Hollywood scribe tribe -- Les Miserable$
December 26th, 2002
AP
They're an elite group. They make as much as $2 million per gig. In some situations they pull down $250,000 a week. They're courted by superstars. Agents return their phone calls.
Are they happy? Not a chance.
That exotic fraternity of screenwriters who are making more money and wielding more power than their literary forbears could ever imagine are increasingly a nervous, self-doubting lot. That's because the big bucks bring with them some serious perils.
For one thing, writers are acutely aware that their time at the top may be brief -- that everyone's looking for the next hot writer. Ageism stares them in the face.
And the only way to sustain their hefty payday is to focus on sequels or tentpole pictures, hardly the sort of projects that will earn them critical praise. Whatever their reputation, they know they'll still be rewritten.
Worst of all, if the movie flops, they'll get the blame.
Top screenwriters are hip to how their views would look in print, so they are far too savvy to gripe much publicly about their gig. But talk to the agents or managers of top-tier writers and they'll tell you horror stories about their angst-ridden clients.
They'll also tell you that, despite the mind-boggling paychecks, these scribes are increasingly trying to diversify their careers.
David Koepp ("Spider-Man"), for example, recently signed with NBC to create a half-hour anthology series, having already created "Hack," a rookie CBS drama; Aaron Sorkin, who started out with play-into-movie "A Few Good Men" and feature "The American President" has become far better known as the creator of "The West Wing", Paul Attanasio, who penned "Quiz Show," went on to co-create "Homicide: Life on the Street" and "Gideon's Crossing."
Meanwhile, writers including Richard LaGravenese ("Beloved"), Steve Zaillian ("Schindler's List"), Larry Kasdan ("Mumford"), Steve Kloves ("Harry Potter") Gary Ross ("Dave") and Callie Khouri ("Thelma & Louise") have ventured into directing.
Ross, who both wrote and directed "Pleasantville" and the upcoming "Seabiscuit," says that path is nothing new for Hollywood, that he's merely following the writer-to-director footsteps of Billy Wilder, Preston Sturges and Francis Ford Coppola.
"Directing is not something that's an outgrowth of writing -- it's something that I've always wanted to do," he adds.
CAA partner Doc O'Connor -- part of a team handling such scribes as Koepp, Attanasio, Ron Bass ("Rain Man") and Akiva Goldsman ("A Beautiful Mind") -- says, "Why do they go off and do other things? Control has a lot to do with it. It's also about exercising different creative muscles."
O'Connor notes that TV allows development of characters over an entire season.
"Also, there are a lot of writers who love the process of writing but also yearn to get out of their little rooms, and directing affords them that opportunity," he says. "Similarly, in the television world you're working very closely with others."
And, of course, many on the top tier also labor in the lotus land of writer-for-hire, earning as much as $250,000 for a week or two of fast polishes under the gun.
"You get put on impossible 11th-hour missions where you're expected to pull a miracle out of your hat," notes Leslie Dixon, writer of "Mrs. Doubtfire" and "The Thomas Crown Affair" "Part of what they're paying you for at this level is to not react hysterically."
"It's like getting into a race car on the 483rd lap of a 500-lap race," Goldsman says of the last-minute jobs. "It's fun, but it also requires a total commitment."
At first glance, it might seem counterintuitive that studios now will pay $2 million per script in an era of relentless cost-cutting. But the overarching strategy of risk-aversion dictates that such spending actually makes sense if it's aimed at a writer with a track record.
"There's no mystery to it," explains one attorney. "These writers are paid a lot for the same reason Barry Bonds is paid a lot for hitting home runs. If you can get your movies made consistently and they perform well, that will increase the demand for your services. Of course, at that price you're expected to deliver a real movie."
And despite the pressure, there are plenty of perks.
"This isn't pressure," declares Lowell Ganz, who has teamed successfully with Babaloo Mandel for more than a decade on such films as "City Slickers" and "Parenthood." "Pressure is when you can't get a job."
