposed to be our friend and ally and to whom we send a lot of aid and assistance. Does any of that make sense to you? Or does what happens to an ordinary Canadian, say a bank teller, who does her job, pays her taxes and like her boyfriend, supports what their government says is the right thing to do -- just not matter?
(Back from two weeks flirting with Pneumonia and already feeling late to the game with the Canadian TV Posts I promised. This is the first of a few that will roll out over the coming weeks.)
Every time discussions arise on reworking Canadian TV, the sensation is similar to listening to sports radio call in shows and some arcane debate on changing the infield fly rule or the dimensions of goalie pads.
Likewise, in putting together my own thoughts on making our industry better, I feel like one of the rabid fans who call those stations, certain he can take his team to a championship simply by trading this week's slug of a player straight up for some opponent's shining star.
There's so much to consider here. So much history that's defaulted to fable. So many options and directions we could take. Ultimately the process seems endless and pointless and better left to people with far more time on their hands and much greater intelligence than I'll ever have.
And then I realize that's how I'm supposed to feel.
There have always been two solitudes in this country. We're taught that's English and French. But in reality, it's the elites and the rest of us.
Even in a democracy, those with money and influence control the decision making process and ultimately the final decisions. And historically, Canada has not been much of a democracy.
Decades before the country was founded, the elite residents controlled the rest, the "hewers of wood and carriers of water" by doling out the land they could own through what was known as the "Family Compact".
Like the American Revolution, our own uprisings of the 1830's were attempts to prevent such a system of privilege from being established in the new world. The failure of guys like William Lyon McKenzie to pull the trigger when they had the chance and the residual fear of America's successful revolt cemented a governing vision designed to protect the interests of the powers that be.
The history of Canada is a history of government and corporate partnerships. From railroads to pipelines to telecommunications, we are regulated to benefit corporate elites who then fund the parties who create the next set of regulations. Like somebody once quipped about Frank Sinatra, it's their world, the rest of us just live here.
Innovations evolve slowly above the 49th parallel unless or until the elites work out how they can own or control them. The process has driven not just our artists but some of our finest minds elsewhere. It destroyed an aerospace industry once miles ahead of the United States and Russia and has hobbled everything else from medical research to high tech development. God help us all now that they've turned their attention to the environment.
This government/corporate relationship is the main reason our film and television industry is in the desperate position it is in today.
In the 1970's, I was part of a revolution that took place in Canadian theatre. The critical mass born of the elite's founding of Stratford and a handful of regional copycats to serve up classical European and popular American culture, suddenly sparked in an unexpected way in Toronto. Theatres began producing a virtually unheard of product called "the Canadian play" these being plays written by actual living Canadian authors, usually embodying stories and characters that if not uniquely Canadian, espoused decidedly Canadian points of view.
We had begun telling our own dramatic stories to ourselves. Newspapers didn't pay much attention. Neither did radio or television. Yet, within a couple of years, Canadian plays, although produced in the city's smallest theatres were not only outdrawing the competition but gaining an international reputation and creating interest and excitement in the general population.
So, the government stepped in to "help".
In the guise of fostering the arts, government subsidies and their new rules for private support gradually nipped any possible theatrical blossoming in the bud. Money for production was soon earmarked instead for "infrastructure" and suddenly a season arrived where virtually all the theatres were closed, federally funded to renovate or upgrade.
Then came such concepts as matching subsidies to privately raised capital, funding based on marketing initiatives or diversity, funding workshops rather than actual productions, seasons which funded only new playwrights, only emerging playwrights, or only playwrights who wrote musicals for puppets with dyslexia. You get the picture. Instead of supporting the work just because it was creating work or attracting an audience, the emphasis was turned toward fulfilling social and regional agendas, in the process establishing a bureaucracy that did little but stymie further growth.
The nuttiness got so out of control that there was actually a dance company in Quebec that had not employed dancers or mounted a production for years but still remained heavily subsidized for fulfilling its mandate of bringing "an awareness of dance" to its local community.
Meanwhile, a new "management class" moved in. Most of them didn't know the first thing about theatre but they could write (or assess) grant applications and knew the right people in Ottawa, at Foundations or among corporations deemed "arts friendly". I once dubbed them the "unemployable inbred children of the wealthy", but now the theatres couldn't survive without their connections or approvals and they soon took charge.
Anybody noticing any parallels to the current film business or the rules governing the CTF?
Today, despite 35 years of "help" from successive governments of all political stripes, Canada's theatrical output and its average annual audience has shriveled rather than bloomed. Some of those original Canada-centric theatres still survive albeit producing fewer and smaller plays each season, providing job opportunities for fewer actors and playwrights -- telling fewer original Canadian stories.
The same strategy has been repeated in our film and television industries.
Back to the 1970's for a moment. I'm a cutie-pie actor just starting out. In addition to some theatre, my first professional year included several guest shots on TV series, roles in three Canadian features and one US picture. I starred in a half hour action pilot, did a couple of radio plays and about 10 commercials. But I was far from hot (I speak, of course, career wise) and lots of actors worked more than I did.
There was work for actors. Not as much as there would be ten years later when the American studios rolled in, but significantly more than there is today. There was no Global then, no CHUM unless you were listening to Top 40 radio and no specialty channels. There weren't even as many content guidelines.
But there was an industry. Looking around the current landscape, I'm sure it's impossible for many of you to imagine that there were weekends when 3 or 4 Canadian films were playing up and down Yonge Street and enjoying healthy runs.
What happened?
Once again our Government decided to "help" and picked a few worthy corporations to be their fingers in the business.
We all know where the ensuing years have gotten us. Financial systems based on pre-determined envelopes and mad scrambles to meet deadlines that fit the fiscal schedules of bureaucracies and not production realities.
Corporate entities that don't live up to their contractual obligations or have openly broken the law have been protected from examination by the internal rules of the very government agencies that fund and are supposed to scrutinize them.
