Bmwhtly & Hillgate --
The "normal" way of submitting a screenplay is 100% worthless, in my opinion. Have you been to Hollywood? Some of the people in charge are illiterate ADD dyslexics with uncles or parents in the biz and they are far more likely to respond to Zag's sneaky approach than to EVER have anything to do with an MS sent in the mail. The Writer's Digest protocol of queries and crossing transoms disappeared just as the Internet and e-mail showed up, around 1998. Not one greenlight in California in the past five years came from a screenplay "mailed-in."
Zag's advice to listen to some 27-year-old's description of his job or his life is spot-on. If you listen out here, you're tagged as being "wise." They will call you, and not the other way around. There's still no money in it, as Zag also writes about the PA shuttle.
But Hollywood is also the domain of smart, ambitious executives who are looking for the next "Sideways" or "Little Miss Sunshine," and they know a commercial deal when they see or hear it. These people NEVER see a "mailed-in" screenplay, and certainly NEVER read a query. Every screenplay comes from a known source: a production company, a writer already connected, in-house producers (perhaps the majority), or from agents, lawyers and managers who are on a first-name basis or whose agencies have weight. I've written many times before on these boards that the only way in for the amateur is to get a lawyer or an agent or a manager. I've been out here almost four years, and that paradigm keeps getting more concrete: lawyer, agent, manager, in that order of importance. And I think in another five years even lawyers will be shut out or at least divided into the camp with access (smaller) and the rest with ambition. The latter will then go through the former to the people who can give a script any attention, let alone a thumb's up.
Of course people's writing dreams depend on the kind of silly insider tips from Writer's Digest and its ilk, but I've seen countless times that Hollywood's dreamers are bypassed by its schemers, exactly the sort of opportunistic wheelers represented by Zag. You make a contact, you make a friend, you make the friend come to you for ideas and advice, and then you can begin to pitch. Unfortunately, you can't do it from Oshkosh. I'd love to move to Nashville and have access to cheap musicians for my projects; I'd love to move to St. Paul and take advantage of the young blood creatives there; I’d love to move to a cabin outside Berkeley Springs and enjoy the West Virginia quiet and calm; I’d love to be in Santarem or Oaxaca or Socotra, writing, shooting, creating; I’d love to escape this place and the outrageous $2300 rent . . . But I can’t, because I’m totally dependent on the tiny lifeline threading out of Culver City or Universal Studios or Studio City or even the legal offices in Santa Monica. This is where the break is, and this is where you have to surf or admit that writing screenplays is a hobby and head for the mountains and type away, perhaps buoyed by the illusion that I can “send something in” and hit the target.
The good news is that the sky is deep blue today, and it’s warm enough to wear a T-shirt if you’re not in the hills, and rent for a one-bedroom on Hollywood Blvd is as low as a grand a month including the use of a heated swimming pool. For a writer who wants to be in the movie business, why wouldn’t you be out here in the movie business? And for those writers who respond that they’re stuck in lives in Ohio or Yorkshire or Switzerland, why not make a movie about your plight? Check out “Tarnation.” That’s the easiest way into Hollywood.
And a personal note: I pay the crazy rent in Laurel Canyon because I can make a movie deal in the convenience store with my neighbors. There are three projects right now (a documentary and two foreign-language ultra-lows) in my hands which have sprouted from 100% casual conversations with neighbors and acquaintances. But I’m not really interested in collaboration, especially on new things, so I make my own projects slowly, slowly come to life and wait to drop examples on the starving lawyers and erstwhile “bankers” out here. And an added benefit is that investors (bored 50-year-olds with cash or large lines of credit) call me EVERY SINGLE DAY to see when they can write a check “to get involved,” and they’re calling from New York or Washington or Atlanta and are completely seduced by Hollywood and the Hills and Laurel Canyon. I go to Home Depot on Tuesday to buy a $14 hummingbird feeder so we can photograph these charming creatures on the deck, and the European 48-year-old real estate mogul staying at my place decides right there in the garden section that he wants to fund my fifty-grand Farsi bikini-babe-assassinates-oil-execs movie, and wants to write that check. But what about the vein surgeon in San Clemente who is Persian and thinks he’s a movie producer because he makes YOGA videos and who wants to be an actor in this movie and HE wants to fund it? And what about the disco king from Sunset Boulevard who wants to cast the Iranian actors, and what about the Iranian publisher who wants to play the detective? They all have access to money. As long as we’re talking under $100,000, no problem. And there is no script. No screenplay. I’m writing a love story and trying to produce a TV show, and in ten days on the East Coast eleven people will tell me they want to get out of real estate or retail or writing contracts and get into the movie business. That’s how sexy even the most tangential but credible connection to Hollywood can be.
If I was 27 and had the gab and could spell and had good handwriting, I’d make a movie for four grand in Peoria, move to LA and get into the New Media (youtube and the other net video junk) and look for a publisher who does not want to play by the rules. You couldn’t do this for two years before you get job offers or sell an idea, oops, script.
But to do it the way Writer’s Digest suggests is utterly hopeless. In my opinion.