by Ray Succre
EMERY:
It’s not about Nazis. It doesn’t even draw much of a parallel, in fact. That’s reaching, and I didn’t intend anything like that. If it came up publicly, we could easily say there isn’t any such comparison in there. The connection is quite loose, if anyone wanted to make it.
JAMISON:
No. We like these people at first. We feel bad for them. Hell, we’re rooting for them. It doesn’t matter that there’s only a ‘parallel’ or a loose ‘connection’, however you want to phrase it. You can’t make the public like somebody and then have it turn out that somebody is sort of a damn Nazi. It’s a slap in the face and I won’t run it. And while I’m at it, those sleazy bank managers that help the town do this thing? That seems a little shylock. Now, I know neither of us wants that, and Levy’s Complete Emollient sure as shit won’t. And they’re paying for your travel, you understand?
We spin with camera around EMERY, slowly at first but then faster. Emery is speaking but we can’t hear him. We make three revolutions as a loose assembly of horns begins to blare, alarm-like but still somewhat rhythmic and musical.
CUT TO:
Flashback sequence. We see EMERY in a montage of work and bustle for The Other Side. The horns continue blaring, the rough outline of a tune. EMERY is busy with an assortment of people. We cut frequently from this to EMERY sitting at his typewriter in his new, Los Angeles house. These brief scenes take place in a small study, and at times at the kitchen table.
The tune abruptly ceases as we see EMERY clouding with smoke from dozens of cigarettes.
FADE TO:
The weeks preparing the script, already accepted. The roving for actors and talks with Bob Keith to direct. Having to finagle the set department to give him what he needed, fighting to get the show the ability to film on location like cinema. Driving out into the goddamned desert to find a place to shoot. Putting up with Bernie’s brass-tack approach to everything. Moving his entire family to Hollywood. It was exhausting and it cut deep.
Sol Jamison. Tall and vociferous. Mean. In the executive producer’s office, Emery sat like a rebellious child, smoking and thinking over what he had been told. What did Sol Jamison want him to do, remove the residents and the town from the script? These things were the script. What sort of paranoia was this? Emery sighed, having spiraled into an earnest mood. He allowed in himself something he only reserved for back-against-the-wall scenarios: Tacit coldness with an ounce of venom. This was the sort of flack talk he had once used on opponents before his boxing bouts, back in the ARMY.
“You look here, Sol. I don’t know you that well, and I have no idea if this is out of the ordinary for you, or if you’re just this damn picky and paranoid all the time, but the pilot is already in motion and we’re running it. Your argument has no legs, so it’s gone. Move past it. And if you can’t handle this production, Bernie and I will find someone else who can do that without gumming it up. The last thing I need right now is someone I don’t know haggling over literary themes with me. You’re the money guy and I’m the story guy, you hear?”
“All right, now you just stop right there,” Jamison said, seeming quite roused.
“No, you stop,” Emery continued, “This is my show, and your moral qualms won’t touch it; you have no creative control, understand? None. That’s mine, and it’s contractual. You’re supposed to keep things moving, not interfere, so reconcile yourself and help me get this show on its feet.”
There was an uncomfortable moment in which nothing was said. Emery stood and waited, concerned with his own behavior, as well as little proud of himself. He felt as if he had boxed a good-looking match with bright gloves in front of discerning, invisible spectators. Jamison quietly collected his anger, and when he spoke, it was with extreme enunciation.
“Don’t you… ever… talk to me like that again, you understand?”
“Well, if you’re-
“EVER. You take that tone with me and I will break your arrogant, shit nose. I will drag you to the fucking airport and send you back to New York with your dick in your hand. You work for me, not the other way around.”
“Threats, then? You just got your sorry self fired. I was asked to be here, and it’s my show. We’re doing it the way I wrote it. That’s the fact. You’ll be off this show by nightfall.” Sol scrunched his mouth and turned his eyes down. While keeping his gaze on his desk for a moment, and not on Emery, the redness in his face slowly subsided. His back straightened. He was not, after all, going to break anyone’s nose, it seemed. After a moment, he swallowed and spoke, having recovered a minimum of calm.
“Asher... I’m executive producer on this show. Do you understand what that entails?”
“I know my way around a production, but this is my production, for once.”
“Oh, mine mine mine. Me me me. Buddy, do you have any idea what writers get out here? Nothing. Dime a dozen, and those Emmys of yours are the only reason we’re still having this conversation.”
“I see; I’m privileged to have someone like you change my story,” Emery said with distaste.
