by Ray Succre
His unemployed summer had run him down and caused a severe rift between himself and the network, a breach he could not repair, even though he was now working again. He was no longer on cordial terms with CBS, and instead thought of the network as unavoidable, an unscrupulous, teenaged dictator. The late initiation of a third season had caused him much physical work. He rushed to both create and redeem a schedule, and keep himself on the move with constancy. A helpful situation occurred when the network chose to relocate The Other Side’s base of operations to Television City, a large complex of studio sets on the other side of Los Angeles. For a short period, settling into the new studios was troublesome, but once the show had been fully moved, Television City proved to work well in saving time, here and there. It was a more efficient setup, though a longer commute for most.
The cancellation caused there to be more work to do, and less time was available to do it. This seemed unending, and weariness was finally managing to get its roots into the writer most had considered indefatigable. Also troubling was that the new executive producer was a blase and difficult-to-catch sort of man who did not seem interested in alleviating Emery’s heavy workload at all.
Unlike Sol, Bule Rowe was seldom to be found. He stayed away from the shoots as much as possible, appearing only when there was trouble afoot. In earlier days, Emery would have been pleased with this arrangement. Now that he was tired and worn from the haphazard treatment of the network, and his mind worn from the summer campaigning to get the show another few breaths of life, Emery needed help. His mid-thirties had become his late thirties, and he now found himself making promises to which his body would not agree. He haggled with his energy levels, keeping afloat, but it was a constant effort. His exhaustion was catching up with him and the grueling, nonstop schedule of production was spreading him quite thin; he was writing less, smoking more, and was seldom comfortable at home. He rather wished the other producer were available more, to handle some of the smaller things, as those little troubles stacked up so easily. Emery was still the go-to man on set, but he was running dry of good advice and cheer. When a change in scene was required, or even a simple rewrite for a piece of dialogue, and he still moved quickly to make the change, but he no longer felt good about the work. He felt tedium. A good portion of his statements could be summed with the simple use of a sigh and mild agreement. He found himself more accepting of changes he might once have argued over.
Nearing sixty years of age, Bule Rowe was an odd choice. He was definitely the senior on set whenever he came around. Emery wondered what Dozier was thinking, tossing an old-timer into such a haphazard mix of younger people. Playing Tweedledum to a 38-year old Emery Asher would require some insight, a reservoir of willpower, and a certain zeal for getting things done. It was doubtful Rowe had that much eagerness in him, especially considering that he was not often reachable. More troubling was that Bule Rowe had worked only in romances (though with a brief foray into a Mexican-American War piece that had aired two years prior), before taking this new position on The Other Side. Hell, most of Rowe’s experience in the field had been in radio, beginning in the 1920’s, before Emery had even been born.
At first, Emery concluded that the addition of Mr. Rowe had been settled as a sort of punishment, as if Mr. Rowe had made a few enemies, or been caught beleaguering someone of import, and had been thrown into producing The Other Side as his sentence. Or, perhaps the punishment had been intended for Emery. Rowe did not aspire for the show, giving but tacit explanations here and there of minor changes to budget, sponsorship, and those numerical bits of business that the two executive producers needed to hash out. He was also slippery. Much more than Jamison had been. Jamison had carried some sharp edges and could be terse when he was working hard. Rowe had no edges. He let most things bounce off him with little care. He did not like doing anything, for anyone, and wanted that known right from the start. Rowe was the sort of man that yawned when you spoke, and did little to hide his misgivings, being that he contained no sense of praise or optimism at all.
It wasn’t until Emery had been given a chance to talk on a personal level with the new executive producer that things began to make more sense. This occurred nearly two months after they began shooting the 3rd season, when a moment of exasperation caused Emery to dig up where Rowe lived and drive over to the man’s house, angry. With irritation, Rowe let Emery in and they had a talk. At the end of this discussion, which was riddled with Emery’s complaints and Rowe’s mild dismissal of them, the writer did have a better understanding of why someone like Bule Rowe had become Dozier’s choice.
Unbeknownst to many, Rowe had produced an unsuccessful pilot for a show entitled Danse Atomic, an anthology show that was to highlight science fiction involving the newfound power of the atom. It was not a novel idea, and had been done many times, but Rowe was apparently quite good with a pitch. He had been given money (by Dozier) to make the pilot. After completion, however, Rowe had faced much neglect by the network, who did not like what they saw enough to air it, or even talk with him. They felt that having more than one or two speculative anthologies was a disturbing and terrible idea, and Rowe’s pilot did not hold up to the shows already in place (one of which was The Other Side, then in its first season).
The pilot for Danse Atomic never aired and was a failed project. The concomitant themes, outwardness, and overall essence of the show, however, as well as its status as an anthology, had given the network the idea to put Rowe on another one. A place he might like, and in which he might perform well. They had been fond of what they saw, apparently, just not enough to allow it continue. Being placed with The Other Side was not Rowe’s punishment, but a prerogative destination for Rowe’s sense of genre, little as he seemed to show it. Dozier was doing Rowe a favor, it seemed.
