What Just Happened?

by Art Linson

  It can turn into an Abbott and Costello sketch:

  ‘Could you please give my script to Harrison Ford?’

  ‘Do you have a firm offer from Fox?’

  ‘Well, not exactly, but they said they’d make the movie.’

  ‘Harrison does not read without a firm pay or play offer.’

  ‘But he might love it, really love it, and think his destiny lies in making this movie.’

  ‘Pay to play.’

  ‘But if he doesn’t read it, he’ll never know what he might miss.’

  ‘Fifteen million against fifteen percent of the gross.’

  ‘Okay, I’ll talk to Bill.’

  ‘By the way, Alan Alda is looking for something good, I can give it to him to read.’

  ‘Gee, thanks, let me talk to Mechanic.’

  Dustin Hoffman, with all of his past greatness, was now, as they say, reading. This euphemism means that he is willing to look at scripts without a firm offer, and if he is interested, he is willing to meet with the producer and the director. This is particularly good news for the studio, especially if the actor loves the script and the studio has yet to commit. The leverage builds logarithmically in their favor. If the executives at Fox agree to make the movie, they may be able to reduce the actor’s price because they already know that he loves the script. Actors are like everyone else: When they want something they might not get, they often want it more. If Mechanic et al decide not to make the movie, even if the actor is begging, they lose nothing and can make some apology for the inconvenience. The agent then gets the horror call: ‘What kind of dickhead agent would send me a script that the studio won’t make even if I liked it.’ ‘But … but, Dusty … but …’ That’s why agents are very, very careful how they distribute the material to their top clients. Since the studio heads don’t know exactly what the total cost of the film is going to be, they are equally reluctant to expose themselves. It’s the catch-22 of packaging, with the producer hopelessly in the middle, staring wide-eyed into space, having as much control over the situation as a busboy at Spago’s.

  Back in Dustin’s office, another two hours had passed. We were in the middle of a lox-and-bagel lunch, and we had still not discussed the Mamet script. It’s not that Dustin was avoiding it, he just seemed to have a lot of tangential interests. We talked about sports, current events, diet, religion. He even gave Lee and me some literature on a new rabbi who had captured his imagination. Occasionally, he would glance at my ankles.

  Being the restless type, I was hoping to make a frontal assault. I kept looking at him, thinking, ‘Fuck me. We’re gonna die here. Are you gonna make this sucker or not?’ But producers are not known for raw courage. All that I could muster was an occasional ‘That is so interesting.’ ‘Really.’ ‘Gosh, I feel the same way, don’t you, Lee?’ Self-loathing was starting to creep in, and I decided to leave the meeting, hoping that in my absence they would begin to address the script. As I politely rose and told them I had had no idea this was going to be such a time-consuming first discussion, blah blah blah, I suggested that perhaps they could carry on without me. I glanced at Lee, with a stunned, wide-eyed signal: ‘Try and wrap him up, please.’ Lee looked at me as if to say, ‘I’m from New Zealand, don’t leave me here alone.’ Clearly, we both had the sinking feeling that this exercise was sliding into the toilet.

  When I was in the elevator, it occurred to me that Dustin had made one reference to the script about an hour earlier. He had said Bookworm reminded him of Straw Dogs. Since that Peckinpah movie was one of my favorites and since Dustin was so fine in it, I took this to be a good thing. Wrong. He’d done this part already! Of course! Bookish guy with a pretty, seductive wife having to rise to the occasion when the going got brutal. Dustin’s a rich man. Why would he ever do the same part again? Perhaps Lee didn’t know it yet, but it was time to look for someone else. Let’s go back to the list. We could spend the next six months having nice chats with Dustin, but when the time came to put the chips on the table, I was sure he wasn’t going to be there, and I was more sure I would have even less hair on my ankles.

  FOUR

  One plus One Equals Three

  Alec Baldwin might be in. His agent said that Alec had read the script and wanted to talk about the role of the duplicitous fashion photographer, Bob Green. Lee and I greeted the news with measured enthusiasm. I knew that even if Alec was ideal casting, this news was never going to make the walls of the Fox administration building shake with delight. His past success was spotty, and there were rumors that he was difficult. At best, Alec would be considered a solid ‘element’ to the overall package, but not enough of a reason, I thought, for Fox to pull the trigger. It was the best nibble so far. We had to pursue it.