There have been moves to "industrialize" the industry, creating crews (the current "hewers of wood and carriers of water") who work for primarily offshore entities that mostly import their creatives. And, in the way the elites have always treated their hewers and carriers, those crews now have to travel longer distances and work under poorer conditions in order to practice their professions.
Then there are regional incentives. I wouldn't deny anyone the opportunity of working in their home town, or suggest that local governments shouldn't attract film dollars to their community, but if you lived in a country say 10 times larger and to the South of us, there would really be only 2 or 3 locations where the industry is real, understood and has solid support systems that keep it vibrant and viable.
How do we fight this? How do we create (or maybe just bring back) an industry that earns profits, makes business sense and produces material that audiences embrace?
I don't think it's by traipsing back to CRTC hearings and demanding new rules on content and carriage and percentages of who works where. The CRTC has never shown itself in any way responsive to the needs of either the Canadian people or the country's artists. We'll simply get more watered down or impractical rules that will once again not give us the kind of industry we need.
Forget our Guilds and unions too, along with various friends of Canadian broadcasting, lobbyists for the rights of artists and other culture vultures. They have all proven themselves either impotent or complicit in creating our current situation.
I believe we need to start going public with the stories we've all lived and experienced, exposing the symbiotic relationship between government and broadcasters which has been beneficial to them at the expense of the rest of us and the culture as a whole.
A system only changes when it has no choice and if there's one thing politicians and large public companies hate, it's people seeing how they really operate. With an election around the corner, the time to do that is now.
Let me go first...
A couple of years ago, my company was approached by an American Producer to create a show that would be filmed in Canada for an International audience. In searching for a Canadian sale, he and I had a conversation with a local network executive. She was familiar with my work, having recently programmed something I'd produced to great audience and advertiser success.
Aware that they were now airing a show in the same genre, I asked how it was performing. The answer was -- not well. Audiences weren’t tuning in and advertisers did not want to be associated with the new offering. “Gee,” I said, “Maybe you should buy more of my stuff”. “Oh, we can’t do that!” was the answer. “We’re committed to making these!”
After our conversation, the US producer called me back. “Let me get this straight,” he said, “You have networks up there that don’t care what their audiences want or what their advertisers will pay for – how do they make any money?”
Good question. And one that repeats across our programming spectrum. How often have we seen network campaigns to garner CTF financing for a proven ratings loser rather than take a chance on anything else? Why would any corporation dependent on profit and beholding to shareholders or any producer in need of program success to generate future sales, fight so hard for a product that does not attract an audience?
The answer is simple – they’re not paying for it.
In most markets, an endless string of financial failures would kill a production company or a network. In Canada, it puts the rest of us in jeopardy.
In the US, the network covers the lion's share of a show’s production cost. Canadian networks, on average, pay approximately 18%-25%.
That means the remaining cost must come from other sources. In Canada, that’s the Canadian taxpayer or with funds collected by cable and satellite companies from their subscribers – people also known as the Canadian taxpayer. In other words, Canadians are paying almost the total cost of their programming -- and not embracing much of what they're served in return.
An article in today's Globe and Mail on the re-branding of the Life Network to Slice states the following:
"This past fall, W had an average of 19,200 female viewers aged 18 to 49 at any given time in a 24-hour period, compared with 8,300 for the Life Network, according to BBM Nielsen Media Research."
My own numbers for another project we're developing indicates one of our sports networks is averaging fewer than 9000 viewers for its non-game programming.
Note the operative word is "average", indicating they have many hours watched by far smaller audiences.
How do these single and barely double digit operations even stay in business?
That part is easy, they don't depend on advertising or ratings, because our federal regulators have granted them upwards of a buck a channel from subscribers.
What advertiser is happy with that kind of penetration? Would the people watching even miss them if they disappeared? How does it make any sense that these broadcasters even qualify for any tax payer funding?
No wonder Canadians complain to the cable companies that send them an ever increasing monthly bill for stuff they're not watching. No wonder cable owners have finally demanded something be done about a system that benefits no one but a small coterie of broadcasters and the political parties to whom they show their largess.
Meanwhile, the American import shows that make up the bulk of Canadian programming almost universally include one or two Canadians as stars, showrunners, writers and directors. The other night, "Studio 60" featured a scene with Matthew Perry, Kari Matchett and Mark McKinney -- three Canadian actors. The script was co-written by a Canadian. It was a television moment that could have just as easily been shot here.
But it wasn't. Somehow that dynamic didn't fit with the Vision laid out for this country, although it continues to line the pockets of those who created it.
I hate it when I have to ask the wife to whip off her shirt to get people's attention. But -- now that I have...
About a month ago, the Canadian film business seemed to step into a vortex; and in a post on finding our way out, I asked for thoughts I could pass on to the Heritage Minister. I've received a few strategies from readers and fellow bloggers, while others have posted their own opinions elsewhere.
In a profound example of how an outsider can see the problem with a clarity beyond the locals, may I recommend a trip to Bill Cunningham's place for words that are particularly inspirational.
Today's events -- Jim Shaw back to writing cheques to the CTF after winning a Task Force investigation and a settled ACTRA strike hitting a new snag, -- would suggest that we're in for a wholesale change in the way we do business and maybe this time it should be us, instead of our betters in Ottawa, who determine where we're going.
So, if you have ideas on making the Canadian industry stronger, better or at least more interesting, add your comments to this post or send me an email address I won't publish, so I can hear from you in private. "Forgive me father for I have sinned, I had unclean thoughts about Mary Walsh and Bubbles..."
Anyway, as I said before, your ideas will be passed along and they will be heard and considered.
Thanks for stopping by.
Okay, Hon, you can put your shirt back on. On second thought...
Today is the Chinese New Year, welcoming the year of the Fire Pig, 4705. A Jewish producer friend tells me 2007 is year 5768 in the Jewish calendar, adding that this means that for 1063 years Jews had nowhere to eat on Sunday nights.
New Year is the biggest holiday in the Asian world, so more than half the planet is out lighting firecrackers and exchanging gifts. Therefore, I thought I'd offer a small Chinese gift of my own to mark the occasion.