ZOOM TO:
EXT. ‘STAY IN THE LINES’ SET, TELEVISION CITY - MORNING
We see a constructed playground, with a mulchy floor, having been erected in a parking lot. Many individuals are setting up for a scene, and several children are talking back and forth beneath one of the play structures.
EMERY and ROWE are standing between two parked cars on the lot as various staff keep clear of them. EMERY is angrily speaking to ROWE, who doesn’t seem very involved in the argument.
EMERY:
(pointing a finger)
You have to be on set, do you understand me? This isn’t the sort of work you can do over the phone. It’s been three goddamn days, Bule, and we need you here. I can’t do everything; you need to be here when we’re doing this.
ROWE:
Cool your jets. I’m here, aren’t I?
EMERY:
Yes, finally. But for long? What does Mr. Rowe’s busy schedule have in store for us, today? Will he be gone in an hour? Before we even start on the principals?
ROWE:
Lower your voice. And look around; everything’s fine. It’s underway.
EMERY:
(clenching his eyes a moment)
Because I’m DOING everything! I can’t keep this up, Rowe. I’m one guy; I can’t handle every problem that comes down the line. You know what I was doing last night at one in the damn morning? I was sitting in a diner going over the goddamn budget. Again. You need to keep your ass here, or at least in your office, where you were hired to be, and you need to take up some of this slack.
ROWE:
(annoyed)
If you’re having that much trouble, you’re in the wrong business. Part of this job is delegation. Handle your problems or pack your things.
EMERY:
Oh, I’m sick of hearing people say that. My last EP said that, in fact. “Handle yourself or fuck off. Be a man, Asher.” You know what, here’s my goddamn epiphany on ‘put out or get out’: People who tell you to handle yourself and get things done, Rowe, those are usually the people who aren’t holding up their fucking end. When they tell you to handle yourself and “solve the problem”, it’s because they haven’t done their own goddamn job
and they want you do do it for them.
ROWE:
Oh, it’s all a big conspiracy. Everybody’s out to get poor Emery Asher. They’re riding him ragged with his old car and his bad time-slot and all those shoddy suits and those awful Emmies. Poor guy. He’s got it real bad what with all the work.
EMERY:
Fine, condescend all you want. I’ve managed to bring this show back from the dead twice. I’m on my third run here. Oh, I can handle my problems, Rowe. In spades. I just can’t do that while I’m handling yours. You want me to delegate? Here’s how I’m solving this problem: Earn your fucking check or I will have you removed from this program.
ROWE:
Calm down. Right now. God, these people. Look, if you’re swamped, Asher, take one of your writers and get ‘em to co-produce. You should have done that at the start of the season. Hell, offer your guy Belmont a supervising producer gig. He wants to climb, so let him. That’s how you get things done.
EMERY:
(shaking head)
Pass the buck, huh? From you to me to whoever I decided to screw?
ROWE:
Buddy, your head is a brick wall. Big, red bricks. Asher, you can do whatever you want, all right? Just stay off my back, you hear? I don’t have any room on it for any more of your whining. And I’m not gonna stick around here all day and watch you go up on your little cross. For the love of God, call me when there’s a problem that isn’t you.
FADE TO:
An agenda spawned from both admiration and the need for relief. Emery began planning and his plan was sound. Rowe was a lost cause, but his notion of promoting Larry had stuck in Emery’s mind, and the more thought Emery gave to it, the more he was fond of it. Belmont, after all, was certainly proving himself as a man for whom many jobs could be given, and his interest in the show’s workings exceeded that of many others. Emery had begun a secret process of grooming the young man to take over the show. This would not occur for some time, and it was likely the show would be cancelled for good long before, but Emery was monitoring Belmont. He watched the way Larry handled things, and in some instances, Emery had even begun changing the style of the production here and there to align with Belmont’s specific skills. An example of this was when Emery chose a particular script from Joe Collery, a newcomer to the show and someone for whom a script or two might be taken from time to time, but a person that was not a production writer, or ever present. The script was a fit for Larry’s sense of story.
As an outside writer that Emery had known back in the New York scene, Joe Collery was capable on page, and any dealings with him occurred through postal mail. Emery had chosen a script from Joe that would not necessarily have been his first choice; he chose it because the script was something he knew Belmont would be all over. It was the sort of script the young writer could revise expertly, and had all the elements of Belmont’s favored style of writing. Emery did this because he planned to give the younger writer the reigns on the episode. The full reigns. He was not going to offer Larry a supervising producer credit. Emery was going to offer Larry the chance to co-executive produce the episode. This would be a hefty raise in position, even if it were temporary.
When it happened, the episode came off without any trouble, and occurred quite naturally, though Emery did have to meet with Belmont one late night before a shoot and go over quite a few details regarding an assortment of things. Larry had questions, of course, and needed guidance, but they were good questions, and the guidance he needed was more advisory than training. The time needed to go over these details ended up being relatively short however, and the two of them spent much of those three hours drinking and smoking and laughing in Belmont’s study. The younger writer may not have suspected yet, or possibly did and knew better than to bring it up openly, but there was a plausible scenario unfolding, one that dictated The Other Side was going to be given to him at some point, making him the head writer and a creative consultant next to Emery.
