What Just Happened?

by Art Linson

  As they started going through the script, Alec and Tony took the material to new heights. Even though Morse/Hopkins knows that Green/Baldwin has tried to kill him and steal his wife and money, toward the end of the sceenplay Morse still attempts to save the gravely wounded Green. The conference room was completely still:

  MORSE: Don’t die on me, Bob.

  GREEN: … I … I don’t feel, uh, uh, a hundred percent.

  MORSE: Why don’t you save your strength?

  GREEN: What’s the point of it, you see? I’m dying.

  MORSE: Hold on, Bob. Hold on. I’ll make a fire …

  GREEN: … Now I’m your pet project … Is that it Charles? I’m your hobby farm.

  MORSE: That’s right, Bob.

  GREEN: No. I know what it is … you never had a buddy. That’s the thing, isn’t it … ?

  MORSE: … If you say so.

  GREEN: Hey, why would you want to save a piece of shit like me?

  MORSE: … Say it’s a challenge.

  When all is lost and it’s clear that Green is not going to make it:

  MORSE: Don’t die … Bob.

  GREEN: (looking back with a smile) Charles, don’t tell me what to do.

  Everyone applauded. Listening to these actors read Mamet’s stuff was like watching butter melt. We briefly talked about some minor script changes to take up with Mamet, and the reading was adjourned.

  As Lee and I walked to our cars, we reviewed the situation:

  ‘They’re gonna be great, huh?’ I said.

  ‘Truly.’

  ‘What’s with the beard thing?’

  ‘Don’t know.’

  ‘Did you tell him to shave?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Lee, tell’m he can wear a beard at the end of the movie.’

  ‘I’m going to bring it up, but I haven’t done it yet.’

  ‘If he doesn’t shave, Fox will go nuts.’

  ‘We have a week. I’m sure he plans on shaving.’

  ‘I thought so when he walked in, y’know, sort of exploring the character blah blah, but after seeing him read, I sensed this is going to be his look.’

  ‘We got time.’

  ‘Lee, let me explain the Fox situation. They didn’t really want to hire this guy in the first place. Rothman kept wailing that he’s overpriced and Bill agreed. The guy cost five million dollars, for God’s sake.’

  ‘Hey, that’s your department.’

  ‘For that kind of money, they thought they’d at least bought a younger leading man to balance out Hopkins. If Mechanic thought Alec was going to enter this fight overweight, bearded, and old, his price would have been two free dinners at Spago and ten percent of the net.’

  ‘I’ll tell Alec tomorrow he’s got to shave.’

  ‘I got a bad feeling.’

  ‘He’s probably just getting into character.’

  ‘Here’s hopin’, ’cause Fox’s demographics for this movie will be limited to retirement villages in Boca Raton.’

  ‘I gotta go check on the mechanical bear.’

  ‘I can see the ad line now: “See Gabby Hayes run.”’

  ‘Don’t worry, he’ll shave.’

  ‘I hope so.’

  It was a beautiful day in the Rockies. I decided to drive out to the lake to see how the construction of the lodge was progressing. I veered off Main Street, entered the highway next to the Bow Valley Trail, and drove directly into the mountains. As I turned on Canmore’s oldies rock station, I fully expected Creedence’s ‘Bad Moon Rising’ to come blasting through the speakers, confirming my paranoia. Since Alec’s relations with Lee and me were limited to occasional random, furtive glances, having to ask Alec, ‘That beard’s quite a look, what are we going to do about that?’ was, at the very least, unpleasant. I knew actors. My imagination for misery started to take on a life of its own. ‘If the son of a bitch doesn’t shave, it’s going to get ugly, it’s going to be a shit storm’ became the predominant head theme. I had to get a grip. Alec would surely realize that Green was supposed to go from slick New York fashion photographer to mountain man. Why was I obsessing about this? After all, we had more than a week before we burned some film, and there was no hard evidence that Alec was going to hold on to the Long Island Santa Claus look. At least not once he thought it through. This was much ado about nothing.

