Thank You and Good Night

by Ray Succre

  On the heels of Banry’s lawsuit, which had been killed by its instigator in favor of a few promises from the network, was another suit filed by the same, damned man. The first lawsuit had been dropped, a contract had been signed, and Banry had simply filed another lawsuit, perhaps feeling himself clever. Emery’s cigarette intake was flourishing and no amount of respect for craft diluted his resolve that Banry was a despicable, curmudgeonly person. The new lawsuit was as frivolous and ludicrous as the first. Banry had penned a story involving a mexican-hating thespian. That protagonist, while in costume and makeup after a performance of a play near the Texas border, had finished a play in which he had portrayed a Mexican immigrant. Soon after, the thespian found himself mistaken for an immigrant (due to his costuming) by an evangelical hate-monger. The racist preacher chased the thespian into the woods near the playhouse, shouting at him that he was not wanted or welcome in ‘these parts’. The man got away, managed to take his make-up off, and could be assumed to have learned his valuable lesson: What it felt like to be a receiver of racism. The story was somewhat weak in narrative, but the spirit was there. Emery had written a teleplay that was similar, yes, but without any knowledge of the newer Banry tale. Emery’s experience with Banry’s story only came after the new lawsuit was proclaimed.

  Emery’s script, in question with Banry’s lawsuit, involved a white, southern bigot that hated just about everyone, and treated most people with cruelty. In the story, the bigot woke one morning to discover, much in suprise, that he was laying alone in the woods, and had transformed in his sleep. He was suddenly a black man in the early, antebellum south. The man panicked at this and headed for a nearby town in the distance, only to be caught by a hunting party and mistaken for a runaway slave. They brought him to town, where he was locked in a room and questioned. The questioners became very angry when they noticed he could read, and they beat him badly. With no information on any previous owner, the men placed the protagonist in a cell. He was soon thereafter sold at auction to a plantation owner every bit as cruel and bigoted as he had once been. There was a lesson, a speculation, but there was no redemption for the man. The ending for him was somewhat dismal. There was no waking-up-to-discover-it-had-all-been-a-dream, no happy conclusion, just a harsh comeuppance and a long, long fade: The protagonist would live out the rest of his days as a slave.

  Yes, there were traits in both tales that wore similar ideas, but nothing directly stolen or even all that cohesively similar. Banry’s story involved a playwright, Mexicans, and farmers, to show the just-desserts of racism. Emery’s story involved time-travel, the slave trade, and the old south to demonstrate a similar moral. That was all that really shone similar in the two tales: The moral of the story, with a few dissimilar seconds in the woods. One could not copyright a moral, and woods were a location quite common in supernatural tales. The moral was no more unique than those all-too-common stories of rich, arrogant people forced to live like the humble poor for a time, or even the tale of Ebenezer Scrooge: A penny-pinching totalitarian forced to realize the error of his ways by a visit from the other-worldly, direct from the other side, in fact. No one thought Emery was stealing from Dickens, and no one should have thought he was stealing from Banry, but the vociferous novelist had a loudspeaker in the story-writing world, in part through his Orange Grove group, and his mouth was quite active. When he, a celebrity, hollered about someone with Emery’s sort of celebrity, it was news and people listened. A bickering tussle between heavyweights was grand entertainment. Just in that, in the public listening, the message gathered weight. The network had, of course, shredded the contract they had signed with novelist and had no intent on honoring anything that had been offered in it. Banry filed a lawsuit for that, too.

  Perhaps the most damaging of the concussions Emery’s reputation received through the two lawsuits was that the more the press talked about Emery’s “alleged plagiarism”, the more the word “alleged” seemed to be given less focus. The notion that this crime was only a thing being claimed by one man was slowly being dismissed in the opinions of people and their commentary, their incessant letters to the editor, and even in their letters and passing questions to Emery, himself. Plagiarism was what stuck in the mind, not the allegation. The idea of the crime outgunned its supposition.

  Orson Banry would fail in his new lawsuits: No one could copyright a moral, and the network had been lawful in terminating the contract over Banry’s infringement of its clauses. Perhaps the most galling aspect of this plague on Emery’s character was that the press now came at him like a swarm of hornets. The public mind was prone to a certain blade of logic: Why would Orson Banry sue a second time if Emery Asher were truly innocent? The immediate rise of this new lawsuit against Emery had resulted in momentum for Banry’s general cry of ‘plagiarist!’, as if Emery had, indeed, stolen from Banry, this time as a sort of revenge. Worse, Banry had just won a copyright lawsuit against another novelest who had, in fact, stolen from him. The public saw Orson Banry as their own speculative voice. He was their author in the genres, a talented creator who was plagiarized often. Banry somehow existed within the strange reputation of being the nice man who was picked on. To the small-time writers and general public, these lawsuits seemed as if Banry was striking back against his bullies. The public enjoyed hearing about him going after the writerly thieves. In reality, Orson Banry had become a court cowboy who had fallen prone to a misguided sense of conspiracy. The novelist had luck and image on his side, but he was a very bad aim.

