Avenue G

My shattered Hollywood dreams -- Picture courtesy Wikipedia

by blogSpotter
My readers may be surprised to know about my failed 'attempt' as a screenwriter. Back in 1998, I attended a home seminar given by a preeminent Hollywood screenwriter who taught at the University of Dallas. He had to be 80 then and is probably dead by now. I won't divulge his name; we'll call him Henry Powell. Mr. Powell was best known for writing screenplays for The Waltons back in the 70's. While that show was schmaltzy, and hardly an accurate reading of the 1930's, I can use helpful tips from any commercially successful writer. The friend who referred me to Mr. Powell said he was an eccentric gay old man, and that he was. He lived in a small house in a Garland suburb -- the house was totally concealed by overgrown trees and bushes. The neighbors had to love it. Mr. Powell was a chain smoker and his house was full of smoke and nicotine residue. He kept it tidy but smoke always sticks around. The house was filled with statues of naked Greeks as well as various fertility artwork and pictures of male genitalia.

I figured that the other screenwriters would be lively, interesting people. I was so wrong -- it was 5 of the saddest, most somber people I've ever met. The meeting mostly was people reading works in progress and getting professional critique. One man read the first two scenes of "Heist" which was about (what else?) a bank robbery. Another man nearly put me to sleep with a screenplay about the Mexican American war, until he included a bit of gratuitous smut at the end. There were no winks, no laughter even in the "light" spots; these people could've worked at a mortuary. I shared my "treatment" idea as an email to Mr. Powell; being a novice I didn't want to embarrass myself in front of these pros with my lame material. It's good that I did it as email, because Mr. Powell ripped my material to shreds.

My story is that of a pro football player who is also gifted with a great singing voice. The story is about the battle that brews between his sports agent and his talent agent, each one trying to steer the budding star away from the influence of the other agent. Mr. Powell had these many comments:

Don't make it a musical
Don't make it a period piece
Don't make it fantasy or science fiction
Don't make it about horror or monsters
Make it a contemporary setting
Write about what you know about

Am not certain to this day if these limitations were for a novice or writers in general. Surely the former and not the latter. Anyhow, he hated my idea. He picked it apart, down to the font I used (must be courier size 10 I think). We came away with the idea that I should write about someone who experiences identity theft on a computer. Oh, now THAT'S never been done before. Now who's El Lamo? Was reminded of Carol Burnett playing Eunice, and calling her acting coach (played to shrill perfection by Madeline Kahn) "Miss Cat Woman from Mars" with snarling sarcasm. How dare The Walton's writer, the man who penned "Good night John Boy" criticize this great Bard? His credibility was further eroded by his opinion that "Good Will Hunting" is one of the best screenplays ever written.

I was greatly discouraged and put away my crayons. Truth is, writing is a lot of work and my 'real' job was eating my lunch at the time. Otherwise, rest assured: the Bard of Dallas would have written his Magnum Opus.

© 2006 blogSpotter

Labels: Humor