​I was headed south for a few days: two meetings, one reconnection, and some quality time with friends. I am happy to report that I not only survived but thrived. I had put a few protocols in place and followed them rigorously. One, a face mask would always be worn inside. Two, I’d only have unprotected anal sex with street prostitutes that had been fully vaccinated (This was a firm rule, and I would only consider breaking the rule for intravenous drug users). 
 
The drive was hideous. I-5 is fastest but filled with meth-fueled truckers, racing to beat their best times to Los Angeles. Occasionally, one would wipe out and leave us all tied up in a jam lasting for at least two hours while overworked highway patrol officers separated the bloody remains from the twisted metal and hot pavement. My first celebrity sighting was at a Chevron Station just north of Bakersfield. Not only did I have the privilege of paying over five dollars a gallon for gas, but I was personally introduced to a large host of flies last seen in the film, The Amityville Horror.  The flies hitched a ride for the last two hundred miles, annoying me with the constant buzz of show business stories, a couple surviving the opening of both front and back windows, making it to Hermosa Beach, where they eventually left to stay with in-laws.
 
I had a couple of meetings that went extremely well, and a mask was always within reach.
 
The first meeting was a lunch with an established director in the historic Riviera Country Club in Pacific Palisades. Iconic location to such classic films as Pat and Mike, Against All Odds, and countless television episodes of The Rockford Files. Lunch was great, conversation was better and should be reaping some results very soon.
 
Yet another meeting on Thursday, this time with a producer on the same project. Breakfast was in Brentwood and consisted of avocado toast, latte, and a conversation with one of the industry giants. Amazingly enough, his resume did not include that he was one of the nicest people I have ever met in my entire career, and I count myself extremely lucky.
 
Alas, the visit was way too brief, the time spent with friends old and new, fleeting. Special thanks to Siri for getting me everywhere I needed with no problems. Sometimes even saving me a minute or two. I did learn something very important. Los Angeles is a very good city for podcasts. Since everything is at least an hour away, it is the perfect summer destination if you want to catch up on your podcasts. And a car is one of the few places you do not have to wear a mask.

And now a word from the world's most vulnerable choir:

​Just for the record, in my entire creative career, I’ve never had a stapler hurled at me. Nor have I ever had the pleasure of hearing the gentle whistling breeze of an inanimate object soaring past my ear. I consider myself fortunate that no one, Hollywood executive, ex-wife, or ex-girlfriend has ever felt the need to capture my attention in such a manner.

Consider, if you will, Scott Rudin, whose exploits are so notorious that they made a movie about it, with, of all people, Kevin Spacey. Talk about dream casting. That’s equivalent to casting disgraced General and Q Anon advocate Michael Fynn in your remake of Seven Days in May. Anyways, the celebrated antics of Rudin are legion. And no worries, if staplers are not your preferred projectile of choice, ask Rudin if he happens to be packing a Blackberry. And, if he can’t get his hands on something to throw, the two-time MVP for abuse will gladly hurl an insult or two. You know you’ve made it into the abusive hall of fame when you Goggle Hollywood assholes, and your name comes up before Harvey Weinstein.

And you do not need to hurl a stapler to win MVP. There are other forms of disrespect that do not leave bruises but can be just as harmful. I have been lucky and have not experienced any of the more egregious behavior. But I have heard the bone-chilling stories, and those are bad enough.

We will not weed out these types in one fell swoop, but bastards like Rudin are a start. And we have to start speaking up. As my friend Dan Sanders is fond of saying, witnessing, and doing nothing (aka The Speer Defense) makes you an accessory. Let’s all try and keep that in mind.

I once went into a pitch meeting, and while I was waiting for my appointment, I saw a sign hanging over the entrance to the inner offices. It did not read, “Abandon hope, all who enter here.” It simply said, “Be Kind.” Nice thought and the sentiment deserves to be hung and mounted in a few more Hollywood offices.