  The fourth season was en route, with much help from Belmont being a newly empowered part of the decision process. The first lawsuit with Banry had been shut down, and the scripts for Pacific had been written. That these upshots were supposed ends to specific troubles was obvious, but sadly, these positive outcomes had not become endings. Each was but a beginning to batches of hungrier, unswerving problems. Each bit of trouble solved only returned later with reinforcements, having spawned troublesome friends to which Emery would have to dedicate yet more time.

  The fourth season was not very good, and Emery knew it. Rather than appreciate the leverage he had been given on the show, he was beginning to resent his younger self for having agreed to so much work. Orson Banry’s frivolous suit had simply resurfaced as another frivolous suit, but despite the paltry meaning of it all, the novelist and his Orange Grove group were indeed doing much damage to Emery’s reputation. The Pacific Pictures scripts, submitted for approval, had only been un-submitted, due to the studio’s dislike of them. The stories would now necessitate much more work from him in the future, and one of them was being entirely chewed over by other writers he did not know. The original problem Orson Banry had posed, of being unable to deliver an acceptable script, was now the same problem Pacific Pictures seemed to feel they had with Emery.

  These problems were all quite large and unwieldy, and each had approached him on the legs of a hyena, stalking him as in a pack through a place that was only becoming more desolate as the months passed. This was a world of dilemmas for him, an illogical, spinning world where finding a solution to a problem was not the end of the problem, a solve, but only the starting off point for a new breed of troubles, each coming for him to have its way with his time, his image, and even his very name. Every asshole in the television world had an agency and an army now. No amount of accountability or performance was enough.

  He could not show this, however. He had to remain sturdy.

  CUT TO:

  The mask one wore when others were looking, when they were asking and reading; the better, devised face. Refined and prepared, donned and kept snug to give everyone the lovely, painted-on smile they expected. Was there anything more professional or American?

  FADE TO:

  Print.

  'Other Side’ has Other Side, Says Asher

  By TOM CHURLEY, L.A. Supporter, Sept. 12th, 1961

  Emery Asher said Monday morning that he has regrets about his work on fan-favored, The Other Side, now in its 4t
h season.

  The 38-year-old host of the show has a history of pointing the finger—from behind his dramatist pulpit—at networks and sponsors, as well as other writers, including popular science-fiction novelist Orson Banry.

  Asher spoke on Monday about the “superhuman” schedule the show demands—especially now that the show has garnered not only three Emmys, but two cancellations.

  “It keeps us all busy,” he said, “I’m less demanding now, but some would still say petulant. I have to keep our ship moving.”

  One of the reasons for being so busy, he said, is his ongoing battle with sponsors, who he claims are “squeamish by nature” and yet “over-involved” with the stories.

  “I’m a workhorse, sure. Gratefully,” he responded when asked about his many jobs on the show.

  When questioned about the copyright infringement lawsuit filed against him by novelist Orson Banry, the second such lawsuit filed against him, Asher declined comment, explaining that he did not wish to speak ill of Banry, and would not be filing a counter-suit.

  “I don’t want to attack him and I don’t think I need to defend myself from him. I just want him to focus on his own work, and not mine.”

  Sounding-off less than in the past, the seemingly new Asher had little to say regarding previous cancellations or the possibility of more trouble to come: “I’m not badmouthing my professional neighborhood.”

  Mr. Asher explained that he has completed many of episodes in the current season, which we’ll see through spring.

  “Almost everything is shot,” he said, and “fans will be pleased.” Asher not only writes, but produces the show hand-in-hand with CBS, and also acts as the on-screen narrator/host.

  “I do a lot of everything,” he said, “I have a lot of say. Even too much. There have been moments when I wanted the show to be finished, to let me move on to other projects, especially after the cancellations. Those are simply the other side of the show. The public sees a honed product, but the process of making that product can be manic. There are many people involved. A lot of politics.”

  Mr. Asher has also recently finished several movies for Pacific Pictures, newly owned by Claude Wilmot, with one of the scripts scheduled to begin filming in the summer.

  In addition, he said, “I’ve been talking with Billo and Samuel about a full-fledged novel, some ideas I have. And keeping busy with a stageplay version of Coronach.”

  The writer was interviewed at the home of actor James Paul, who reportedly plays two characters in this season’s final episode of The Other Side.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  She was wonderful on stage. Ten years old and full of strange, quiet bravado. The meek voice peeked from her thoughts like a mole-rat taking quick, distressed glances, but her physical presence was lit well, and her gestures were both entertaining and keen. Rebecca had not garnered the role she so wanted, that being the role of Alice, but had all the makings of an excellent Dormouse, despite that the character was male and generally played by boys. With enough makeup and a surprisingly creative costume, however, she was every bit the Dormouse she was asked to portray. The production was Through the Looking Glass, and it exhibited the ability of these fifth graders to both ham and enjoy themselves, to distract a night well. Emery decided he would find the costume designer after the show and complement the on-stage handiwork. One costume, the Queen of Hearts, even held up to the standards he knew through television.

