Hollywood Hack Job

by Nathan Allen

  “This is remarkable,” Michael said. He hurriedly turned the page, eager to find out what happened next. “It has everything you could ever want in a horror movie. It’s brutal, it’s violent, it’s suspenseful, it’s original. It has all the classic hallmarks that fans of the genre have come to expect, but it executes them in such innovative and unexpected ways that it feels completely fresh. The characters are distinct and three-dimensional, and they’re ones the audience will care about. I have to say, this is about as close to perfect as a screenplay gets.”

  Eric sipped from his glass of Teeling single malt whiskey. “You have no idea how relieved I am to hear you say that,” he said. “I really put a lot of effort into my work. I was so determined to come up with something outstanding.”

  “Well, the extra effort definitely shows on the page,” Martin Krauth said. He was seated up near the cockpit, reading from his own copy of the script. This was Martin’s private jet they were flying on, a luxury Gulfstream IV, en route to Shanghai for the world premiere of Transformers: Echoes of Bedlam. “This really is something else. You should be proud of what you’ve managed to accomplish here. I truly believe this has the potential to be a future horror classic.”

  “See, I knew you could do it,” Michael said, beaming like a proud parent. “I knew the story and the talent was somewhere within you. You just needed to convince yourself of that.”

  Eric gave a bashful smile. “Do you really think it’s that good?”

  “Are you kidding me? This is brilliant on so many levels. I’m terrified just sitting here reading it now! And I don’t think I’ve ever seen such a realistic depiction of cannibalism before.”

  “Oh, I know!” Martin said. He flicked back a few pages to find the scene Michael was referring to. “That one part where they force Scott to eat pieces of Carly.” He shuddered as he spoke. “The writing was so vivid and striking it was almost like I had the taste of human flesh in my mouth.”

  “And that lesbian sex scene!” Michael said enthusiastically. “I mean ... wow!”

  “Oh, I concur one hundred percent,” Martin said. “That was such a brilliant addition to the story. Not only will it send the men in the audience wild, the dialogue between the two women means the film passes the Bechdel test. That’s two important demographics catered for at once – the fanboys and the feminists. Pure genius!”

  Eric finished off the rest of his drink. Michael’s robot butler zoomed across to top up his glass.

  “But more than anything, it’s the villain that makes the story as good as it is,” Michael said. “You can have as many gruesome death scenes and unexpected plot twists and cool lines of dialogue as you like, but none of that matters if your bad guy is dull. A boring monster equals a boring movie. But the villain in this, the main bad guy, he’s someone the audience won’t forget in a hurry. He’ll be giving kids nightmares for years to come.”

  “Not to mention the potential merchandising opportunities this opens up,” Martin added.

  “Absolutely,” Michael said. “I have no idea what sort of dark places you had to visit to come up with a character so terrifying. To be honest, I’m not sure I want to know!”

  Eric reclined his seat back until it was at forty-five degrees. He let out a long, slow exhale, and all the tension and anxiety that had been building up over the past few months melted away. He felt that despite everything he had to endure to reach this point, the literal blood, sweat and tears he’d invested into his work, it would all be worth it. After spending so many years in the proverbial wilderness his career was finally on track. He was a legitimate writer, and he would soon have that all-important produced credit to his name. He had proven he had what it took to make it in such a cut-throat industry. Martin had even hinted that he was interested in putting Rodney Luther King into production, at long last. Eric had heard similar promises from studio chiefs over the past three years, but something told him Martin was different from all the other CEOs out there. He seemed like the kind of guy who could make things happen. The kind who wasn’t afraid to take risks.

  “As someone whose films have grossed eleven-point-four billion dollars worldwide,” Michael continued, “I can honestly say this is one of the best screenplays I have read in my life. It might even become one of those rare horror films, like Psycho or The Exorcist or Silence of the Lambs, that can transcend its genre restraints and become a classic film in its own right.”

