"The Happening"
Studio Executive and Assistant Studio Executive are sitting behind SE's desk, laughing hysterically. M. Night Shyamalan sits opposite them, looking confused.
M. Night: “What is so funny?”
SE: “It's....(out of breath)....the plants.......they.....hahahahaha.”
ASE: “Wow, that is the most fun I've had all day.”
M. Night: “It wasn't a joke. I have the script all ready to go.”
SE (to ASE): “Oh my God, he's actually serious? HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!”
ASE: “You don't really think we're going to make a movie about killer plants, right?”
M. Night (thrusting the script at ASE): “But it's a very compelling read, if you would just...”
SE: “HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!”
ASE: “If they were man-eating plants with teeth, that's one thing. But an invisible toxin? Really?”
M. Night: “But the wind, that's how we generate the fear!”
SE: “Did he just say the wind generates fear?”
ASE: “Yes, he did.”
SE: “HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!”
M. Night: “You guys are dicks.”
SE: “Hold on, hold on, hold on.”
Studio Executive catches his breath and picks up his phone. He punches in an extension.
SE (sarcastically): “Hello, Debbie? Yeah, it's me. I need you to go ahead and make a check out to M. Night Shyamalan for however much money he wants. I know he has lost us a ton of money with his last couple movies, and his overall talent has been on a downhill slide ever since his gimmick-dependent debut film, but I really think he's going to turn everything around by making a twist-less film about giant deadly plants.”
M. Night: “They're not giant.”
SE: “Jesus Christ! They're not even giant? HAHAHAHAHAHA!”
Studio Executive slams the phone back in it's cradle and continues laughing, unable to even look M. Night in the face.
ASE: “Look, come back to us when you have an idea that's a little more.....um......anything else.”
M. Night: “Screw you guys.”
M. Night marches angrily out of the room. After a few moments, Studio Executive finally catches his breath and ceases laughing.
SE: “Oh man. I'm winded.”
ASE: “I can't believe he was actually serious with that thing.”
SE: “It's just sad, what people think Hollywood will make these days.”
A moment of silence passes between them.
ASE: “Debbie knew you were joking, right?”
SE: “Yeah, of course she did.”
Showing posts with label The Pitch. Show all posts
Showing posts with label The Pitch. Show all posts
Tuesday, May 11, 2010
The Pitch: A Sudden Dissonance
"Battlefield Earth"
Studio Executive is on the phone, while John Travolta waits silently in a chair near SE's desk.
SE (into phone): “She's taking the house? Where am I supposed to live?”
(pause)
“What about all my...”
(pause)
“So there's nothing I can....”
(pause)
“They're my kids, too! Where are they supposed to sleep when they're with me?”
(pause)
“WHAT?! NO NO NO NO NO! We agreed! I would get to see them on weekends and we'd split the holidays. How the fuck did....”
(pause)
“That makes me a bad husband, not a bad father! The judge already granted me...”
(pause)
“Well it sounded pretty fucking final to me!”
Studio Executive holds the phone away from his ear for a moment, closes his eyes, and sighs deeply. He puts the phone back to his ear.
SE: (into phone) “Okay, look what's the bottom line here? Where do I stand once this all goes through?”
(long pause)
“I....I....I don't..........”
Studio Executive stares off into nothing, letting the phone slowly fall away from his ear, eventually just letting it rest on his desk, still off the hook. Tears begin to form in the corners of his eyes, as he continues staring into his own private abyss. He slowly begins panning his eyes across the room, for no apparent reason, just a desperate attempt to find something worthwhile to occupy his view, and perhaps momentarily distract him from his pain. His eyes fall upon John Travolta, still sitting silently, awaiting his turn to speak. Studio Executive seems startled, as if he had completely forgotten that another person was in the room.
SE: “Yes, John. I'm sorry to have interrupted you. What were you saying again?”
JT: “I want to make a movie based on a novel written by the same guy who founded my religion.”
SE: “What religion?”
JT: “Scientology.”
Studio Executive stares blankly at him.
JT: “The one with alien ghosts.”
SE: “Yeah, now I remember. Fine. Whatever. Just tell Sharon on your way out that it's greenlit and she'll get all the.....details......worked.....whatever. I just need a few moments alone.”
JT: “Sure thing.”
John Travolta walks happily out of the office, as Studio Executive cradles his forehead in his hands and slowly begins to sob. Somewhere between the sobs, the off-the-hook phone starts beeping.
Studio Executive is on the phone, while John Travolta waits silently in a chair near SE's desk.
SE (into phone): “She's taking the house? Where am I supposed to live?”
(pause)
“What about all my...”
(pause)
“So there's nothing I can....”
(pause)
“They're my kids, too! Where are they supposed to sleep when they're with me?”
(pause)
“WHAT?! NO NO NO NO NO! We agreed! I would get to see them on weekends and we'd split the holidays. How the fuck did....”
(pause)
“That makes me a bad husband, not a bad father! The judge already granted me...”
(pause)
“Well it sounded pretty fucking final to me!”
