Wednesday, 21 February 2001

RANTING & RAVING

Recent weeks have forced me to consider why I do what I do. Ironically, the end of TNT's funding of roughcut.com was amongst the smallest parts of that consideration. There are some ongoing issues with the company, which I hope I will never write about, but essentially, purely in terms of the pursuit of the profession of writing about the movie business, I could not have asked for a much better opportunity. And I milked it for all it was worth ... again, in terms of my writing. (Don't worry - I'm speaking in code to avoid legal traps ... don't mind me ... Cuban Girl SWAK")

TNT paid for me to go to film festivals and events. I worked my ass off, but they allowed me that freedom. And I didn't have to find the cheapest hotel or the best airfare. I was appreciated by my direct employers and they never told me what to write or how to write it. The only thing I was ever asked to take out of my column by management was a reference to New Line becoming more independent of Time-Warner in a story running the week of a shareholders meeting. I was told, even then, that running the story a week later would be fine. The only story that I was ever asked to remove as an editor was Susannah Breslin's look at the SAG Awards, which started, "A cow just shit on my plate." TNT aired the SAG Awards and, as cutting edge as Susannah was in shredding awards shows, I had failed to do my job as an editor, allowing such a thing to go through. I was wrong and they were right.

No, my pensive mood has come thanks to David Shaw's L.A. Times story on movie reportage and its resulting reflections. I have been doing The Hot Button for over three and a half years. I created the column for two reasons. One, the future of roughcut demanded daily content. Two, I wanted an opportunity to tell the truth. All the truth I felt was fit to print. The ruthless truth, the gentle truth, the angry truth and the kind truth. Little did I know how complex a mission that would be.

The first thing one has to get used to is that no matter what you write, at least one person will write to tell you that you are completely, absolutely, idiotically wrong. And, in my case, that letter with be the only one that really sticks with me for days. Of course, there is a whole big group of people who write with such vitriol that when one responds, they inevitably write back with an apology, somehow unaware that the "e-me" button that sends me e-mail is actually going to be read by the subject of all that rage.

The great experience of The Hot Button is that, as time has passed, not only has the ratio of negative to positive remained powerfully in my favor, but the people who are reading and responding to the column have become the top people in the industry. Of course, there are those who still have no idea who I am and could not care less what I think. But my ability to throw a small pebble in the Hollywood pond and watch the ripples expand endlessly has become quite rewarding. The responsibility is, of course, not to start pissing people off just for the fun and power rush of it.

The second big lesson is that people in the movie business have skins about as thick as the membrane on Ray Liotta's head in Hannibal. It doesn't take much to start a war. The most fascinating thing is to watch the different styles of dealing with the reactions. There are studios who call up immediately, good or bad. There are others who never call and I only hear through the grapevine how pissed off this one or that one is. Then, there are those who call selectively… you never know how they feel. My favorites are, of course, the first group. They get it. They can have a great run for months. Why? Because they have great movies. But things always change. The honest execs are the ones you have to love.

And that brings up lesson three: in the great words of Cameron Crowe's incarnation of Lester Bangs, "They aren't our friends." And you know what? He is/was right. Yet, I know of very few writers in this business who aren't desperate to become asshole buddies with any major player to whom they have access. It's a weird thing to deal with. I loved Quills. Weeks after I ran my comments on the film, I met Phil Kaufman, who loved my comments on the film. I want to go to San Francisco to hang out with Phil Kaufman as much as I want to do anything in this business. Hanging out with Phil, his family, Tom Luddy, etc, etc, etc… these are people who deeply care about what I deeply care about. Yet, in the 5 months since the invitation was extended, I haven't called. Why? It just feels wrong. Every time I write about The Dish, I make sure to mention that I thing the guys who made the film are just great, great guys. It would be really hard for me to tear them a new one ... and who knows, someday they might deserve one.

Lesson Four: People who write about the movie business are even more thin-skinned than the people who make the movies. Why? Because most people who write about movies wish they were making movies. And the majority of the balance do not care about movies at all. Only a small group of writers really love all this and don't covet what the people who they cover have. (Well, we all covet it ... but not all of us resent them for having what they have.) You can find a lot of flaws with Roger Ebert, but you can't doubt for a second how much he loves movies. A guy like Patrick Goldstein could just phone in his L.A. Times column each week - but he doesn't. He scours the web for the latest news and he thinks about his subjects, he doesn't just schedule them.

PAGE TWO: More Lessons, Learned & Unlearned