“No, you’re privileged because you’ve proven you can work for this network. You’re getting the benefit of the doubt, Asher. Most aren’t offered that. Look, I’m not some shill hired on to do a little job here for a show. This isn’t New York. Your show pumps with my blood, got it? I’m the executive branch. Bernie is the judicial. You’re the legislative. Keep that close to your brain, because if we can’t work together now, this show goes nowhere. In a hurry. And nobody wants that.”
“I’m not changing the story. What you want removed isn’t even in there.”
“Then we go home and relax. Tomorrow, we’ll just start over with a different story. It’s easy. You got tons of ‘em, I hear.”
Emery lifted from his chair quickly, muttering profanity to himself as he spun back. Sol also stood quickly, uncertain about whether the argument had become physical, after all.
“...waste of my time,” Emery ended before walking out and letting the door rock hard against the frame.
CUT TO:
C.U. of Jamison’s desk. We pull back until we can see most of the office, from a ceiling corner. This is somewhat like security camera footage in angle and feel. We see the rate of time speed up in the room. The scene is now silent and in fast-motion. JAMISON’s body twitches about as he works over several sheets of paper on his desk, setting them aside one by one, rapid fire. He yawns and exits the office, returns, takes his shoes off.
The camera slowly pulls toward him as he writes a paragraph in a memo pad. We reach a medium shot, see JAMISON speak briefly to a woman who enters the office and who quickly leaves. He then puts his shoes back on, exits the office for a bit longer, returns again. He leans back in his chair. The camera slows to normal speed and the audio fades in: The phone is ringing. We see and hear Sol Jamison answer the phone with his name, sitting up in his chair, tired. We hear the voice of Bernie Dozier, scratchy and patched over the audio. The call unfolds.
DOZIER:
Sol, what the hell happened with you and Asher?
JAMISON:
(rolls his eyes and frowns)
Went straight to you, huh? Well, I told him the truth. I was honest with him. Bernie, that guy doesn’t know his place. It’s not that he’s an amateur and just doesn’t know how things work out here, it’s that he doesn’t care. He’s arrogant and full of himself. Bad for business. I’d get out of bed with him as soon as you can.
DOZIER:
That’s not an option yet. And now it’s worse than him being arrogant; he’s really pissed off, Sol. The noise he’s making is like you don’t belong on the show. He said you two almost went to blows. Is that true?
SOL:
I don’t feel good about that, but yes, we almost did.
DOZIER:
Sol, he wants you fired.
JAMISON:
What do you think about that?
DOZIER:
I think he just hung up on me and
my ear is hot. I think I’m statin’ the obvious when I say that you need him to like you, Sol. He has to like you. And you have to like him. Or at least pretend like you do.
JAMISON:
This is why we keep writers out of production.
DOZIER:
Well, that was pictures. You’re in television now. The rules are changing, especially when the writer produces. It’s just the way of things. What I’ll do is see what I can glue back together on my end, but you’re gonna have to be more giving, you understand? You can’t take the hard line with this guy. Find another way.
JAMISON:
Those Emmy awards should have never been invented. They make for bad blood and petulant people. Some rules shouldn’t change, Bernie. And he took the hard line with me. Somebody needs to sit that jackass down and explain how things work on a network show. The writer doesn’t call all the shots.
DOZIER:
They get to call a few of ‘em if they win Emmys, Sol, whether you like it or not. That’s a fact. Especially when they have creative control as producers. We’re changing with the times, and this is a different setup than you’ve done before. CBS needs a Hitchcock that can work in an 8pm slot, and for now, Asher’s the guy we’re gonna move with. This kind of show is based around one guy. He’s the main event in it, just like Hitchcock at 9:30. Hang in there. I do agree with you, brother; you’re right, somebody does need to sit him down and tell him more about how this all works in the west. Thing is, that somebody is you.
JAMISON:
Fine, but he isn’t gonna listen. That’s how all of this started. He doesn’t get it, and he loses his temper. Wants everything his way. I don’t like tantrums. It’d be better if you talked to him.
DOZIER:
Better for who? Not for me. You two are on the same ship, understand? You’re gonna shake hands and run it as smooth as you can. Give him a call tonight. Shake hands.
JAMISON:
Old Spice doesn’t like him, either. This Nazi script... What the hell can we do with something like this?
DOZIER:
The show is solid, and I’m sure the boys at Old Spice see that, we just hit a bump with the pilot. I’ll talk to him about it, this time, but you gotta call him tonight and make friends, all right? I can’t babysit the two of you, and if it comes down to me having to get rid of one of you, and he’s the award-winning head writer, AND the on-air talent, AND a producer... Jesus, Sol.
JAMISON:
Wonderful. Just cut off both balls for me, Bernie; thank you.