Studio Executive holds the phone away from his ear for a moment, closes his eyes, and sighs deeply. He puts the phone back to his ear.
SE: (into phone) “Okay, look what's the bottom line here? Where do I stand once this all goes through?”
(long pause)
“I....I....I don't..........”
Studio Executive stares off into nothing, letting the phone slowly fall away from his ear, eventually just letting it rest on his desk, still off the hook. Tears begin to form in the corners of his eyes, as he continues staring into his own private abyss. He slowly begins panning his eyes across the room, for no apparent reason, just a desperate attempt to find something worthwhile to occupy his view, and perhaps momentarily distract him from his pain. His eyes fall upon John Travolta, still sitting silently, awaiting his turn to speak. Studio Executive seems startled, as if he had completely forgotten that another person was in the room.
SE: “Yes, John. I'm sorry to have interrupted you. What were you saying again?”
JT: “I want to make a movie based on a novel written by the same guy who founded my religion.”
SE: “What religion?”
JT: “Scientology.”
Studio Executive stares blankly at him.
JT: “The one with alien ghosts.”
SE: “Yeah, now I remember. Fine. Whatever. Just tell Sharon on your way out that it's greenlit and she'll get all the.....details......worked.....whatever. I just need a few moments alone.”
JT: “Sure thing.”
John Travolta walks happily out of the office, as Studio Executive cradles his forehead in his hands and slowly begins to sob. Somewhere between the sobs, the off-the-hook phone starts beeping.
The Pitch: Pilot
"Silver Bullet"
Studio Executive: "OK, what have you got for me?"
Pitchman: "I'm going to throw some words at you. You just sit back and let them rain down upon you like orgasmic snowflakes."
SE: "Hit me.'
PM: "Busey."
SE: "Love it."
PM: "Haim."
SE: "Yes."
PM: "Werewolf."
SE: "Yes!"
PM: "Stephen King."
SE: "YES!"
PM: "You ready for the title? You ready to hear the sweet voice of the almightly
Lord himself?"
SE: "I've never wanted anything more in my life!"
PM: "Silver Bullet. Bam!"
SE: "Greenlit, right here right now! I'll print the script on gilded paper. We are going to run this town by the time this thing is through!"
PM: "That's why I get paid the big bucks."
SE: "I'll get accounting on the phone right now. But first, give me one more. One more little taste of the goldmine to come."
PM: "You want one more? You think you can handle the awesome might of one more?"
SE: "Sock it to me!"
PM: "Wheelchair."
SE: "That's brillian.......wait, what?"
Studio Executive: "OK, what have you got for me?"
Pitchman: "I'm going to throw some words at you. You just sit back and let them rain down upon you like orgasmic snowflakes."
SE: "Hit me.'
PM: "Busey."
SE: "Love it."
PM: "Haim."
SE: "Yes."
PM: "Werewolf."
SE: "Yes!"
PM: "Stephen King."
SE: "YES!"
PM: "You ready for the title? You ready to hear the sweet voice of the almightly
Lord himself?"
SE: "I've never wanted anything more in my life!"
PM: "Silver Bullet. Bam!"
SE: "Greenlit, right here right now! I'll print the script on gilded paper. We are going to run this town by the time this thing is through!"
PM: "That's why I get paid the big bucks."
SE: "I'll get accounting on the phone right now. But first, give me one more. One more little taste of the goldmine to come."
PM: "You want one more? You think you can handle the awesome might of one more?"
SE: "Sock it to me!"
PM: "Wheelchair."
SE: "That's brillian.......wait, what?"
Introduction to the "Shows"
I'm going to run with this whole TV analogy and refer to the crap I'll be writing as "Shows," since I do intend for them to be a set of ongoing series. Right out of the gate, these are the shows I'll be writing:
The Pitch: how I imagine the studio pitch session went for actually-released movies and TV shows.
The Dangers of 3D: a series of police reports documenting the terror and destruction caused by cinema's latest technology.
Area 51a: a diary detailing the day-to-day troubles of an assistant manager working in the food court at the United States' most secretive military research complex.
And just like a real TV station, I'll add and drop shows often, sometimes in the middle of a maddeningly complex plotline that will be left with absolutely no sense of closure. Because I don't answer to you, Anonymous Internet Reader, I only answer to my heart. Which is why I am going to go get some McNuggets right now, because the sooner I can stop my heart, the sooner I won't have to listen to it anymore.
The Pitch: how I imagine the studio pitch session went for actually-released movies and TV shows.
The Dangers of 3D: a series of police reports documenting the terror and destruction caused by cinema's latest technology.
Area 51a: a diary detailing the day-to-day troubles of an assistant manager working in the food court at the United States' most secretive military research complex.
And just like a real TV station, I'll add and drop shows often, sometimes in the middle of a maddeningly complex plotline that will be left with absolutely no sense of closure. Because I don't answer to you, Anonymous Internet Reader, I only answer to my heart. Which is why I am going to go get some McNuggets right now, because the sooner I can stop my heart, the sooner I won't have to listen to it anymore.
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