  As I got closer to the lodge, the clean air and the exhilaration of the scenery overtook any darker thoughts. In fact, for a brief moment, I was consumed by the producer’s ultimate movie perk. To be in such a truly beautiful spot, watch a movie get made, and get paid for it was a sinful pleasure to be privately enjoyed. Don’t get me wrong, being able to occasionally tell an agent or an executive, ‘I’m sorry, I’m going to have to pass, go fuck yourself,’ was also a guilty pleasure that ranks high on the Hollywood ladder. But, the serenity of being in the middle of the majestic Rockies, on someone else’s dime, was the brass ring.

  ‘Motherfucker. MOTHERFUCKER!’

  ‘But, Alec, if you—’

  ‘MOTHERFUCKING movie PRODUCER. I knew this was coming, the bullshit Hollywood mentality telling ME … MOTHERFUCKER!’

  Alec calmly placed his leather jacket on an empty chair near the rear wall of the wardrobe trailer. The two girls who were fitting him were directly in the line of fire. They remained frozen. It had been three days and Lee was unable to pop the question, so I finally jumped in with my best version of ‘When’s the beard gonna go?’ I looked over at Lee, who was seated next to me at the fitting table trying to absorb the magnitude of the explosion. It wasn’t quite the response for which we had hoped.

  ‘But … you get to grow the beard back once—’

  ‘No-talent, MOTHERFUCKING … How predictable to see that good old Hollywood INTEGRITY at work.’ He walked over to the wardrobe stand, feinted a kick, and then decided to let one go. The fitting girls fled from the trailer.

  ‘Integrity! Producer, my ass!’

  My first thought, of course, was to say, ‘You asshole! I’m one of the guys who does the floors and windows so a schmuck like you can get your picture taken outside Mr. Chow’s. SO BLOW ME!’ But for lack of courage or just my genetic propensity to protect the bottom line, I tried to restrain myself.

  ‘Alec, if you want to talk about integrity … let’s talk about integrity. If YOU want to talk about INTEGRITY!’ But, there I went. Up, up, and away. I couldn’t help myself. I made the ultimate mistake. I began to take this personally. I led with my chin. ‘I’m willing to stack my last five pictures against your last five pictures. Let’s go.’

  He slowly walked toward us. He looked at me, avoided Lee, and smashed his first directly in the middle of the makeshift table. It started to buckle. ‘Motherfucker,’ he whispered. Then with impeccable timing he turned and left the trailer.

  Lee and I peered at each other, our faces knotted into twisted grins. Dignity was an affectation.

  ‘I don’t think he expects to shave,’ I said.

  ‘You can say that,’ Lee added.

  I felt for Lee. Both of us knew that directing this guy, under these conditions, wasn’t going to be easy. I also felt for Alec. He had something in mind when he grew that beard. Even if we felt it was wrong, he was committed to it. Having to make a change like that becomes personal.

  I called Mechanic to make him aware of the situation. He was unequivocal. If Alec didn’t cut the beard, we would shut down until he was replaced. Mechanic recommended Bill Pullman, who had just had a large part in Independence Day. Bill suggested that Pullman would probably love to work with Mamet material and with Hopkins and, more important, would probably do it for no money. I could tell that Mechanic was getting revved up about the thought of saving millions of dollars. Unfortunately, this choice wasn’t going to work for Lee or for me. With all of the impending horror, Alec was still a talented actor and we wanted him. Hell, his performance in the wardrobe trailer alone proved that he was perfect for the part.

  Bill recommended that I draw the li
ne in the sand with Alec’s agent, John Burnham from the William Morris office. We were running out of time. It was Thursday. Monday morning we were supposed to start shooting.

  ‘You’re kidding me.’

  ‘No, John, I’m not kidding.’

  I could hear it in his voice, a slight death rattle. John, who was an experienced agent, knew what it meant to be the messenger of this kind of news. He had no choice. Alec was a mercurial client, but Alec paid lots of commissions. For several seconds John remained silent. I sensed the mental machinery churning. He was mulling, ‘Oh, I see … now I have to call my crazed client, a man who has the same affection for agents as Hitler had for Jews, and tell him to lop off his beard or he will be fired by the studio and sued for millions of dollars … piece a cake.’ It was Burnham who had convinced Alec to do the movie in the first place.

  ‘This can’t be happening.’

  ‘It’s definitely happening.’

  ‘Hey, let him wear his beard.’