"You go from being the guy who's waiting to get asked to being in the driver's seat; the first thing that happens is you get inundated with so many offers," agrees Jim Herzfeld, who moved onto the A-list with "Meet the Parents."
"Prior to then, it was just taking the biggest offer and going with the flow. Now it's a question of, 'Do I want to work with Ron Howard or Hugh Grant?"'
The perks go well beyond the money. Meetings tend to be far less stressful, calls are returned promptly and there's the intoxicating freedom to turn down projects -- and to express feelings of frustration.
One highly paid writer enjoys telling the story (though he doesn't enjoy attaching his name to the tale) about being paid $100,000 for one week's work on a troubled action film.
As the seventh scribe on the film, he was besieged with incessant phone calls from the studio and producers second-guessing each line he wrote. After a week, he messengered his draft to the studio and scrawled across the manila envelope, "Here's your f---ing script."
But whatever bravado comes from joining the elite, staying there is maddeningly elusive. A-listers admit to bouncing between confidence and uncertainty.
"Writers fall into two groups -- one thinks everything they write is good; the other, which I belong to, is convinced that they were lucky enough to fool everyone the last time and they are about to be caught this time," Goldsman says.
"Invariably, there will come a moment where I realize the jig is up, where it's just pure deep panic. The big change is that now I recognize this as part of the process. I can perspectivize it. And the day that writing becomes easy -- that's a dangerous day."
A-list writers become painfully aware that they are measured mostly by the most recent box office, even though the onscreen dialogue bears little resemblance to their original screenplay.
"It's one of the oldest cliches in town," says Robert Towne ( news), whose classic "Chinatown" script won him the Oscar in 1974. "It all comes down to how successful was your last movie.
"What happens is there is more of a tendency today to chase a writer when he's done a hit movie. In those cases, the individual writer benefits, but I don't think the overall status of the writer has changed for the better."
Goldsman notes he broke in with three consecutive hits before his career took a downturn.
"You come and go in terms of popularity. I started with 'The Client,' 'Batman Forever' and 'A Time to Kill' -- boom, boom, boom, and I was the bee's knees for awhile. Then I had a run ("Batman & Robin," "Lost in Space") where everyone was less interested."
And pitfalls await those who don't take proper advantage of the heat. Dixon asserts that top writers often become complacent by hammering out lucrative rewrites, only to discover their status has slid.
"A good agent or manager will point out that it's been four years since you've done an original screenplay and perhaps you should stop doing rewrites," she notes.
"You can coast on the momentum of a hit for years, but it's hard to get back that heat once it fades. The question is how do you capitalize on the momentum, because it will not always be there."
And the work itself is never easy, even for the indisputably successful Ron Bass, who starts writing every day by 4:30 a.m. so he can accomplish a significant amount of scripting before the inevitable phone calls begin.
"Writing is absolutely as torturous as ever, word by word, page by page," he admits. "You want the studio, the actress and director to love what you've written and it kills you when they don't. And it never happens that they say, 'You're Ron Bass, so I'll take your word for it.' It's still the same thrill when it works and you watch an audience enjoy something you had a hand in. But it does not get any easier."
Still, Bass remains essentially optimistic amid the pronouncements of doom and gloom.
"It always feels like this is the worst that it's ever been -- that studios are not making character-driven films that writers like to work on," he says.
"I don't think that's the case. A-list writers are still finding lots of interesting work."
And some on the A-list are OK with sticking to what got them on the list in the first place.
"I have no desire to direct and I don't know if I have the wherewithal to direct because it takes a certain kind of personality in that you have to like to micro-manage and be in authority," declares Eric Roth, who won an Oscar for "Forrest Gump." "I like doing what I'm doing. I like the solitude."
Goldsman admits he's never recognized on the street despite his Oscar, which he views as a blessing.
"What I get from people is, 'Maybe we knew each other when I worked at Bausch & Lomb," he adds.
"There's no cult of personality and the great upside is that the work is just the work. So you get to start new again."