  We agreed to meet with Alec for lunch at some trendy bistro off of La Cienega. Lee and I got there early to strategize, because these first encounters are always tricky. You don’t know if the actor is flirting with the role or if he is actually hooked. But that first lunch does give you some indication as to how the dynamics are going to work if the movie actually gets put together. Is it going to be an easy ride, or are you going to be sliding down a gravel driveway together naked? When Alec arrived at the table, he was dressed in a suit and tie, looking as if he were running for a Long Island congressional seat. I got things started. Unable to camouflage my desperation to get a big-name actor to commit, I began with the predictable propitiating smiles and nods. ‘Gosh you were brilliant in blah blah blah’ and ‘How about that speech in Glengarry, oh, man, it was an aria … wasn’t it, Lee?’ I couldn’t control myself. To his credit, Alec responded to the horseshit flattery by saying he was a fan of David Mamet’s writing and would be eager to take on this role. No caveats. Simple as that. He said he would have to complete the movie Ghosts of Mississippi, take a couple of months off to diet and to get into tip-top shape, and then he would be ready to go, assuming the studio was willing to write the check.

  Unfortunately, this all happened in the first five minutes. We hadn’t even ordered yet and I was ready to call for the check. It’s an old maxim in Hollywood: Take yes for an answer and quickly leave the room. The rest of the lunch attenuated into awkward sound bites like ‘God, this is really going to be great.’ ‘We’re so damn excited.’ ‘Did I already tell you how much I love your work? … Of course I did.’

  The only wrinkle for me – and at the time I did not give it much importance – was that Alec kept avoiding eye contact with Tamahori, who was, after all, the director. Even though we were reduced to banal hiccups, it seemed at times as if Alec was pretending that Lee was at another table. I thought later that perhaps Alec had a genetic disdain for anyone who could exert power over his performance, so he did not want to cozy up to Lee too soon. Nonetheless, something in the air was casting a small shadow, but I ignored it. My job was to get the fucking movie made. If there were going to be difficulties, we would deal with them down the road. For now, we had a good actor anxious to do the part. After several weeks of rejections, Lee and I felt we might be edging ever closer to a start date.

  The next day, I was seated in Bill Mechanic’s office next to a large bowl of soft sugar candies, waiting for him to get off the phone. I would start each meeting swearing to Bill that I would not touch the candy. It was the kind of stuff you’d be embarrassed to hand out on Halloween. But the anxiety of rarely getting what I wanted out of these meetings inevitably forced me into the candy bowl within minutes of our discussions.

  ‘Good news. Alec Baldwin wants to play the photographer,’ I opened confidently.

  ‘I heard,’ Bill said, not matching my enthusiasm.

  ‘He’s a wonderful actor.’

  ‘He’s expensive.’

  ‘He has lots of energy.’

  ‘I hear he hates producers.’

  ‘Who doesn’t these days?’

  ‘He doesn’t sell tickets.’

  ‘What about Hunt for Red October?’

  ‘That was a lifetime ago.’
/>   ‘But it was huge.’

  ‘What kinda guy walks away from the sequel after such a big hit and lets Harrison Ford take his place?’

  I reached in the bowl for a green one.

  ‘Bill, what about Malice?’

  ‘Have you seen the numbers on Malice?’

  ‘Not the foreign numbers.’

  ‘Well, even Malice was a long time ago.’

  ‘Lee and I think he’s perfect for the part.’

  ‘I hear he’s trouble.’

  ‘Beating up a photographer doesn’t make you trouble. Anyway, it was in self-defense.’

  ‘He can’t carry a movie.’

  ‘Bill, who can carry a movie?’

  ‘Tom Cruise.’

  ‘What are you saying?’

  ‘I’m saying if you can find a star for the other part, then maybe we can match him up with Alec.’

  ‘I’m always one star short.’

  ‘You are one star short.’