  ‘Oh, I’m afraid we’re way past that.’

  ‘Yesterday everything was fine, how did we get WAY PAST THAT in one day?’

  ‘Mechanic thought Alec was overpriced anyway; he wouldn’t mind if Alec went south. Save some money.’

  ‘Have you told him about the shutting-down thing?’

  ‘No, John, he left before we had a chance.’

  ‘What about lawsuit? Did you mention the word lawsuit?’

  ‘I didn’t feel it was the right time.’

  ‘You mean I have to tell him?’

  ‘Yes.’

  I could hear John’s breathing getting heavier. He knew he had to put on the blindfold and get a cigarette. I didn’t envy him.

  ‘Hey, that’s why you get the big bucks,’ I said, trying to lighten up the call.

  ‘I’ll get back to you.’

  Click.

  ‘We got till Monday.’

  Traditionally, the first day of shooting, getting that first shot in the can, was an exciting and tension-filled time. It was the signature that said, ‘This baby is launched.’ There would be no going back. After all of the nasty wrestling that it takes to get a movie set up, the first shot heralded that the movie was, for sure, going to get made. The studio usually sent you a basket of fruit or a leather folder. Past acrimony was replaced with sentiments of ‘break a leg’ or ‘knock ’em dead.’ Unfortunately, when Monday morning arrived, we were still uncertain if Alec was going to show up sans beard ready for work. Many calls were traded, but not even his lawyer knew where this was going. Were we to break out the champagne or shut the sucker down? By this time, the entire cast and crew were invested in the suspense.

  As we were huddled by the frozen lake preparing to film the first setup, Alec finally arrived in a large SUV and quickly walked into his trailer. Lee and I only caught a glimpse, but he was clean-shaven. The crew was about to cheer but they knew better. Our feelings were mixed. We were pleased that we were going to get on with it but pained that with Alec so pissed off the next ten weeks could be difficult. I remember when he finished with hair and makeup and arrived on the set. I tried to stand off in the distance slightly hidden by one of the large fir trees. I didn’t want my presence to come off as gloating. As the first shot between Hopkins, Alec, and Harold Perrineau was in final rehearsal by the camera, I couldn’t help but notice that when Lee was talking, Alec would look only at Hopkins. Direct eye contact between Tamahori and Baldwin was nonexistent for the remainder of the shoot. As for my appearances on the set, I remained one hundred feet from Alec at all times, as if I had been served with a restraining order.

  Once this impasse got reduced to what Hollywood classically calls ‘a dick-waving incident,’ the downward spiral of tensions became irreversible. I suppose there was no sense grousing about it; I should have found a way to avoid it. In the end, Alec’s performance was applauded as truly excellent. John Burnham paid the price by losing his client. The oddest admission of all, however, is that, looking back, I am not convinced that Alec’s performance or the ultimate box office fate of the movie would have been affected by the beard one way or the other.

  Months later, I asked an actor friend of mine why Alec would have been so insistent on not shaving his beard. What sort of funky Stanislavsky decision would make him so committed? My friend said, without hesitation, ‘Alec probably thought he was a little too heavy and he didn’t like the way his chin looked.’

  SIX

  Bookwormed

  ‘The Bookworm is a terrible title. Bookworm is a terrific title,’ Mamet was beseeching me on the phone, but apparently he wasn’t getting my drift.

  ‘Let me explain myself. Fox’s marketing division doesn’t like The Bookworm, Bookworm, Green Bookworm, Any Sorta Bookworm.’

  ‘Bookworm is a good title.’

  ‘They want to change it.’

  ‘Isn’t this a little late in the game?’

  ‘It’s very late in the game, we open in three months.’

  ‘They’re ridiculous.’

  ‘They never let you down.’

  ‘What’s the next step?’

  ‘They’re making up lists.’

  ‘What do we do?’

  ‘We think of another name or they think of another name.’

  ‘I like Bookworm.’

  ‘I know. Unfortunately, it’s not going to pass the shopping-center test.’

  ‘I see.’

  ‘Dave, I know it’s hard to believe that, after all of this work, one’s fate can be sealed by a group of pet-store owners in a suburb.’

  ‘Ain’t it so.’