A few years ago, a director from Hong Kong called to ask for my help in dramatizing the story of a gruesome torso murder that had occurred in the Chinese Canadian community. I get calls like this all the time. Some work out. Some don't. And a few add something special to your life.
The director's name was Ho Yim. I'd never heard of him, but I was familiar with the case he was describing and didn't think it offered much more than the chance to do a quickie splatter film. But he insisted he was a serious filmmaker and would send an example of his work to further persuade me. A few days later, a videotape arrived.
To that point in my life, my exposure to Chinese cinema amounted to Bruce Lee, a couple of epic martial arts films and a passing awareness of the cheap historical soaps and modern comedies I surfed past on my local multicultural station.
The film I was sent was "Tiengo Niezi" later released in English as "The Traitorous Prince" and "The Day The Sun Turned Cold".
It's the story of a young man whose father is murdered and ten years later begins to suspect that the killer was his mother. This leads to an agonizing study of the nature of justice, revenge and whether "doing the right thing" is ever the right thing to do.
It was nothing short of a masterpiece and I decided that if this guy wanted me to personally hack off body parts for his torso movie, I was in.
Ho flew to Toronto and we spent a couple of weeks working out the story and planning how it could be shot in Hong Kong and Toronto. During that time, he dragged me to a half dozen Chinatown video stores to introduce me to actors, technicians, film styles and storytelling forms literally foreign to me. Like most occidentals on their first visit to a Chinese restaurant buffet, I was overwhelmed with the exotic delicacies that were available.
Ultimately, the film fell through. But a couple of years later, Ho and I ended up in LA at the same time, both "under consideration" for major studio projects. Mine was a Sci-Fi series featuring biker babes in black leather. Totally brainless but based on a popular comic book and at least the casting sessions were fun.
Meanwhile, Ho's agent was breaking him into American features. I'll never forget an afternoon we spent poolside at the Oakwood Apartments as I tried (and failed) to help him make sense of the latest draft of "Alien: Resurrection". Both of us, more familiar with working on shoestring budgets and stories with a point, could not fathom how such vast fortunes had been spent to get material to a final and still unshootable stage, nor why a franchise we both loved was allowed to be so devalued in the hope of wringing a few extra bucks from its audience. Watching Ho struggle with the material was like seeing Michaelangelo try to make art with an Etch-a-sketch.
That "Nobody Knows Anything" Hollywood adage applies on so many levels.
But as we both waited for people far more astute and connected than ourselves to determine our career paths, he took me to out of the way theatres and continued my education in Asian film.
This year's favorite to win the Academy Award, "The Departed", is based on the 2002 Chinese film "Infernal Affairs" as well as its prequel "Infernal Affairs 2" and sequel "Infernal Affairs 3". Both the offspring are as good or better than the original and equally imaginative in their realization. To be fair, Martin Scorcese's version is less a remake than a brilliant cultural rethinking of the original.
But I still get a giggle reading the Hollywood Insiders who can't imagine how a "Departed 2" can be in the works with all the stars of the original...uh... departed. That kind of analysis reminds you of how overburdened Hollywood is by the rules of Syd Field and Robert McKee as well as the standard studio marketing models.
In much the same way good art triumphs over commerce, Chinese film overcomes the system that governs its people. There is no better way to celebrate the arrival of the Year of the Pig than to buy a ticket to see or to rent a Chinese film. If I may recommend some of my recent favorites...
Currently in theatres:
"The Curse of the Golden Flower" -- featuring a final battle scene that makes "Return of the King" look low-budget.
"A Battle of Wills" -- just drop dead inspired from start to finish.
Recently on DVD:
"Hero" -- which will remind you why films are in color.
"Myth" -- Jackie Chan as you've never imagined him.
As well as modern classics like "Days of Living Wild", "Kung Fu Hustle", "Shaolin Soccer" and "Exiled".
If you want to sample Ho Yim, please see "Pavilion of Women" with Willem Dafoe or his latest feature starring his son "A West Lake Moment".
Somebody once told me that the purpose of television was to give people something to masturbate to so they could fall asleep and not hear the raccoons going through the trash outside their trailer.
I used to think that was a joke, but it's making more sense all the time.
The major networks spend their seasons retooling formats, finding new islands to drop survivors on or hiring hot models to hold briefcases. The list of pilots for 2007-2008 reads less like an attempt to lasso an ever elusive audience and more an exercise in how many ways can you make "CSI" without using those specific letters in the title.
TV in Canada? They're still trying to decide who should pay to make something.
Perhaps most dishearteningly, the networks you depended on to tell you what's happening in the world would rather endlessly discuss who might end up with Anna Nicole Smith's rotting corpse.
But there is a light in this darkness. A new player arrived a week ago and is already slamming them right out of the park.
If what you see below does not shake you to your core, prove what the web can do that TV can but does not and have you phoning your local MP, congressman and anybody else who cares to scream about both the state of the world and what the media is denying us, then I have seriously underestimated the intelligence I've found in this blog community.
This film is also the work of Canadians Shane Smith and Eddie Moretti and should have the locals asking why they're not the most familiar faces on Newsworld or Newsnet.
A link follows the video. Brace yourself. This is the future.
You work so hard at constructing a story; give it a solid foundation of inner logic, track the motivations, ensure characters act and speak in a believable and consistent way, avoid “Deus Ex Machina” (I know, “if it was good enough for Euripides…”) and coincidence (I know, I know, “if they didn’t happen there wouldn’t be a word for them…”) and else wise bang your head against the keyboard until you’re certain no Development Exec in the latest from Fred Siegel or Barney’s can find a loose thread to pull the script apart.
You work; you slave -- and along comes Anna Nicole Smith.
We all know “Truth is Stranger than Fiction”. Long ago somebody augmented that with “Only because fiction has to make sense”. But can you imagine scripting this story (as someone inevitably will) and trying to have it make sense?