  In the delicate mechanism of Hollywood meetings, this was a positive exchange. Bill was basically saying that he really liked the material, that in fact he was seriously inclined to make the movie, but that he needed as much ammo as possible. His job was to protect the downside, to second-guess the options, and he did it in an amiable way. I knew he wanted more than a good movie, he wanted and needed a hit. Who can blame him. I needed a hit as well.

  ‘Bill, why don’t we make a deal with Alec now and make it subject to finding the other guy?’

  ‘We can explore it, but I would also have to make the offer subject to a budget.’

  ‘Well, then Fox wouldn’t be bound at all.’

  ‘That’s right.’ Bill smiled.

  ‘Gee.’

  ‘Hey, the other part’s the real star of the movie anyway.’

  ‘We think Alec’s kind of a star.’

  ‘Good, let’s find another bigger star.’

  ‘Sure, let’s find a bigger star,’ I said, reaching into the candy bowl for the last time.

  I took a huge handful for the road.

  After the mandate from Mechanic, I decided to talk to Robert De Niro. The part of Charles Morse, the aging, shy, erudite, bookish rich man, was not a role you would immediately feel was smart casting for De Niro – unless of course, he thought he could do it. If he said he was intent on playing the part of a seven-year-old ballerina in a Disney musical, I would have to take it seriously. Ever since The Untouchables, Bob and I have remained close friends. It’s not just that his shining performance saved my ass, got us on the cover of Newsweek, and made me and everyone else connected to the movie look like we knew what we were doing, but we really found a way to connect. It was an unusual dynamic. I would say things like ‘Gosh, Bob, you sure make a lot of money acting in those movies,’ and he would answer, ‘Lemme get back to you.’ I would say, ‘What do you think of that director or that writer or that actor,’ and he would say, ‘Lemme get back to you.’ I would say, ‘I think you should consider this script. It would be great for you, you should really do it,’ and he would say, ‘What is it you do, again?’ You get the gist of it. But just because you’ve had a long-term relationship with Bob doesn’t necessarily mean that you can get him to act in your movie. It does mean, however, that you might be able to get him to read something without a firm offer from the studio. When the script was first completed, I wanted to send it to him, but he was so booked up with other pictures that the timing was bad. It would have been too easy for him to say no. By the time Lee and I had slogged through the predictable turndowns, the timing had improved. I forged ahead. I gave Bob Bookworm and awaited his response.

  My phone rang.

  ‘Hey.’

  ‘Hey.’

  ‘What’d ya think?’

  ‘I like it.’

  ‘How much?’

  ‘I like it.’

  ‘How about Alec Baldwin for the photographer?’

  ‘I like him.’

  ‘Great. Let’s do it.’

  ‘I like it, it’s got some good things in it.’

  ‘Great, let’s go.’

  ‘I think we need a reading.’

  ‘But you just read it.’

  ‘I think we should have a reading.’

  ‘Let me read it to you over the phone.’

  ‘We should have a reading.’

  This categorically means the deal is far from closed. When he’d agreed to do The Untouchables, he did not ask for a reading. This response of his was a bit better than being on life support, but way too soon to open the Veuve Clicquot.

  ‘Fine, let’s have a reading.’

  ‘You set it up. It would be nice if Alec was there.’

  ‘I hate readings.’

  ‘Set up a reading.’

  ‘Fine.’

  For those of you unfamiliar with a reading, this is different from the notion that an actor is reading without an offer. This sort of reading is when several actors sit around a table and read the script out loud. Someone is usually chosen to read the narrative and the descriptive sections.

  For example:

  EXT. SAPLINGS—DAY

  The bear crashes through and follows Morse at a frightening speed. Just as the bear is about to bring him down, Morse reaches the other side of the clearing and scrambles through a small gap between a tangle of heavy logs. The bear is unable to follow through the gap and cannot get at Morse, who backs up terrified.

  The bear ROARS.