  “You don’t have the right to grow like that! Not here!” Rebecca said as Dormouse, to Alice.

  “That’s nonsense; I can see you’re growing every bit as much as me,” the taller, blonder Alice responded.

  There was nothing quite like elementary school theater.

  He had some guilt over having Vivian stay with a babysitter during the play. He thought that keeping an eye on the younger daughter while the older sister performed would be distracting and difficult. Now that he was viewing the play, the great colors and fun pace of it, he knew Vivian would have been enrapt. While he quietly nudged himself with his mistake throughout the play, there was a part of him that was pleased to be there in full, with Beth, affirming their daughter solely. Rebecca would admire this, and it would make her feel good to get all the attention, for once. She rarely gained sole attention from her parents. While Vivian had never been a spot of contention for Rebecca, like Emery had been for his brother William when young, there was a certain streak of jealousy that propped its teeth in the older daughter from time to time. The attitude was subtle, but one could glimpse this minuscule hydra if one knew the look of it.

  “Only treacle, really,” Dormouse said, pretending to be nearly asleep in court.

  “Contempt!” the Queen shouted, “Take that horrible little Dormouse out of our court! Put a collar on him and then cut off his head.”

  There was a pause before the Queen startled and rephrased: “No, no, cut off his whiskers!” Emery smiled. Ah, the flubbed line, so common in productions. He knew the sound of it, even with no knowledge of the lines. Though the Queen was being played in a sillier fashion than Emery had remembered this character from his own youth, the young girl playing the part recovered her line quickly. Whiskers. All of the commands for head-removal would come later in the play.

  Children as thespians. It was marvelous. Emery was no stranger to actors, and had now worked with some of the brighter lights in Hollywood. He found it of great humor that these children and the higher echelon of talent in television were rather similar in approach, and tended to foul up about as many lines. The difference, of course, beyond occupation and age, was that Emery still enjoyed the company of children.

  Two sentries led Dormouse from the stage while she feigned boredom and weariness. This was a somewhat complex scene for children, but was performed greatly by children who were, in their own manner, quite complex. Rebecca most certainly fit in with her schoolmates, something Emery had fretted about at rare points over the previous few years. Vivian was not doing so well, and tended to isolate herself in her kindergarten class, though her grade was initiative and really only provided an outset, a launching point. She would surely find her place. Some time was needed. One facet of kindergarten was learning that there were other children in the world beyond one’s siblings and few neighbors. Some kids simply needed a little longer to adjust to this. Emery had been quite shy the first couple of years of elementary school, but not Beth. Her mother had quite a few humorous stories about Beth’s youthful bossiness over other children.

  The fourth season of The Other Side had somewhat escaped him, but this mode of the doldrums was not going to repeat itself. The show had not been cancelled. Even Emery was surprised. Now that the season was over, the fifth season could be crafted, and he found himself renewed in his career by the news he had received over the weekend. Not only was the show being granted at least another season, but it was being given much, much more. There were three separate telephone calls from Dozier, and one from Rowe. The first of these calls had been announcements of something that might occur, and the last call, from Rowe, was the one that cemented the news as no longer merely plausible, but granted. After all the work and finagling, all the meetings and written pleads, concerning all the people that rallied with him and all the people that had changed their minds endlessly throughout the first four seasons, his initial request was finally being granted: The Other Side was being given an hour-long format. This was the format Emery felt he deserved and the time-allotment that would allow him to flesh out his characters and stories superbly.

  The talks with Dozier had been frivolous, in afterthought, but now that enough time had passed, Emery could see all of these meetings and pleads for what they were: Momentum. All that had been needed for Emery to get his way was a season that proved successful by the network’s newest standards. The fourth season had accomplished this, though Emery felt it was the worst of the seasons thus far. As a whole, it fell short and was only held together by his new Emmy, and a few episodes that were,
in truth, some of the best Belmont and Moffat had ever written. They had supported the season enough, propping up the show around the somewhat staple stories Emery had written, and the one very good one. The season had drawn the fan-base the network seemed to find appropriate.

  For once, Emery had not simply worked and designed for his own successful show, and one that the fans adored, but had worked and designed for a show that his employers found successful. In this manner, things could be asked. There were a few big stars lined up for the fifth season, and those they had signed on were somewhat iconic. Things were looking up and the Sun was out. Emery vowed not to let his depression and exhaustion get the better of him this season. He would tap that energy he had when starting the show. To him, this would become the first, real season of his program, the great show he had envisioned at the start.

  There was a stockpile of older, hour-paced scripts, dramas from the first leg of his career, in a box beneath his bed. He would remodel these. They were a top secret weapon now in his hands, in the form of his mainstay. The hour-long format had been his bread and butter for some time, and being forced into a half-hour slot for four years had been difficult. He had learned much in returning to a smaller time-slot, but now that he was returned to his better medium, things would really begin to happen. The fifth season would not only be more to him in artistic clause, but easier, as he already had scripts lined up for revision. He did worry about the strain this would put on his writers. They were unaccustomed to having that much time in a script.