An old Hollywood writer I know calls dramatic lapses in logic, “Refrigerator moments” meaning you watch the final credits and get all the way to pulling a beer from the fridge before you say, “Hey, wait a minute…”
Another writer buddy insists you’re not good at your craft until you can turn these into “Jacuzzi moments”, meaning you’ve written the movie, cashed the check, made an appearance at the premiere and plopped into the Jacuzzi with a bottle of Bollinger before anybody says, “Hey, wait a minute…”
He claims such professional expertise explains Steven Spielberg’s entire career.
Which still leaves us with Anna Nicole Smith – now in a refrigerator while a bunch of guys in Jacuzzis plot to claim the paternity of her baby and perhaps the tens of millions the little dickens might be due to inherit.
How do you possibly build a believable story of how or why any of these people were in Anna Nicole’s life to begin with, let alone became happy hangers on to the train wreck? How do you make any figure of authority who even considers their applications for paternity seem rational and worthy of their position? How does anybody in this tragic cartoon come off looking good?
I swore I’d never, ever ask another writer this question, but – who do you root for?
I got stuck in a long commute on the weekend and ended up hearing sound bites from the two guys who’ve been claiming they’re the father for months. I don’t remember their names and can’t tell them apart anyway, so for the purposes of what follows, I’ll call them Quagmire I & II after the “Family Guy” character they’ve so obviously patterned their lives. Quagmire III arrived on Saturday, Prince Frederick von Ahnhalt, husband of Zsa Zsa Gabor, who at 90 is 30 years his senior. Among other bizarre quips, the Prince commented that Ms. Smith was “A little girl and all men like to be with little girls” (speak for yourself your highness) and my fave, “I wouldn’t kick her out of bed – but now she’s dead, so….” (So…? At least he’s not a necrophile?).
Between this guy and Prince Charles, it’s understandable why the Prince who sings wanted to be known as a symbol instead. I’d say it goes a long way to explaining the French Revolution too, except Frederick isn’t a real prince. He apparently bought the title from one who needed money.
This triple threat to identifying humans as intelligent life forms was followed by Ms. Smith’s sister, claiming that her niece was conceived with frozen sperm previously (I should hope so) extracted from the 212 year old Texas oil guy who died and left her a couple gazillion bucks. She was also quoted as saying she knew “That evil bitch” (her sister) would get the last laugh.
Meanwhile an LA Judge overseeing the paternity trial ordered Miss Smith’s body to remain on ice until the court received a DNA sample because he didn’t want anybody pulling a “bait & switch” with the baby.
There are people who “bait & switch” babies? This is common knowledge?
I’m given to understand that the little one’s share of the inheritance is somewhere between $447 Million and zero depending on how all the current trials and appeals shake out. Making all this even more bizarre, since the winner of the baby stakes will probably then have to spend millions in legal fees to maybe get – nothing…
All day long, the thing I couldn’t get out of my mind was this – what goes through the heads of these fricken people – and why is their insanity allowed to intrude on my own?
I’m sure you do the same thing as me on occasion – you drive down some street, look at the houses and wonder what really goes on behind those doors. But this scenario is even beyond my overactive imagination.
I’m as into hot blondes as the next guy. Okay probably more than the next guy but this isn’t about me. My point is – just how desperate or delusional are you to believe you have any semblance of a relationship with someone as out of control as Anna Nicole Smith? Even Quagmire I & II must know you don’t get to be Playmate of the Year by shaking Mr. Hefner’s hand, for God’s sake!
And yes, “Love is Blind” and “The Heart Knows” and any lyrics you want to quote from a Dan Hill song. But watching footage of Anna Nicole stumbling along on the arms of these bozos convinces me they weren’t as much into her as the spotlight she weaved around in or the cheques she was looking to cash.
I mean, how many face plants does the mother of your supposed child have to do before you take some time off from filing legal briefs and look after either her or your kid?
And yes I know that addictions are terrible things and it’s tough to get help for somebody that doesn’t want it. But please – nobody was even trying here. Maybe least of all the people in our own business who kept handing her reality shows and award presentation appearances so they could carve off some of the money the rubes paid for the sideshow.
How come we outlawed circus geeks and dog fights, but we still license this kind of freak show?
According to the hordes of “fans” who spent the last hours of her life taking camera phone pix they’re now flogging to the media as she did double shots at the Hard Rock Seminole Casino 24 hour bar, "she was a happy drunk". Bob the bartender claimed this scene had been going on for weeks, describing the recently deceased as “plastered pretty much all the time”.
Here’s a tip for all your Florida State Troopers a little shy on this month’s quota. Hang around the Hard Rock. They don’t cut off anybody, no matter how many times they have to be hauled out of the pool and given mouth to mouth. And if I ran the Hard Rock, I'd be thanking "Bob" for how much the liability insurance kicks up next week.
Meanwhile, the Prince explains that she so much wanted to be a Princess that he tried to adopt her. But Zsa Zsa wouldn’t sign the papers. Can you even begin to imagine that conversation? “Honey, I know you think I’m banging her, but I just want her to be our little girl. You know how much I like little girls!”
Whoever would have cast Zsa Zsa Gabor in the role of the voice of reason?
According to Prince Fred, he loves his wife and didn’t want to further upset her, so he dropped the adoption idea and carried on a secret ten year affair instead.
Don’t you wish sometimes there really was a God, so he’d come down and smote these monkeys instead of letting them dominate our airwaves and take even more time away from stories that actually make sense – or at least entertain?
I recently saw a film entitled “Idiocracy” about a future world where the dumbing down of our society has led to people becoming – uh, really dumb. Luckily it was released before Ms. Smith took her final nap, so it can still claim to be Science fiction.
There’s a great editorial in today’s LA Times, explaining how the mainstream media ended up all over this story. You can find it here. I accept the reasoning, but not the justification.
This circus is going to go on for weeks and the same network people who keep asking me to make characters believable will be all over it.