  Sometimes the narrator will actually attempt a roar, but most likely he will just say ‘roar.’ No matter how it sounds, ten directors would render this scene ten different ways. The remaining dialogue in the script is read by other actors with varying degrees of commitment. If you are an actor or a director who is grappling with committing to the material, the reading is supposed to provide some special insight, some connection, that sitting at home, quietly perusing the script, would not give. It’s a high-stakes game with sizable decisions riding on its outcome. When readings go badly, you not only lose those actors you were trying to attract, you might lose those actors who were already committed. In this case, if De Niro decides Bookworm would not be for him, would that send Baldwin running away as well, shrieking, ‘Thank the Lord! It’s only a scratch. I’m out of here.’? A project can quickly skid off the road without much chance of recovery. For me, readings are always an iffy affair. Let’s face it, we watch movies, we don’t listen to them.

  The creamy-colored conference room at the Peninsula Hotel had a ‘crafts service’ table set up in the corner with the usual: coffee, rolls, lox and bagels, soft drinks, bottled water, fruit, etc. A copy of the script was positioned in front of each chair. David Mamet, who lived in Boston, would not be attending. Knowing David, if Boston were a suburb of Beverly Hills and I offered to ‘send the limo,’ he would still call in sick. His reaction would be ‘Just tell ’em to say the fuckin’ words.’ This probably was not the best sentiment to have in the room.

  Lee and I, as hosts, were the first to arrive, soon followed by a couple of actors who had been asked to read the smaller parts. The tacit understanding at these events is that it is not an audition, that readers should not expect to get a part, and that they aren’t expected to ‘perform.’ Inevitably, however, these actors are the most spirited in the room. With the presence of De Niro and a real live director listening, why shouldn’t they audition? It’s in their DNA.

  Minutes before Alec showed up, Bryan Lourd, one of De Niro’s agents from CAA, arrived dressed in the new neopallbearer fashion (narrow black suit, black tie, black shoes). It was Saturday afternoon and I couldn’t help but feel that as smooth as Bryan was, a cheerier look would have been more comforting. When Alec finally entered, his demeanor was slightly more edgy than it had been at the restaurant. This time, he wasn’t making eye contact with Lee or with me. I tried to dismiss it, assuming that the anticipation of reading with De Niro would make any actor anxious. Frankly, all of his furtive angst and sweaty energy made him perfect for the part
of Green. He introduced himself around the room, took a seat at the table, and waited.

  Another fifteen minutes passed and Bob was late. Lee and I looked at each other as if we were waiting for Elvis. I wondered how much Bryan Lourd’s enthusiasm would influence De Niro’s decision. Bryan was sitting away from the table, intentionally out of the line of fire, looking like a calming influence at a funeral. My optimism was waning. Bob finally showed up, followed by a couple of assistants, and Alec’s mood noticeably improved. But despite all of the expected titillation that came with the ‘Elvis’ arrival, when Bob passed through the door, quiet and unassuming, his demeanor was as nondescript as a family accountant’s. I knew that he was aware of his impact, but there was no evidence that he wanted any part of it. Wearing fatherly glasses and clothes that would go unnoticed in the local mall—if we weren’t sure it was him, De Niro would have been asked to leave the room.

  The greetings went rapidly around the table. It was evident that Bob actually wanted to ‘hear’ the script. No other agenda. We began the reading with the narrator announcing, ‘Fade-in.’

  Mamet’s dialogue is very different from standard Hollywood fare. Not every actor can find a way into it to make it sound real and unforced. For example, forty pages into this script, a plane crash leaves Green (Baldwin) and Morse (De Niro) lost in the wilds of Alaska trying to keep from being eaten by a determined bear. Morse and Green banter about Morse’s wife, the fashion model to be photographed by Green. She was left at base camp.

  GREEN: Hey, is it my diseased imagination, or did you say the words, ‘How are you trying to kill me?’

  (pause) Morse nods.

  GREEN: (cont’d) And what did that mean …? Why would I want to kill you, Charles? Why would I want to do that?

  MORSE: For my wife.

  GREEN: For Mickey? (pause) Well, that’s a bizarre way to meet girls … I want to kill you to get next to your wife?

  MORSE: … I’ve seen you with her.

  GREEN: No offense, Charles, I can get my own girl. F’you perhaps noticed that in the time we’ve known each other? N’pee ess, you’re kind of a powerful guy. Why would someone want to antagonize you? (pause) I’m talking to you. Why?