(Source: Reuters/Variety > Feature)
They're an elite group. They make as much as $2 million per gig. In some situations they pull down $250,000 a week. They're courted by superstars. Agents return their phone calls.
Are they happy? Not a chance.
That exotic fraternity of screenwriters who are making more money and wielding more power than their literary forbears could ever imagine are increasingly a nervous, self-doubting lot. That's because the big bucks bring with them some serious perils.
For one thing, writers are acutely aware that their time at the top may be brief -- that everyone's looking for the next hot writer. Ageism stares them in the face.
And the only way to sustain their hefty payday is to focus on sequels or tentpole pictures, hardly the sort of projects that will earn them critical praise. Whatever their reputation, they know they'll still be rewritten.
Worst of all, if the movie flops, they'll get the blame.
Top screenwriters are hip to how their views would look in print, so they are far too savvy to gripe much publicly about their gig. But talk to the agents or managers of top-tier writers and they'll tell you horror stories about their angst-ridden clients.
They'll also tell you that, despite the mind-boggling paychecks, these scribes are increasingly trying to diversify their careers.
David Koepp ("Spider-Man"), for example, recently signed with NBC to create a half-hour anthology series, having already created "Hack," a rookie CBS drama; Aaron Sorkin, who started out with play-into-movie "A Few Good Men" and feature "The American President" has become far better known as the creator of "The West Wing", Paul Attanasio, who penned "Quiz Show," went on to co-create "Homicide: Life on the Street" and "Gideon's Crossing."
Meanwhile, writers including Richard LaGravenese ("Beloved"), Steve Zaillian ("Schindler's List"), Larry Kasdan ("Mumford"), Steve Kloves ("Harry Potter") Gary Ross ("Dave") and Callie Khouri ("Thelma & Louise") have ventured into directing.
Ross, who both wrote and directed "Pleasantville" and the upcoming "Seabiscuit," says that path is nothing new for Hollywood, that he's merely following the writer-to-director footsteps of Billy Wilder, Preston Sturges and Francis Ford Coppola.
"Directing is not something that's an outgrowth of writing -- it's something that I've always wanted to do," he adds.
CAA partner Doc O'Connor -- part of a team handling such scribes as Koepp, Attanasio, Ron Bass ("Rain Man") and Akiva Goldsman ("A Beautiful Mind") -- says, "Why do they go off and do other things? Control has a lot to do with it. It's also about exercising different creative muscles."
O'Connor notes that TV allows development of characters over an entire season.
"Also, there are a lot of writers who love the process of writing but also yearn to get out of their little rooms, and directing affords them that opportunity," he says. "Similarly, in the television world you're working very closely with others."
And, of course, many on the top tier also labor in the lotus land of writer-for-hire, earning as much as $250,000 for a week or two of fast polishes under the gun.
"You get put on impossible 11th-hour missions where you're expected to pull a miracle out of your hat," notes Leslie Dixon, writer of "Mrs. Doubtfire" and "The Thomas Crown Affair" "Part of what they're paying you for at this level is to not react hysterically."
"It's like getting into a race car on the 483rd lap of a 500-lap race," Goldsman says of the last-minute jobs. "It's fun, but it also requires a total commitment."
At first glance, it might seem counterintuitive that studios now will pay $2 million per script in an era of relentless cost-cutting. But the overarching strategy of risk-aversion dictates that such spending actually makes sense if it's aimed at a writer with a track record.
"There's no mystery to it," explains one attorney. "These writers are paid a lot for the same reason Barry Bonds is paid a lot for hitting home runs. If you can get your movies made consistently and they perform well, that will increase the demand for your services. Of course, at that price you're expected to deliver a real movie."
And despite the pressure, there are plenty of perks.
"This isn't pressure," declares Lowell Ganz, who has teamed successfully with Babaloo Mandel for more than a decade on such films as "City Slickers" and "Parenthood." "Pressure is when you can't get a job."