Everybody has a sore spot. An old sports injury that flares at an inopportune moment; the bad back that tightens without warning; a something or someone that pops up from time to time to remind you life can be incredibly unfair and unjust.
For me the wound that just won’t heal is Karla Homolka.
Karly Curls. Schoolgirl Killer. Serial Rape Enabler. Paul Bernardo’s “Better” Half. She came into my life uninvited and thanks to a Justice system that refuses to admit it made a mistake and allows ever greater injustices to be perpetrated, she just won’t go away.
For those who don’t know the story, there are a ton of books on the subject and endless web sources. In brief, Karla and her husband Paul, the perfect suburban couple, were responsible for the deaths of three teenage girls, Leslie Mahaffey, Kristen French and Karla’s kid sister Tammy. They also drugged and sexually abused other women. Many believe they were responsible for other deaths. They videotaped their crimes.
When the police finally arrested Paul, Karla offered to testify against him in return for lesser sentences, claiming to be a battered wife and unwilling participant in what had gone on. Shortly after the deal was done, the incriminating videotapes were discovered. But, according to authorities, nothing could be done to undo what became known in the Canadian press as “the deal with the devil”. Karla served 12 years for Manslaughter and is now a free woman, living under a new identity in Quebec.
She popped into the news this week with rumors that she has had a child.
I’m not a believer in Capital Punishment. But I do believe that someone who kills should not be given the opportunity to do it again.
Part of the process I used in writing and producing “Top Cops” was spending time on the job with cops. That included being present at a number of homicide scenes. Some were mundane, some appalling. My first was a decapitation, my last made Hannibal Lechter seem like a Vegan.
But all of them had the same emotional impact. Being in the presence of someone who has died violently hits you with an enormity you’re never quite prepared for. The whole scene roils with both the echoes of the savage, uncontrolled emotions that caused it as well as the unfathomable dimensions of what’s been taken away.
Trust me – it’s not at all like “CSI: Miami”.
Oh, sure, there are cops who go for the gallows humor or play the tough guy role. Everybody grieves differently and everybody deals with horror in their own way. And no matter how much we all intellectually know we could perpetrate such crimes, there’s no description for being in the presence of the act.
Paul Bernardo went to trial in Toronto in 1995 and a US network I had done a show for asked me to attend. They were considering an MOW and wanted me to write it. I knew a little about the case but not much more than the average person. You needed passes to get into the courtroom and the network arranged one for me and one for a reporter from their NY affiliate, who was arriving to do a story.
The Reporter was standard issue, attractive, energetic and excited at breaking a story the American media had not paid much attention to. Paul would be her OJ.
The trial had been going on for a couple of weeks, but we were there for the appearance of the star witness, Karla Homolka; one of my duties being to short list the actresses with network obligations who could play her.
The courtroom was packed and I had to explain the differences from a US courtroom for the Reporter. The robes. The dock. And a video system that had been installed to both serve justice and protect the public and the victims. Video monitors were placed where they could be seen by the Judge, the Jurors, the Accused and the Witnesses. But they could not be seen by the public. However, the audio portion was made available in open court.
We took our places. The Judge and the Lawyers took theirs. Bernardo was brought in by his Jailers. He struck me as the kind of guy you saw all over Bay Street (our version of Wall Street). Well dressed. Well groomed. With the same pointless demeanor and detachment from life you see in a lot of people in the financial trade.
If you saw Christian Bale in “American Psycho” you’ve seen Paul Bernardo.
Karla arrived from a different holding pen and the spectators all craned and buzzed in reaction. I didn’t think she looked as attractive as she had in the newspaper photos. She was calm, conservatively dressed and well spoken; initially taking pains not to make eye contact with her ex, the Accused. When she finally did, it reminded me of the way one of my ex’s had looked at me in divorce court. Detached but familiar, knowing this was the last time we’d ever be in the same room together.
The Crown Prosecutor led Karla through her testimony, sticking to the script written in their deal. Battered wife. Terrified and unable to stop the monster she was married to. Wanting so much to save “those poor girls” and her sister. But she was just so damn small and helpless and trapped.
Karla wasn’t a very good actress – and by this time she’d had time to practice. Having sat through many police interrogations where both the interviewing officer and the eyes on the other side of the one-way glass are watching for any hint of a lie; I couldn’t fathom how anybody had bought what she was selling. But they had. It was a good story and now they were all stickin’ to it!
When Paul’s Lawyer had the opportunity to cross-examine, he tore her tales apart. Within an hour I was convinced that while Paul was a nasty piece of work, Karla was beyond any evil I have ever encountered.
And this wasn’t due to some brilliant lawyer building “reasonable doubt” in the Jury. It came from the words and actions of Karla herself. All around me the faces and the reactions were the same. Nobody believed a word she was saying. Not one word.
And then they played the tapes. Over and over and over. Minutely re-examining the hours before the murders in heart-breaking detail.
I won’t describe what I heard. Not that I can’t. I won’t. Nobody else needs the images in their head that were put into mine that afternoon. What became obvious to every person in that courtroom was that despite the truly unspeakable things Paul Bernardo had done, it was Karly Curls who did the killing.
By the end of the day, the Reporter was devastated. She may not have been much of a journalist, but she knew what she’d witnessed could not be repeated. And I knew this was one script I would not write.
The Reporter flew home, but I went back. Not because I’m some kind of masochist, but because I had to understand. Not understand what had happened in that quaint suburban house of murders on the shores of Lake Ontario, that was painfully clear; but why the Canadian Justice system was so avidly pursuing such a massive miscarriage of Justice.
Don’t get me wrong. Paul Bernardo deserves to spend every second of the rest of his life in prison. But he should have had company.
A couple of years later, the production company I was working for was asked to bid on a screenplay based on the case called “Invisible Darkness”. It was well written and got to some of the “truth” but not in a way that would have made anyone question the “deal with the devil”. About a year ago, a fairly trashy US film called “Karla” came and went in about a week. It too followed the official version.