  The sign to fasten seatbelts flashed on. Michael, Martin and Eric all buckled up, just as the bright lights of Shanghai came into view.

  “It’s a shame things didn’t work out with you and Cameron, though,” Martin said as the aircraft began to make its descent.

  “Yeah,” Eric said. “That is too bad.”

  “Although in hindsight, maybe when he dropped out of the project it was for the best,” Michael said. “Don’t get me wrong. Cameron is definitely a good writer, and I’m sure he’ll enjoy plenty of success with whatever he chooses to do in the future. But after reading this I’m beginning to suspect he was the one holding you back.”

  Eric nodded. “The pressure was really starting to affect him, and I’m not sure he knew how to handle it.” He paused momentarily before adding, “He’s in a much better place now.”

  Just as he said this, Eric’s stomach produced an audible growl.

  “That’s how it goes sometimes,” Michael said. “Not everyone is cut out for this industry. You can have all the talent in the world, but talent isn’t enough on its own. You need that relentless drive, that burning ambition to succeed.”

  “You have to be prepared to do whatever it takes,” Martin added. “If you’re not willing to sacrifice everything else in your life to get ahead there isn’t much hope for you.”

  “I know exactly what you mean,” Eric said. He raised his glass to his lips and took a generous gulp. “You won’t make it very far if you don’t have the necessary bad qualities.”

  PART IV.

  ROLL CREDITS

  Chapter 27

  Even though he’d harbored ambitions of being a “serious” writer for as long as he could remember, Eric Haas had been secretly rehearsing his Oscar acceptance speech in front of the mirror since the age of nine. He pictured himself standing on stage at the Dolby Theater, surrounded by the cream of Hollywood, the eyes of the world upon him. He would accept his award, then deliver a speech that was equal parts funny, eloquent, gracious and moving. He would depart to a standing ovation with the golden statuette firmly in his grip.

  He no longer had to imagine such a scenario, because it had just happened.

  The opening half hour of the Academy Awards ceremony had flown by in a blur. He remembered taking his seat in the front row and enjoying host Kathy Griffin’s hilarious monologue. He was deeply moved by the seventeen minute In Memoriam montage honoring those stars who had sadly passed away during the previous twelve months. The next thing he knew, Al Pacino and Meghan Trainor were on stage reading aloud the names of the ten contenders for the first award of the night – Best Original Screenplay.

  (Nominations for each category had doubled this year in an effort to promote inclusivity and minimize the number of people upset when their favorite film or actor missed out.)

  The envelope was opened and his name was read out – “Eric Haas, Rodney Luther King” – followed by the loudest applause he had ever heard.

  (The remaining nine nominees would each take home participation Oscars to avoid having their feelings hurt.)

  As he made his way up the hallowed staircase to accept the award, he cast his mind back to where he was just over a year ago: unemployed, with not a single writing credit to his name, and battling the worst writer’s block of his life. Tormented by self-doubt and insecurity, he spent many sleepless nights wondering if he’d ever make it. His dreams of becoming a successful writer were growing more and more distant by the day.

  Now he was an Oscar winner, and officially the hottest scribe to hit Hollywood in years.
Variety had hailed him as the voice of a generation, praising his “uncompromising intensity and subversive wit that plunges a dagger into the heart of contemporary society”. He made Time’s 100 Most Influential People list, slotting in between Justin Trudeau and Nicki Minaj. Wrong Turn managed to shrug off its pre-production woes to become the breakout horror hit of the year, grossing over $350 million worldwide and laying the groundwork for the rest of the films to come in the Platinum Dunes Cinematic Universe. It also attracted plaudits for its progressive approach to racially diverse casting.

  But the success of Wrong Turn paled in comparison to the towering achievement that was Rodney Luther King, the Barry Jenkins-directed masterpiece that had reaped $1.1 billion at the worldwide box office and snared over one hundred major accolades. It had dominated every awards ceremony in the lead-up to the Oscars, where it received eleven nominations including Best Picture, Best Director and Best Original Song, along with nominees in all four acting categories. The film garnered such an unprecedented level of acclaim that Paramount spent barely any money at all on its awards season campaign.