FADE OUT:
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FADE IN:
EXT. A RURAL, DUSTY ROAD - 5:50 A.M.
We see EMERY, on the side of the road, smoking and pacing on the opening location of EVERYTHING IS BROKEN. There is a Beltline Coupe pulled over, its hood up, and TOM HAWKINS, an actor, is sitting in a collapsable chair nearby. HAWKINS is being touched up by a MAKE-UP ARTIST. The CAMERAMAN and his FIRST ASSISTANT enter the shot, smoking and collaborating, pointing at something off in the distance.
EMERY:
(to passing GAFFER)
Say, Rodger- has Hawkins talked to you about the lights? Looking later in the morning, and not six?
RODGER:
I know. We were changing it but then we were told to keep it bright like it is now. Jamison wants the car clearly lit, he says. Something to do with—
EMERY:
With Beltline being a sponsor. Christ.
CUT TO:
Emery sitting on the trunk of the coupe, JAMISON bent over his knee. Emery then lifts his hand and begins spanking the man, disciplining him. Jamison wails and cries. After a moment, Emery sighs and stops the beating. He lifts a bottle of Old Spice with a nipple on it, begins drinking from it with a frown. After a moment, we see EMERY cram this nipple into the executive producer’s mouth. This quiets Jamison.
FADE TO:
Compromise. Altering the story proved necessary and, while upsetting, was an allowance that needed to be made in the effort of negotiation, which was more sufferable than surrender or murder. The story change was throughout, but did not affect the flow or breaks. Emery would need but a day to finish the new script. Any potential allusion to Nazis and Jews was removed, in that, instead of Marburg trying to take over the next town with the aid of bank managers, the second town runs dry on its own, and approaches Marburg for help. Marburg, not doing well either, turns them away. The curse comes to Marburg soon after, for, in essence, refusing to help their fellow man. The Sun would be stuck at seven a.m., instead of just prior to sun-up.
It was accepted by Jamison and the sets were commissioned. All began. Emery still didn’t have a writing staff, but with an extension to his deadline from Pacific Pictures, and the collapse of a deal with Studio Gailer in Chicago, he had some time to put things together for The Other Side. At least in the endeavor of hiring writers, he would not be hindered by the executive producer for anything beyond monetary concern. The writers would be of his choosing. He hoped.
CUT TO:
JAMISON, face flush, standing with EMERY behind the garage building on the outdoor set of Marburg. Emery rolls his eyes at something JAMISON has said.
JAMISON
(angry)
No, you called him boring. You told him to go back to school. What the hell is wrong with you? Is your skull made of brick? His uncle’s a dealmaker at Beltline and we all made sure you knew that in advance. You just cost us our sponsor, you ungrateful prick.
EMERY:
(defensive)
We had a good exchange. We talked and I told him he wasn’t the guy, and he wasn’t sore about it at all. The kid understood when I said no. He was fine, Sol. If he screwed us with Beltline, I had nothing to do with it.
JAMISON:
I told you to be careful with that one. Treat him right. He wasn’t okay. He went crying all the way to his damned uncle.
EMERY:
He couldn’t write. That is not my fault.
JAMISON:
Then you bench him as a pack-mule and toss him re-writes. That’s as good a start as any. You don’t insult him.
EMERY:
Sol, listen… If Beltline backed out, can we go back to the opening shots and make it look like night again? The way it’s supposed to look?
JAMISON:
No, keeping shot is how we make up for it. I’m not losing any more money on the damned time of day. We keep it the way we got it now and we let Beltline know we’re sorry. You know how many episodes they were willing to pipe? Three. Three that now have major backing. Jesus, you’re a piece of work, Asher.
We see the ghosts of Marburg crowd around the two, having left the visible set. The GHOST OF A HAYSEED steps forward.
HAYSEED GHOST:
Thing is, it was one sort of town that didn’t want to help another sort, that’s all. And that other sort hated the first. They couldn’t get along. Bad blood. All the two had to do was agree. Would have been simple to do, but we were damned fools for how we did. Could have avoided all of it, and this curse wouldn’t have noticed us and come. We could have grown together and lived right.
CUT TO:
EXT. THE EGO - NIGHT
EMERY eating steak.
CUT TO:
INT. A STUDY - DAY
>
JAMISON butchering a steer.
CUT TO:
EXT. BEYOND THE STUDY’S WINDOW - NIGHT
EMERY smoking and typing outside.
CUT TO:
INT. THE EGO - DAY
JAMISON dragging red ink through a list of expenditures.
FADE TO:
EXT. MARBURG TOWN SQUARE - 5:50 AM