I’m not one of those who thinks certain stories shouldn’t be told. I’ve sat with the families of murder victims I’ve portrayed. I’ve seen the pain that reliving their loss causes and wouldn't want to be a party to creating more of it. But all of those cases ended in Justice. Those families had the closure that Justice provides and were able to look at the dramatic portrayal of their loved ones as making a difference, either in preventing a similar crime or raising awareness of a problem.
The victims in the Bernardo/Homolka case did not receive Justice and that’s why the feelings about it run so high whenever the story reappears. But something bigger keeps Justice from happening and I still don’t know why.
We all understand that Governments lie and sometimes Justice is perverted to serve a “greater good” or to protect someone or something larger than the rest of us can understand. And often I wonder what that something or someone was here. Who did Karla get to or who needed to keep her free? What person in power did she touch at some level or who needed to protect her? Even my best conspiracy theory generator can’t come up with one that makes sense.
So now Karla may have spawned and the powers that be insist she’s rehabilitated, has served her debt to society and/or has the right to build a new life. Maybe that’s true. Maybe I should just forget it and move on.
But those tapes of children being tortured keep playing in my head and the images I get tonight are of a woman in a garret nursery in old Montreal, cooing over a cradle -- just like the last scene in “Rosemary’s Baby”.
A recent comment on Ken Levine's blog had this perceptive insight into the current state of the entertainment business...
"I am convinced of two things:
One, that most people have a perception that entertainment is somehow magically manufactured for their pleasure. It doesn't occur to them that real, live human beings with talent create the stuff.
Two, the people who actually run the industry believe this is how their business should work, and they wait feverishly for the day when they can do business without having to use (or pay) these pesky 'content providers'."
Maybe it's just me, but I've noticed a profound change in network and studio execs recently. They're usually bubbly and excited, eager for a new challenge and to be inspired. But they're tense now and cautious. There's a visible inertia that comes from uncertainty.
Not that there aren't good reasons to be uncertain. Ongoing audience fragmentation and evolving delivery systems aside, decision makers north of the border are contending with labor strife, funding issues and the confusion that follows corporate mergers and market consolidation. Their American cousins are dealing with looming labor strife, similar consolidation that's reducing jobs and shelf space as well as a complete lack of hits from the current TV season.
If you want to see how that impacts creativity, take a look at the pilot offerings from the four majors and CW for 2007-08. Almost 70% are police procedurals.
Its also becoming clear how fully the distribution tail is now wagging the production dog. Nobody wants to do anything unless they "know" they'll make their money back.
An LA associate tells me that studios no longer consider the merits of a pitch or a script so much as its potential to translate into mobisodes, video games, ringtones and a catchy T-shirt. In that world, unless somebody thought "We'll always have Paris!" would sell tanktops and there was an opportunity to franchise "Rick's American Cafe" nationwide -- we'd never have seen "Casablanca".
Content may be King -- but Buzz has become God!
That's a tough reality for anybody whose primary skill is creating stories and believable characters not wearable dialogue like "I'm with Stupid!". It reduces the need for people who've spent years honing their craft in theatre school and makes you wonder why anyone need bother to learn shot making from Scorsese or Hitchcock for a two inch cellphone or ipod screen.
I think Mr. Levine's commenter is remarkably prescient. And I can offer you a Canadian Showbusiness success story as an example.
Two weeks ago, Jodi Behan was just another out-of-work Toronto actress. Today she's moving to Los Angeles to capitalize on her stardom as YouTube's "Bridezilla".
If you've missed "Bridezilla", it's a badly filmed 5 minute video that purports to be a bride-to-be losing it over a bad wedding day "do" and shearing off her hair. The clip caused a minor sensation on YouTube after a debate began over whether it was fake. As a result, it was viewed more than 2.4 Million times in its first week.
The clip was conceived by an ad exec who'd been brainstorming a campaign for styling products with his server at a local bistro and shot as a commercial test. There's little about it that's creative or unique including Ms. Behan's acting.
And yet, to date, she has received offers from high-powered agents, lucrative television and movie deals and an invitation to this year's Academy Awards.
She was flown to New York to work the media circuit and is now off to L.A. for television and movie gigs involving "big-name actors."
Now, I've been around long enough to know its not unusual to see acting jobs go to personal trainers and the mistresses of investors. I once had a studio head call in a panic after seeing dailies on an actor she'd hand-picked as the guest lead on a two-parter. The poor guy was utterly appalling. I asked what had made her choose him. Seems his head shot had made all the girls in the office damp. Nobody at the studio or network had bothered to look at a single second of film or even read him.
We practically killed ourselves writing him out of part two and as much as we could of the remaining shoot of part one. Later, we shot new scenes to further reduce his role to that of a minor player. Needless to say, both episodes of the series were not up to their usual standard.
I honestly don't know whether or not Ms. Behan has talent. For her sake, I hope she does, because "Bridezilla" is already seriously last week's news on YouTube. And for me her "success" exemplifies just how lost the development people really are.
Buzz may be calling the shots but it doesn't last. It might help you survive and appear to have succeeded today, but it leaves you with nothing to build on tomorrow and echoes even more hollowly the day after that. There may be a moment of mass awareness in "Bridezilla" -- but there's also no video game, no ringtone and no T-shirt.
(I hate it when people characterize my industry ramblings as rants, because they're not composed in that frame of mind. I conquered my anger issues when I gave up Golf. So accept what follows as quiet fireside musings by quirky Uncle Jim, as he sits with a glass of Merlot, gazes at the television -- and loads his shotgun.)
A recurring theme at this year's World Economic Forum in Davos, Switzerland was the growing inability of governments, influence groups and multi-national corporations to control their populations, target audiences and customers.
For those of you unfamiliar with Davos, it's an Alpine ski destination that is home to the 11 guys who secretly run the world. The fellas stack their boards one week each January, giving up ollies and fakies in order to have some of the world's best minds up to the chalet to get wasted and guess the future.
My favorite prediction was from a panel on new media: Within the next year a major corporation or political leader will be destroyed by the work of a single blogger.