Did you know there was a whole genre in the literary field called Plague Fiction? And it’s not new, and it’s been around for a while.  It seems fiction writers are way ahead of the curve when it comes to disaster entertainment. They were out Irwin Allening Irwin Allen long before Poseidon Adventure or Towering Inferno. Stephen King’s The Stand certainly qualifies, but what about The Andromeda Strain by Crichton or the more recent Station Eleven by Emily St. John Mandel. All those listed are examples of modern writers tackling the subject. But it goes back even longer. Dante’s Inferno is a direct result of both noble and peasant alike sharing an overwhelming concern about getting their shit together before the angel of death came to a calling.
 
I think it is high time for plague travel brochures and specialty tours. You want to catch this bad boy? How about a trip to Orange County, CA. Perhaps Triple-A can offer something; a sick-trip-tick. I’ll get back to you on that.
 
What’s my point? Not sure. I am heading to Los Angeles on Monday for a couple of meetings and secretly wonder if I am laying my life on the line for the potential promise of a few measly dollars. I guess what I am trying to say, even during the black plague, people must eat, and, unfortunately, that includes conducting some sort of commerce. I’ll be wearing my mask, eating outdoors, and will forgo the Dodgers against San Francisco series that will be in full swing during my visit. 
 
I have two meetings/lunches scheduled, and I am excited about both and will keep you plague posted. In the meantime, here is your weekly video concerning the new Republican Health Plan. Enjoy.

As I remove the contents of my Madison Reed hair color kit in anticipation of my next trip south, I ponder the issue of ageism in Hollywood and how it affects people of a certain age. I have pondered many schemes to combat the natural prejudice of writers of my generation, including utilizing a Martin Ritt type of The Front scam, recruiting someone much younger to peddle my pitches. Hey, don’t laugh. It could work.  Now of the tail end of the pandemic, I am not entirely sure investing in such a scam is needed. With the ability to conduct meetings over Skype, Zoom, or even WebEx, some producers are changing the whole idea of the pitch. And all you need for a video conference is a good puppet stand-in, like the one used by Clint Howard in Star Trek (TOS), The Corbomite Maneuver.
 
Indeed, the people who have worked with me in the past have some idea of my age. A couple of them have even attended my 60th birthday celebration. Still, like glory, memory south of Bakersfield is fleeting. As a rule, the serious screenwriter should be wary of discussing the benefits of Medicare parts A and D in any industry pitch sessions. These discussions are best left to your tight circle of friends.
 
While we’re at it, here are a few more subjects, besides your age, that should be off-limits at a pitch meeting; how broke you are, the health of the producer’s discretionary fund, and, it goes without saying, politics of any kind. However, conversations regarding the advanced age of any of your peers are perfectly acceptable and often even justified. Not only does it take the focus off of your extra-long ear and nose hairs, but it may also change the subject to someone a producer dislikes more than you.

​After all, this is show business, and you are only going to get ahead by tearing down all of those in your profession.
 

​“No matter how many times you stir up a steaming pile of crap, it’s still just a steaming pile of crap.” Altos Budrys
 
“Books aren’t written - they’re rewritten. Including your own. It is one of the hardest things to accept, especially after the seventh rewrite hasn’t quite done it.” Michael Crichton
“I will sell no screenplay before its time.” Orson Welles.
 
There are two schools of thought on this. For the sake of this blog post, I will go with the latter. From perspective, I’d just cleaned out one of two filing cabinets and found two screenplays that needed to be spiffed up for my portfolio. I am afraid that the references had not aged well, and I thought If I were going to keep them, it would be best to send them over to the creative detail shop. 
The first step was to read through them both, and after I removed the taste of bile from my mouth, I went to work. Both needed major plotting work with a stronger focus on the characters. The arcs for the leads were okay, but the broad strokes I had used for the supporting casts were nothing more than stereotypes (I always knew I should have taken that staff writing job for Hee-Haw). 
I jumped into both projects and several weeks later had two new drafts. Both are better but are they worth sending out? Hard to tell, but it does bring up the age-old question, two of your creative darlings are drowning. What do you do? I guess my answer was to try and save them both.

​When you can’t think of anything meaningful to write, it must be time for ODDS and ENDS. For those new to this blog, this is the particular time when I go all Larry King on your ass. Not infomercial Larry King, or even CNN Larry King. This is Larry King at his best. This is U.S.A. Today Larry King. For those of you not familiar with his unique style, it goes a little something like this…
 
For my money, Doritos is the best corn chip on the market. And speaking of my money, my ex-wife will never get any of it. Okay, you get the picture.