  But more importantly, it had pried open a long-overdue dialogue surrounding race relations and inequality in the modern world. Real progress was finally being made in the fight for equal rights, and Rodney Luther King was being credited as the catalyst for that change.

  Life was good for Eric. After enduring so many years as a perpetual outsider, he had well and truly arrived. He was officially a part of the Hollywood fraternity. His career was on track and the world was his oyster. His only low moments came when he thought about Cameron, and how he wasn’t here to share in all his success. After everything they had been through together it felt bittersweet for this to be happening without him. He consoled himself with the knowledge that there would always be a part of Cameron inside him.

  He reached for his prepared speech in the inner pocket of his tuxedo jacket as he approached the podium, but his hand moved away at the last minute. Here was a once in a lifetime opportunity to say what he wanted, and the moment didn’t call for something scripted and safe. He was going to speak from the heart.

  What came next was seventy-six seconds of pure oratory napalm. It was a speech that shook the entire room, and one that struck a chord with the hundreds of millions watching on at home. He started off by acknowledging his privilege as a straight white male, then proceeded to fearlessly call out instances of racism, misogyny, economic inequality, homophobia, transphobia and cultural appropriation that contaminated today’s society. He took aim at everyone, from the elites occupying Washington’s highest echelons to the anonymous, bile-spewing internet trolls hiding behind their keyboards and avatars. This was a no-holds barred takedown from which no one was safe.

  It was riveting viewing for some and uncomfortable for others, but above all else it was a bravura display of courage rarely seen in Hollywood these days. It ended with Eric imploring all others in the room to follow his lead and do everything in their power to help those not blessed with the same advantages.

  The audience, many with tears in their eyes, rose as one to applaud this unforgettable moment that would surely go down in Oscar history. The Twitterverse went into overdrive, immediately declaring the speech a monumental privilege-checking game-changer. Dozens of think-pieces appeared online before the broadcast had even concluded. The clip received over five million YouTube hits within twenty-four hours. To use a contemporary colloquialism, it broke the internet.

  The tone was now set for the remainder of the ceremony. It empowered the winners that followed, who recognized it as their civic duty to use their platform to speak out on issues close to their heart. The winner for Best Cinematography used his allotted time at the podium to protest the government’s recent cuts to education. The winner for Best Costume Design called out people who refused to identify as feminists. The Best Documentary Short winner urged everyone to keep up the fight against censorship. His speech received a standing ovation. Minutes later, the Best Documentary Feature winner demanded a controversial anti-abortion film be banned from cinemas. This speech also received a standing ovation.

  The winner for Best Actor drew attention to the plight of the Kaniwa tribe of the Amazon, while the Best Actress complained that female performers such as herself were not being offered enough roles of substance or paid enough money. She climbed into her waiting limousine a short time later to be taken to an afterparty hosted by a tech billionaire. Along the way, she swapped her $80,000 Tom Ford dress for a $100,000 Oscar de la Renta one, leaving her harried assistant to haul her $260,000 gift bag back to her suite at the Beverly Wilshire.

  The message from tonight came loud and clear: the days of celebrities holding their tongues was over. Society had handed them a megaphone, and they were not afraid to use it. This would be the night they reclaimed their mantle as spokespeople for the entire human race.

  By the end of the ceremony, Rodney Luther King would take home nine Oscars from its eleven nominations. When it was announced as Best Picture, people the world over from Ferguson, Missouri to Nairobi, Kenya spontaneously flooded the streets to celebrate.

  As crazy as Eric’s life was in the lead-up to the Academy Awards, it only became more of a roller coaster in the weeks and months that followed it. His profile was elevated even further to the point where he was now one of the most recognizable and discussed people on the planet. Rodney Luther King was rereleased to capitalize on its Oscar success, where it added a further $200 million to its already impressive box office haul. In Hollywood terms, Eric was having a moment. The world awaited the next move from cinema’s wordsmith wunderkind.