  Once a movie is completed, it gets turned over, so to speak, to the ‘marketing’ wizards whose job it is to sell the movie. These people try to figure out the best plan to convince tens of millions of people to leave their houses, park their cars, wait in line, pay their money, and sit through a movie on the opening weekend. If people collectively decide not to come out on that first Friday night, the movie sinks like a rock and ends up in video bins. Marketing seems like a heady, volatile job with much reponsibility. With all of the precarious success and failure of movies, you would think that the people who have these jobs would get hired and fired like fast-food cooks, but nothing could be further from the truth. If a movie fails miserably, they may execute the director, the writer, or the producer at sunrise (leaving them at the least on life support, hoping to get another chance), but as it turns out, the only one safer than a studio head is the head of marketing. It’s never his fault.

  How so? Without getting too tedious, marketing approaches most releases with what I refer to as the ‘diminished expectations method.’ After seeing the picture for the first time, the head of marketing (who in this case is Robert Harper) usually scratches his head, proclaims that this movie’s going to be a tough one to sell, but that they’ll do their level best to pull the rabbit out of the hat. This, of course, puts the filmmakers and the film executives on their heels because after all the work that has been done, if you can’t sell the thing, the whole process becomes a hopeless exercise. It’s as if the surgeon comes out in the middle of the operation, shaking his head saying, ‘I’m gonna have to dig deep on this one, pull out all the stops, and then sew him back up. I don’t know, but this might be a good time for prayer.’ If the patient lives, the doctor is a hero. If the worst occurs, it was God’s will, a patient who had no good reason to live. The doctor, always blameless, simply goes on to the next patient.

  Bob Harper has been at Fox for over fifteen years. He took a brief time-out to try his hand at movie producing, but like his cohort Tom Rothman smartly scurried back to the safe asylum of corporate security. At first glance you’re struck by his calmness. Always casually dressed in the latest Banana Republic uniform, he conducts his meetings while occasionally taking practice putts on his carpet. Even though he was a minnow in the News Corp food chain, back in his secluded set of offices he was, to quote Tom Wolfe, ‘master of his universe.’ Except for the occasional blockbuster or a
mega result from an preordained sequel, most of the movies that Harper devises campaigns for fail. This fact is ameliorated by the larger fact that most movies fail. Harper was accustomed to dying on Friday night only to be reborn on Monday morning ready to service the next Fox movie waiting to come out.

  I noticed that Harper looked ten years younger than his age. Come to think of it, the marketeers at other studios also had that youthful glow of imperturbability. Harper was clearly onto something. His fountain of youth was knowing how to duck. If a movie worked, it was a goddamn great campaign. If a movie failed, well, you get the drill, the movie had an incurable cancer. He had properly warned all concerned that he had tried his best. If required, he was able to act as if he were truly saddened by the film’s demise. He didn’t get all misty-eyed, but he wanted the filmmakers to believe that this loss was his loss too. It was always a helluva performance.

  After Harper saw an early rough cut of Bookworm, he told me that it was a very good movie (there’s that good word cropping up again), but, of course, he had some grave concerns. I’m quite sure he gave the same response to Chernin, Mechanic, Rothman, et al First, he said we were going to have to do something about that title, since his gut told him that it was going to turn people off. I asked whether the title should be tested, but Harper said testing titles was a waste of time. He didn’t trust the results. ‘You can test movies or trailers or even one sheets [movie posters] at random shopping malls,’ he said, ‘but not titles.’ When he uttered the word Bookworm, his face would pucker as if he were trying to rid himself of the remnants of a fart. He said, in this case, ‘I have to trust my insides.’ Mechanic and Rothman shared his vision.

  And, by the way, Harper wanted everyone to know that this was going to be a difficult movie to sell. The demographics were shit. Hadn’t we realized that the favorable audience for Tony Hopkins and Alec Baldwin skewed over thirty? And surely, everyone knew that movies with lots of action skewed under thirty. No getting around it, action was our soup du jour. Just when we begin to care for the photographer’s assistant, our bear viciously rips him to pieces and eats him. According to my calculations, if Harper’s analyses were right, there would be no age group interested in seeing this movie. Oops, does this sound familiar? This was exactly what Mechanic had said before we ever started to make this picture.