​If you have just binged Dan Harmon’s Community and happen to be looking for another comedy that will quench your thirst for quirky comedy, may I humbly suggest Superstore created by Justin Spitzer. The characters are both hilarious and endearing and if you’ve spent any time in retail, you will realize how dead-on it really is. From the before store opening “huzzah” meetings to the interpersonal relationship stores, it is a comedy that has never really gotten it’s due.
 
Girls5eva is a bit more of a mixed bag created by Tina Fey and Meredith Scardino. While there are quite a few moments of brilliance, the Paul Simon-like anthem, New York Lonely Boy immediately coming to mind, it is still ironing out some of the kinks as it were. However, I am quite confident that like the once popular 90s girl band attempting to rise from the ashes of obscurity, I see only good episodes ahead.
 
(Are you getting how this whole Larry King-style reporting works? Good.)

​Nicholas and Alexandra is a sweeping historical epic directed by Franklin J. Schaffner, written by James Goldman and based on the book by Robert K. Massie.
 
(This is known as a Larry King abrupt U-Turn. Hold on.)
 
If you are a fan of the Russian Czars, hemophilia, and the ending of empires, this may be the movie for you. Produced in 1971, this historical epic never really caught on with audiences, but it happens to be one of my favorites. There is a tracking shot with the two title characters retreating to their quarters after a palace ball which is dazzling in its construction and while the whole move is a bit dry, I think stands right up there with some of Lean’s best films. Check out the Blu-Ray if you get a chance. Worth it! 
 
Okay, hopefully next week’s entry will have a bit more structure. Thanks for stopping by and have a great week.
 

​Most of us have written them, that Industry Hail Mary pass, tossing our idea all willy-nilly like into the fiery maelstrom we all call the movie business. Sometimes our total effort can number into the hundreds, the results being wadded up and tossed into admin trash cans, clogging fax machines, and filling up spam and junk email folders from Encino to Manhattan Beach. Yep, I’m talking query letters, the system of pitching our screenplays to people who don’t really care. Most are never seen; precious few ever get a response. If we’re lucky we may get an “unable to accept unsolicited material,” response or the even rarer sincere brief word of encouragement. Today I am not going to show you how to write one. There are a million websites, screenplay books and costly seminars that will teach you how to do that. Today, I offer something completely different. I call it, the revenge of the query letter.

Da-da-da! (Dramatic music)

And it goes a little something like this:

​Earl J, Waggedorn
818-221-1212
earl@myinternetsucks.biz
372 E Olive #4
Burbank, CA   91502  

​June 19, 2021
 
Re: 
 
Dear Waste-Paper Basket, Spam/Junk Folder or reluctantly possessed by some low paid Assistant:
 
(They say in the first paragraph you really need to sell yourself.)
 
I have spent the last fifty-five years in jungles of Borneo, fending off rival tribes while patiently teaching the collective works of Ayn Rand to the natives. My time here as made me proficient at head-hunting and low-level cannibalism, and I have many thrilling and humorous anecdotes of the occasional missionary or wild hog that slipped from my grasp. Obviously, this has left me many a solitary night to create stories, first shared around a campfire and later painted on the wall of a cave in the classic Syd Field three-act structure. 
 
(The logline. Two sentences or less that will trap the reader into an even longer paragraph just below)
 
A happy-go-lucky anti-vaxxer is conked on the head and wakes up surrounded by angry natives in the jungles of Borneo. With only the clothes on his back and a tattered copy of The Fountainhead, Merle, must battle adversaries, learn to smoke, and eat missionaries without a Traeger and find a way to get back to his home in a red state.
 
(Now your audience is hooked and it’s time to follow this up with what is sometimes referred to as the elevator pitch. Some say it’s because it should take the time required for an elevator to travel from one floor to the next. Wrong!  I believe It is the time required to identify who farted on a crowded elevator.)
 