Who would have believed our major institutions were that vulnerable!
I can see DMC lining up Shaw Cable already...
But apparently these institutions are indeed that frail and they're scared too. For panel after panel at Davos showed that no matter how an agenda is spun or how diligently the powers that be stay "on message", people just can't be expected to do what's expected of them anymore. They're using this new fangled internet thing to consider second or even third opinions and demanding a better deal and more control of their lives.
The Internet tubes exposed some showbiz examples of this in the last few days...
In Toronto, the ACTRA sort-of-a-strike continued as union opponents began a concerted campaign to blame Canada's actors for our decline in production and the industry's overall woes. An article in the Toronto Star headlined "The End" painted a stark picture of artists and technicians facing bankruptcy, losing their homes or having to leave the country to find work. And while all of that is painfully true, it's telling that any blame at all would be placed on the group perhaps least responsible.
A number of producers also copied me an Anti-ACTRA video. I decided not to post it here because it's ill informed, probably libelous and so badly made it proves beyond any doubt most producers don't have a creative bone in their bodies.
The short presentation claims "actor greed" is destroying our industry and the ACTRA membership is being unwittingly manipulated by SAG (The American Screen Actor's Guild). That message is delivered with a tone of entitlement implying the messenger is in charge of greed and manipulation, thank you very much.
Meanwhile, as the two sides failed at mediation and headed off to court, several CFTPA spokesmen decried the loss of the "Big Studio Pictures" which would have come to Toronto if not for the strike.
Now, correct me if your experience is different from mine, but those films traditionally arrive with their stars and the bulk of their supporting players trailing them into the best hotels and restaurants. To be sure, ACTRA members work on these productions, often in significant numbers, but rarely do they comprise more than a fraction of the budget line alloted to onscreen talent.
Even in LA, where a certain strata of actors command enormous fees, the majority of SAG members seldom work above scale, or scale plus 10% if they have a good agent (that extra 10% being the agent's fee).
I've seen reliable figures indicating that the Canadian actor portion of the Big Studio Pictures filmed here amounts to 2% of the budget. Since ACTRA is allowing producers to sign letters of continuance to keep shooting despite the strike by paying a 5% increase in fees and 2% more for insurance and retirement, that means the average Big Studio Picture would see its budget skyrocket by a crippling tenth of a percentage point.
And that's sending everybody to North Carolina and Romania instead?
The CFTPA spokesmen also mentioned the general instability ACTRA has created by putting producers in the position of not knowing if they can keep shooting.
But virtually every producer already up and running or firmly scheduled to shoot in the next few months has signed those letters of continuance, proving stability either isn't an issue or nobody at CFTPA knows the words to "Solidarity Forever".
Both sides claim they offered to set aside the thorny issue of internet rights for a year but the other side turned them down. In CFTPA's version ACTRA demanded a 50% increase in fees to do that, while ACTRA's version said the producers wanted those interim rights for "free". Either way, it's obvious they both don't have either the tools or the desire to tackle that job.
The new media will be the core issue for both SAG and the WGA when their contracts expire in 9 months time. Letting the big dogs fight over that bone makes sense, because we here will eventually have to work to similar rates and conditions to remain competitive.
So what's really causing this anti-actor venom?
I think it's the coming labor unrest in Hollywood. LA studios are already stockpiling material in advance of the anticipated shutdown. In the past, that preparative strategy has included offshore production and ACTRA has put a crimp in those plans.
Production is booming in Vancouver where a seperate Performer union, UBCP, has created a window of unfettered production until April. But there are growing producer concerns that UBCP has been put in the catbird seat for their own negotiations, positioned to almost dictate terms in a few short weeks.
I'll get to the reasons the unions and Guilds are digging in their heels. But back to the venom. It comes from the same source as the angst in Davos -- a sense of entitlement.
Producers and Studios have historically been in charge and are now feeling squeezed both financially and creatively. They're not used to that and don't like it.
The Canadian Television Fund squabble aside, money is getting harder to raise everywhere. In addition, anybody with a creative streak, a camcorder and a credit card now can achieve product of almost studio quality to take to Park City or AFM -- some of them good enough to get distribution and therefore screen time that doesn't go to the big boys, precious shelf space they once commanded at Blockbuster, or simply a few of the dollars the average guy used to spend for entertainment.
Interestingly, a lot of those films also feature actors you wouldn't normally find outside the studio system. But the squeeze is hitting those people too and the easiest way back into that high earner strata is to get a good film (or even "any" film) released.
Like the multi-nationals now at the mercy of a single blogger, the networks and studios we once thought owned the world are having to converge and acquire to hang on to their market share, and since even that may not work they're getting cranky. They want their world back and their sense of entitlement is showing.
This week the MPAA, the communal corporate voice of the studios, threatened to delay new releases for up to a month in Canada to combat the scourge of camcorder piracy apparently running rampant in Montreal and ruining studio bottom lines.
I guess the thought was that this would scare our governments into enacting tough anti-piracy legislation or otherwise choke off the cheap supply of new releases flooding local malls and the internet.
Apparently, the entitlement gene prevented them from thinking this through and perhaps realizing such a strategy would also mean losing the spillover impact of their US marketing campaigns, creating the need to design a second campaign to run a month later, which would have to not only reignite interest but counter negative reviews and spoilers.
I guess this would mean Canadian Pay TV access and DVD releases would also be delayed by a month, or the studios would face further audience shrinkage by lessening the wait times to see a film via one of those options. I suppose you could lobby the Canadian government to enact tough new regulations preventing Canadians from ordering DVDs from Amazon.com instead of Amazon.ca, but wouldn't it be easier to put up a sign in theatres saying they'll confiscate any recording devices and pay a couple of high school kids minimum wage to wander through the theatres during each screening to look for anybody filming the film?
Those kids used to be called "ushers" and they also asked people to stop talking, put their feet down or turn off their cellphones thus enhancing the movie-going experience so there wasn't a debate about whether it would be more fun to go out to see a movie instead of staying in.