"You go from being the guy who's waiting to get asked to being in the driver's seat; the first thing that happens is you get inundated with so many offers," agrees Jim Herzfeld, who moved onto the A-list with "Meet the Parents."
"Prior to then, it was just taking the biggest offer and going with the flow. Now it's a question of, 'Do I want to work with Ron Howard or Hugh Grant?"'
The perks go well beyond the money. Meetings tend to be far less stressful, calls are returned promptly and there's the intoxicating freedom to turn down projects -- and to express feelings of frustration.
One highly paid writer enjoys telling the story (though he doesn't enjoy attaching his name to the tale) about being paid $100,000 for one week's work on a troubled action film.
As the seventh scribe on the film, he was besieged with incessant phone calls from the studio and producers second-guessing each line he wrote. After a week, he messengered his draft to the studio and scrawled across the manila envelope, "Here's your f---ing script."
But whatever bravado comes from joining the elite, staying there is maddeningly elusive. A-listers admit to bouncing between confidence and uncertainty.
"Writers fall into two groups -- one thinks everything they write is good; the other, which I belong to, is convinced that they were lucky enough to fool everyone the last time and they are about to be caught this time," Goldsman says.
"Invariably, there will come a moment where I realize the jig is up, where it's just pure deep panic. The big change is that now I recognize this as part of the process. I can perspectivize it. And the day that writing becomes easy -- that's a dangerous day."
A-list writers become painfully aware that they are measured mostly by the most recent box office, even though the onscreen dialogue bears little resemblance to their original screenplay.
"It's one of the oldest cliches in town," says Robert Towne ( news), whose classic "Chinatown" script won him the Oscar in 1974. "It all comes down to how successful was your last movie.
"What happens is there is more of a tendency today to chase a writer when he's done a hit movie. In those cases, the individual writer benefits, but I don't think the overall status of the writer has changed for the better."
Goldsman notes he broke in with three consecutive hits before his career took a downturn.
"You come and go in terms of popularity. I started with 'The Client,' 'Batman Forever' and 'A Time to Kill' -- boom, boom, boom, and I was the bee's knees for awhile. Then I had a run ("Batman & Robin," "Lost in Space") where everyone was less interested."
And pitfalls await those who don't take proper advantage of the heat. Dixon asserts that top writers often become complacent by hammering out lucrative rewrites, only to discover their status has slid.
"A good agent or manager will point out that it's been four years since you've done an original screenplay and perhaps you should stop doing rewrites," she notes.
"You can coast on the momentum of a hit for years, but it's hard to get back that heat once it fades. The question is how do you capitalize on the momentum, because it will not always be there."
And the work itself is never easy, even for the indisputably successful Ron Bass, who starts writing every day by 4:30 a.m. so he can accomplish a significant amount of scripting before the inevitable phone calls begin.
"Writing is absolutely as torturous as ever, word by word, page by page," he admits. "You want the studio, the actress and director to love what you've written and it kills you when they don't. And it never happens that they say, 'You're Ron Bass, so I'll take your word for it.' It's still the same thrill when it works and you watch an audience enjoy something you had a hand in. But it does not get any easier."
Still, Bass remains essentially optimistic amid the pronouncements of doom and gloom.
"It always feels like this is the worst that it's ever been -- that studios are not making character-driven films that writers like to work on," he says.
"I don't think that's the case. A-list writers are still finding lots of interesting work."
And some on the A-list are OK with sticking to what got them on the list in the first place.
"I have no desire to direct and I don't know if I have the wherewithal to direct because it takes a certain kind of personality in that you have to like to micro-manage and be in authority," declares Eric Roth, who won an Oscar for "Forrest Gump." "I like doing what I'm doing. I like the solitude."
Goldsman admits he's never recognized on the street despite his Oscar, which he views as a blessing.
"What I get from people is, 'Maybe we knew each other when I worked at Bausch & Lomb," he adds.
"There's no cult of personality and the great upside is that the work is just the work. So you get to start new again."
(Source: Reuters/Variety > Feature)
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