Merle Wiggleworm loves Trump. He loves him so much that he is willing to sacrifice democracy in favor of a dictator ruled theocracy. Having had enough of such hijinks, his long-suffering wife, conks him over with a microwave and places him into an Zhen Hua Logistics shipping container. When I, I mean he, wakes up, he is alone in the jungles of Borneo, with only his copy of Ayn Rand, his political dogma and his worn MAGA hat to comfort him. Soon, the head-hunting natives are made aware of the island’s newest inhabitant, and it becomes a race against time subjugate an inferior race to win his freedom. 
 
(Wow, I think we can all agree that this story practically writes itself. So, we’ve hooked that industry like a big-mouth bass and now it is time to reel that sucker in with a closing line that will all but guarantee a response.)
 
I was thinking of Jon Voight to play me. What do you think?
 
Most Sincerely,
 
Earl

"I got off that boat with nothing but my dancers belt and a tube of CHAPSTICK." 
– Corky St. Clair.

Foreward
Back in 1977, I worked with a theatre director who was nothing like anyone I’d ever worked with before. He was more flamboyant than talented, possessed a heart of gold and a style that was uniquely his own. Ten years later, I was performing stand-up comedy in a Holiday Inn near where I first met this extraordinary man. After the show, an audience member discretely informed me that years before, the director had been found dead in the mountains with his throat slashed. But, hey, that’s a story for a different time. 
 
I only drudge up this story because Christopher Guest’s portrayal of Corky St. Clair in Waiting for Guffman channels this small-town impresario eerily. From tip of the beard, to top of toupee, to the total enthusiasm for all things theatre, Guest embodies my director, Cecil O. Johnson.  So, of in honor of Cecil, I present the wit and wisdom of Corky St. Clair.

​History:
 
“My first show was Barefoot in the Park, which was an absolute smash, but my production on the stage of Backdraft was what really got them excited. This whole idea of 'In Your Face' theatre really affected them. The conceptualization, the whole abstraction, the obtuseness of this production to me was what was interesting. I wanted the audience to feel the heat from the fire—the fear—because people don't like fire, poked, poked in their noses. You know, when you get a cinder from a barbeque right on the end of your nose, and you kind of make that face, you know? That's not a good thing. And I wanted them to have the sense memory of that. So during the show I had someone burn newspapers and send it through the vents in the theatre. And well, they freaked out, and 'course the fire marshall came over, and they shut us down for a couple of days.”
 
On budgeting and finance:
 
“So what I'm understanding here - correct me, if I'm wrong - is that you're not givin' me any money. So now I'm left basically with nothin'. I'm left with zero, in which, in which, what can I do with zero, you know? What can I - I can't do anythin' with it! I need to, this is my life here we're talking about! We're not just talkin' about, you know, somethin' else. We're talking about mylife, you know? And it's forcing me to do somethin' I don't wanna do. To leave. To, to go out and just leave and go home and say, make a clean cut here and say: 'No way, Corky, you're not puttin' up with these people!' And I'll tell you why I can't put up with you people - because you're bastard people! That's what you are! You're just bastard people! And I'm goin' home and I'm gonna, I'm gonna bite my pillow, is what I'm gonna do!”

On life, karma and his “wife” Bonnie:

I think that the elements, as Dr. Watson said to Sherlock, "are coming together, sir." I was shopping for my wife, Bonnie (I buy most of her clothes). And Mrs. Pearl was in the same shop, and it just was an accident. Y'know, we started talking... about pantyhose. She was saying—w-whatever, that's not the point of the story, but what the point is was that through this accidental meeting—it's like, y'know, it's like a Hitchcock movie, where, you know, you're thrown into a rubber bag and put in the trunk of a car. You find people; you find them. Something... It—is it karma? Maybe. But we found him; that's the important thing—and I got Bonnie a wonderful pantsuit.

"Who wants more drinkies?”
​Cecil Johnson

or
Comics for when you're  high.

​Back in the day, loaded on whatever smokable I could get my hands on, I perused such classics as Mr. Natural, The Fabulous Furry Freak Brothers, Trots, and Bonnie, gravitating in the eighties to the daring exploits of Reid Fleming: World’s Toughest Milkman. Giving my lungs and consciousness a much-needed respite, I moved away from these titles, settling on the more severe titles scribed by Alan Moore, Neil Gaiman, and Mark Verheiden. I was happy to remain here until…
 
One eventful Christmas, Pacia Marie Linde sent me the first two titles. I am reviewing both today. Both books have altered the delicate chemistry of my brain forever…most likely for the worst.  
 