I have no idea how these marketing geniuses are strategizing their European release patterns today after an Italian high court Judge on Friday ruled that downloading is no longer illegal there.
The high school pirate down the street assures me that only idiots bother with camcorder downloads anyway when quality DVD Screeners are readily available. He showed me his laptop copy of a film that's been in theatres less than a week. Pristine and clear, it included a warning that the number in the corner would identify the user if his copy were shared or distributed. The code number had been pixeled out.
Perhaps our institutions are vulnerable because the guys running them don't have enough sense to know how cheap and easy it is to embed an invisible code to identify the industry insiders who are actually behind the illegal distribution of their material.
Meanwhile, other artists are embracing the sharing of their work and building audience loyalty by serving that market as well as selling their work on easily transferable flash cards and usb sticks.
It's always easier to beat up your audience base, the rubes you feel you are better than and whose money you've grown to feeling entitled to; than it is to figure out how to serve them better. "Serve them? Hey, Buddy we make the rules here not the audience!"
I recall a character in a Hollywood movie of the late 60's saying, "Stop trying to hold back the hands of the clock! They'll tear your arms out!" Maybe they don't even watch their own films...
The same sense of entitlement has them dictating to artists too. Two weeks ago, New Line Co-Chair Bob Shay tossed "Lord of the Rings" director Peter Jackson off "The Hobbit" amid a dispute over profit sharing on the trilogy, saying:
"He's got a quarter of a billion dollars so far. And this guy sues us! I don't want to work with him any more." He then reminded us of his entitlement with..."I don't even expect him to say 'thank you' for having me make it happen."
Jackson's response was simply: "Our legal action is about holding New Line to its contractual obligations."
A source in Variety surmised that Shaye's disparaging remarks were an attempt to put the focus on the millions Jackson had made instead of any book-cooking on the studio's part.
The problems in our business and elsewhere come down to the same thing.
We elect politicians who promise to make our lives better.
They don't.
We buy products from companies who tell us they're reliable.
They aren't.
We make movies for producers who promise to share the profits.
They won't.
And now the growing availability of information and shared experience is revealing just how deep those past deceptions have been. Actors and writers who've been royally screwed on residuals and DVD income for years aren't going to license any new media without a system in place that provides them with a fair share of the profits and accountability for the numbers.
They just won't!
The same new media that is causing this revolution is bridging the gap between artists and their audience, providing new ways to connect without the need for the corporate middle men who now sit between them and control both.
Author Primo Levi once said, "There is only one crime and that is undeserved privilege."
So guys, if you want to maintain your privileged position and stay in charge, it's time to stop feeling entitled and start being part of finding a solution.
Somewhere in the archives, I have a very nice letter from Walt Disney regretfully declining the opportunity to work with me. Until the age of 12, I wanted to be a cartoonist, maybe have my own strip like “Dennis the Menace” and freelance. But I also wanted to work for Walt’s animation department. Even at that age, I instinctively knew I wasn’t whacked enough to belong in the Chuck Jones bullpen at Warner Brothers.
I sent Walt a nice letter, a number of my best drawings and an estimate of what it would cost to move me and my family to Burbank. I was sure my dad could find a job once we got there, but I did feel obligated to cover some of the costs if we were going to uproot ourselves and become some theatrical Joad family lighting out for the promised land of California.
Walt wrote back, thanked me for the offer and praised my work, but insisted that I shouldn’t come knocking on his door until I’d gotten a high school diploma. To this day, I don’t know if he was thinking about my future or delivering my first letter of rejection. But by the time I finished high school it didn’t matter because Uncle Walt was in the freezer and my #2 pencils had been replaced by electric guitars and a bong.
But I read a lot of books about being a cartoonist and diligently watched “Learn to Draw” with John Gnagy. That was a half hour show where using the simple ability to draw a circle, a cube and a cone, John would turn out a masterpiece in under 20 minutes, spending the next ten shilling for his learn at home kits and giving out art tips.
I had great respect for anybody who could crank out a polished piece of work stopping only for a single commercial break. Although, looking back, I think John cheated a little. Virtually every one of his sketches ended up with a big honking tree in the foreground as “a natural frame” which also obliterated a third or more of the canvas.
The other day I realized that one of the things I’d learned during my cartoon training has stuck with me and continues to play a major role in my writing career. That’s something cartoonists call “The Morgue”.
A cartoonist’s morgue is a filing cabinet filled with doodles, drawings, tear sheets from magazines, photographs and other visual devices that become references or models when the time comes to draw something similar. In other words, you don’t have to have a model come in to pose with a pick-axe if you’ve got a chain gang photo to use instead.
Although having a naked lady hanging around the office is always a good thing – and it does allow the handcuffs to become a tax deduction.
But I digress….
When I wrote my first script, I started keeping a journal, writing down all the ideas I wasn’t using (but thought I might need later) and adding pictures and sketches as visual examples of what I was after. That has evolved over the years to making daily notations of story ideas, character traits, idiosyncrasies I’ve noticed about people with similar occupations or personalities.
I now have 40 or 50 black hardcover notebooks sitting within reach, each bursting with material I’ll probably never use and bent out of shape from all the clippings, photographs and drawings that have been glued into them.
Each time I write a script, I select one at random before I start my first revision and read through it, inevitably coming up with a legal pad page or two of one-liners, character shadings, jokes or visual ideas to incorporate into the pass.
I’ve always been careful to credit any quotes from outside sources, so those aren’t used, but often become a springboard to creating something new. And whenever one of my own entries is used, I cross it off so it doesn’t end up in something else.
Invariably, pulling material from the morgue helps me to focus on what I’m really trying to say with a script. And over time I’ve also noticed recurring themes and personal insights that end up giving the material an identity I can call my own.
No matter where you are in your writing career, it won’t hurt to take a few minutes a day to write down what you’ve been thinking about, reacting to or have heard in passing. It might not seem important now, but the day will come when it just might make something you’re writing better for its being in the morgue.