  Eric embraced his newfound celebrity status like a long-lost friend. He graced the cover of Rolling Stone magazine, and he cracked jokes with Kevin Bacon and Mindy Kaling on James Corden’s couch. He also dived head-first into the Hollywood party scene, losing himself in a haze of high-profile events, trawling the hottest clubs LA had to offer with his entourage of famous buddies. He knew he should be getting back to work soon, but he was in no real hurry. After everything he had done to get to this point he was allowed to kick back and relax a little. Besides, it wouldn’t be such a bad thing if the world was forced to wait for his next masterpiece. The growing anticipation would only add to the intrigue surrounding him.

  That was how he explained it to Karen Ulman, the new CEO of Paramount Pictures, as they chatted over hors d’oeuvres and Cuba Libres at the latest exclusive bash on the social calendar. Along with the rest of Hollywood, Karen was eager to get the lowdown on what Eric would do next.

  “To be honest, I haven’t quite decided what I’m going to focus on,” Eric said, responding as if Karen wasn’t the hundredth person in the past week to ask him that very question. “There are a few different things I’m working on at the moment. It just depends on which one piques my interest and sinks its hooks into me first.”

  “Honey, you can take as much time as you need,” Karen said in her no-nonsense Southern drawl. “A lot of folks will try to pressure you, but don’t pay them no mind. Okay? You more or less saved the studio. You’ve earned the right to do whatever you want.”

  “Saved the studio?” Eric waved her off with a laugh. “I wouldn’t go that far.”

  “Oh, I would. I don’t know if you were aware of our situation, but after Martin Krauth disappeared and the share price took a tumble things were looking pretty dicey for a moment there. A year ago, before Wrong Turn and Rodney Luther King came out, we were at serious risk of insolvency. It’s no understatement to say those two films single-handedly turned our fortunes around.”

  “Wow,” Eric said. He took a sip of his drink. “I had no idea about any of that.”

  “Well like I said, you don’t owe us a thing. All we want is for you to do your best work.”

  Another round of drinks were duly ordered, at which point hip hop mogul Sean “Diddy” Combs came across to profess deep admiration for Eric’s work. He told him just how much Rodney Luther King ha
d affected him personally – he claimed to have watched the film seventeen times – and what it meant to the African-American community in general. The two chatted for a few minutes, and Diddy extended an invitation for Eric to attend his upcoming birthday celebrations at his Miami mansion. Eric gratefully accepted.

  Diddy left a few minutes later to hit the dance floor. Karen then took Eric by the arm and ushered him over to a quiet corner of the room.

  “I know we promised tonight was going to be free from all business-talk,” she said. “But I was hoping I could maybe pitch you something real quick?”

  “Go ahead,” Eric said.

  “You’ve probably heard by now that Paramount has purchased the rights to the Krystal Blayze biopic. It’s a terrific story, one the whole world is still fascinated by, and we’d love to have you on board. Sofia Coppola says she wants to direct, and Anya Taylor-Joy has already shown an interest in playing the lead. All we need now is a white-hot screenwriter and the pieces will be in place for another surefire hit.”

  Eric jumped in before Karen could go any further. “That sounds like a great opportunity, but my dance card is a little full at the moment. I’m already doing rewrites for the Urban Legend reboot, which is taking up most of my time for the foreseeable future. And after that ... well, you know I don’t plan on hanging around this place for too much longer.”

  “I know, I know,” Karen said with a throaty laugh. “You keep reminding me about how you’re going to leave us all behind and go off to Rome to drink wine and write your fancy novels.”

  “Paris,” Eric corrected her. “Like Hemingway and Fitzgerald and Stein. It’s where all the greats go to write.”

  “Okay, Paris, sure. And I don’t doubt that you’re serious about that. But just give it some thought. Can you do that for me?”