I am lucky enough to know many very talented writers and artists in the comic book field.   They are intelligent, well-read, concerned with social issues, and would probably lynch me if they knew that I am a secret fan of the Batman ‘66 series of comics. Specifically, the mashups, teaming the television dynamic duo with whomever had a popular show around the same time. Specifically, I am talking about Batman ’66 meets The Man from U.N.C.L.E., and its Pulitzer Prize-winning companion opus Batman ’66 meets Steed and Mrs. Peel.  I was gifted these masterpieces by a daughter who truly knows the appreciation her father has for the literary giants.

​First review, Batman “66 Meets Steed and Mrs Peele. Remember the Cybernauts from Season 4, Episode 3?. Well, they are back and this time around they're teaming up with Lord Marmaduke Ffog as well as some other nefarious special guest villains. The writing is better than you'd expect with some of it actually sounding as if the writers had paid attention to the original BBC episodes. Then again, as advertised, I was a bit high. The art, is, eh, interesting to say the least. Some panels appear to have been rotoscoped using a process slightly reminiscent of someone who studied at Andy Warhol Community College, the characters actually resembling their television counterparts. In others, the art seems to be lifted out of a Dell comic book from the sixties.
 
Overall rating B-  (High Score  A)

​Batman 66 meets the Man from U.N.C.L.E. is definitely a mixed bag. Evil organization Thrush, under the evil guidance of Olga, Queen of the Cossacks, engineers a mass break out of Arkham Asylum.  Along the way we get a nice mix of villains, including The Penguin, Poison Ivy and even Egghead. The writing is not as crisp as in the previous book and, while the color pallet is just as loud as Steed and Peele, the bizarre Andy Warhol rotoscoping has been replaced in favor of an easy on the eyes coloring book feel. On the colorful, way too vibrant bright side, the estate of Robert Vaughn and David McCallum have nothing to sue over as the characters don’t even remotely resemble them. 

​Overall rating C- (High Score C-)
 
Now, that out of the way, I propose my own Batman ‘66 mashup:
 
Batman “66 meets Sheriff Andy Taylor and Deputy Barney Fife.
 
Here’s the logline:
 
The Joker’s car breaks down in Mayberry, the crown prince of crime swiping Fife’s only bullet while simultaneously toying with the affections of hillbilly socialite Charlene Darling and spinster telephone operator Sarah. 
 
Now all need to is find a coloring book.

See you all next week. Same Bat Time. Same Bat Channel.

​The late, great Thomas McComb had a favorite saying whenever one was faced with either a decision, setback or a prolonged period of pity partying:

“You’re either on the bus, or off.”

It was Tom’s special way of saying, “fuck you, you want in or not?”

We all go through the same periods of trial, tribulation, self-doubt or whether it is just time to throw in the towel and let life carry you down the current to the Falls of Rauros (Tom would have appreciated the LOTR reference).

I’m going to have to agree with Tommy on this one. Creativity is not a merely a gift, talent or a blessing. It is a calling. Do I need to repeat that. You have a talent and it is up to you to do something useful with it. You simply don’t retire, walk away or quit. In order to achieve maximum benefit, you must nurture and practice it. And, at all costs, you never ever give up.

I have been writing for almost fifty years. The total amount of money I made from “my calling” would not fill up one reusable bag from Trader Joe’s. Needless to say, I insist on being paid only in large untraceable bills, but the fact remains the same; I write because it is what I do. There is nothing else I would rather do. It brings me joy and on rare occasions provides a bit of entertainment to others.

I am by no means a great writer either. There are thousands more with more talent than I will ever hope to have. My daughter, Pacia Marie Linde, is one of these. If you don’t believe me, check out her blog.

​However I do know this as a fact, I am much better than I was 50 years ago. And, occasionally I get to bat and I hit a solid line drive that gets me all the way to second base. I am still hoping that I am young enough to hit a triple or maybe even a home run. We’ll see.
 
But, I can tell you this much:
 
I am definitely “on the bus.”