Emery would always write and act his monologues, but was growing weary of the constant hampering the show caused him, the terrible summers of cancellation (sadly mutated the worse by funerals), the disregard for his life, and the ever-swift whirlpool of network bureaucracy. He had other obligations, other contracts to fulfill, and he could only write so many scripts before he began faking it, here and there. He did not want that to happen. He could feel the current behind the money dragging him around the lake and forcing him to swim so hard in order to keep from being sucked down. The undertow was powerful, and collapse was down there. Failure was down there.
Larry was eager and wanted to move up, though was equally quiet about it. There was a feeling that certain things might happen, was all, and that Larry was on a hidden and uncharted track to having more say in the workings of the show. Another, stronger plausibility was that, for the first time since being drafted and sent off to war some seventeen years back, Emery had finally managed to feel close to a person outside of his family. He finally felt to have made a true friend, the sort one might consider a lifelong friend. Who knew? In the future, the roles might reverse, and Larry would be the one doing the favor for Emery. Calvin Moffat was a bit put out by Emery’s favoritism, but his work ethic did not falter, and he accepted the workings of production and his role in it without much qualm.
Bernie Dozier had faced staunch repercussion for his finagling to bring the show back on the air. Emery had not been the only person campaigning for the show over the summer. As much as Emery despised him, the network producer had once again overstepped his bounds to get a new season for the show. Bernie should not have needed to, as Emery was recognized everywhere he went now. Emery and Bernie had embarked on making The Other Side three times now. Every season felt like an extended series of pilots that had to prove the show was viable. Seeing through the lens of cancellations and scattered network whims was beginning to hurt the eyes, and both men began to feel uncertain in their mode. What were they doing right? What were they doing wrong? Answers to these doubts were becoming difficult to pin down, and the expectations of both the public and the network were more unclear than ever.
The fans spanned an enormous range. Old men, children, housewives, actors, his milkman... All of them loved the show and tuned in eagerly to watch it. What possible demographic and audience was the network monitoring in order to gauge the show’s success? Where did this group of people reside? It may as well have been Reykjavik, for all Emery knew. He could go nowhere without having to buffer himself from fans and interested families. He had posed for hundreds of pictures with people he did not know. He had stood before the primate exhibit at the zoo, pointing his finger at the monkeys and then aiming his camera beside Beth and the girls, while onlookers nearby pointed at him and readied their own cameras.
Dozier had managed, with the catalyst of Emery’s flood of letters and telephone calls to pertinent individuals, to get a third season for the show, but as if a penalty or sanction, he had been somewhat demoted. He would now manage over The Other Side solely. Bernie had begun two other shows in the previous year, and these had been stripped away from him and given to other, eager executives. One of these shows was now presided over by a board of them, rather than one person, something new being tried by the network. As far as Bernie Dozier was involved, the network had allowed him another season of The Other Side to prove the show’s popularity, but they were treating the show like the Titanic. They had made it clear that if The Other Side collided with any of their icebergs by the end of the third season, it was going down for good, and Bernie Dozier, as captain, was going down with it this time. He would be finished with CBS. The man had pulled through for Emery and the show, but had angered the wrong people in the process, and those people were now quite tired of him.
Bernie’s interactions with the network and the bounds he had overstepped had brought him close to the cliff’s edge. That proximity to an end had fostered an avidness and excitability in Bernie that Emery had never seen. Bernie appeared on set
frequently, unlike the new executive producer, Rowe, who was absent most days. While technically not an on-set producer, Bernie had begun giving constant aid to anyone who would take it. He did not help the gaffers set up, and certainly did not smoke out back with the teamsters, but he was always available. He had even fetched Emery coffee on one particular, wearying night, much to Emery’s surprise. Bernie Dozier wanted to keep moving. Badly. The future his demotion warned, combined with his feeling that he had been a part of Sol Jamison’s suicide, had transformed him from a seedy, untrustworthy man of some power, into a genuine, enthusiastic man of little power. Emery preferred the new Dozier, though still disliked him. There was a portion of Emery however, that could not but feel a certain pity for the man. Bernie had garnered the show a third chance, and Emery felt obliged, in the technical sense, to give Dozier a third chance, as well.
Everything was riding on this season, just as it had on the previous season, and the season before that. Everything was always riding. The networks reconsidered their television shows near to the minute, it seemed. Perhaps worst of all was that CBS had fallen under new ownership, and a man named Terry Nichols was running things, having usurped the role of top man at the network. Nichols had begun an immediate restructuring of the prime-time slots, expressing a serious lack of faith for several of the prime-time shows, and giving special mention to The Other Side, which he felt “cost way too much and returned way too little”. He had made the commandment that Bernie Dozier cut the season by seven episodes in order to trim the budget, and Bernie had complied. Nichols was the man who had sent the decree regarding using videotape for six full episodes. Videotape was a cheaper alternative to film. This was infuriating to Emery; having the show trimmed in size was agitating, but the use of videotape was insulting and those particular episodes looked horrible. There were other shows being given the same treatment, and it was not working well.