When other directors touch your stuff
Some random thoughts about other directors, or to paraphrase a NASCAR maxim, “If you ain’t bumpin’ you ain’t directin’.”
My friend threw a karaoke party last weekend, where I met another director, so we chatted while I avoided singing. I mentioned a movie I had been attached to direct that didn’t work out because of my availability. This director said she met with the studio on that movie after I was gone and it didn’t work out for her either, a cold reminder that the circle of directors vying for projects is very small. As much as I’d like to think I am prepared for whatever harsh realities will inevitably fly in my face in this business, hearing that someone pitched on what was once my movie was like hearing some dude-bro talking about sleeping with my ex. You know it’s happening, but you don’t want to hear about it, because you still have a tiny ember of fondness for her. Who am I kidding? You do want to hear about it because you want to know if they made out better than you. You also want to hear how they thought the script was awful too and you’re both better off for having dodged that bullet and moved on.
But it’s awkward, right? Everyone pitching on all the same projects. I’ve had a few that I loved, pitched hard on, and didn’t get. Those are the worst, but then when those movies come out, it’s a marvelous education. I had my version dancing in my head of what my movie could have been, and now I get to compare that to what it actually turned into. It’s hard because my version is the best version, naturally, because it’s how I envisioned the movie. But now there’s this version. Could I have done better? Sometimes the answer is clear, other times not so much. Or I’ve read a script that really doesn’t work, then I see how much it changed in the hands of another director, for better or worse. Then I wonder how they convinced the studio to change it, or maybe the studio convinced them. In Hollywood there are many unsolved mysteries.
I’ve come to the conclusion, along with some other director friends of mine, that if you fall in love with a project, as I have foolheartedly done, your fool’s heart may get broken, which has happened. So we learn, if we’re smart, and protect ourselves. We find ways to become deeply engaged champions of these potential movies, but not fall in love. As Kit De Luca says in Pretty Woman, “I don’t kiss on the mouth,” because it’s too intimate and too painful when Prince Charming dumps you at the bus stop.
Sometimes I hear from friends that they’ve read a script and I instantly wonder “Why didn’t I get to read that script?” And I know they’re thinking the same thing when I get scripts that they don’t read. Everyone’s always wondering what they did wrong, why they aren’t good enough, and why their agent isn’t working harder.
Then there’s the scripts or concepts that I don’t click with, and pass on. Those tend to make a billion dollars and sometimes, although it’s rare, they’re even good. I watch those directors skyrocket out of my orbit as I eat their space dust. Cough, cough. Maybe I should just Costanza the whole process and embrace the scripts I want to curb stomp.
I’ve directed two movies that got sequels I didn’t direct. Watching those sequels is like an out-of-body experience. Everything is so familiar, I know these characters so well, but they’re not doing things I would have them do, or I ever thought they would do. Imagine raising a child, then they go away and come back 3 years later, with tattoos, lip piercings and a wife named Crusher. It’s not wrong, but it’s not what you thought they’d become, and that feeling of connection and pride is suddenly severed. You were their papa holding them in your arms when they were innocent bambinos, but now, they give you an impersonal head nod and call you “Dude.” At least you’ll always have the baby pictures to re-post on Facebook. Note to self: anyone can step into your shoes and make a movie in this world you’ve created. That fact is a bit unnerving yet extremely motivating to become a more unique filmmaker who is harder to replace.
I suppose I’m just as guilty since I directed a sequel of one of my all-time favorite films, ‘A Christmas Story.’ The brilliant director of that original, Bob Clark, sadly passed away many years before my sequel was made, but I suppose it spared him the experience of seeing his child transformed into an uncanny simulacrum of itself.
Directors don’t have to touch your work to have an effect, and you don’t even have to know them. I’ve heard when comedians see other comedians kill a set, they’re thinking, “Why didn’t they laugh like that for me? Lucky bastard. Who did they sell their soul to in exchange for what I want? What do they have that I don’t? I hate them and their dumb shirt.” This isn’t exclusive to comedians. When directors see another director succeeding, they think the same spiteful things, but there’s always a sliver of respect, a glimmer of hope, because we know how hard it all is, and the fact that someone can do it means that it’s possible, and maybe one day we’ll know how that feels too. But we still hate them and their dumb shirt.
Sidebar: Please, don’t judge. I’m just acknowledging natural human feelings, without labeling them as something to be proud or ashamed of, and I know every director feels the same, at least the ones I talk to. This is a passionate business and I’m telling it like it is, warts and all, even if I’m the only one saying it out loud. If it makes any difference, my hope for every movie is that I will love it because great movies make all of our lives better. So don’t assume I’m sewing together voodoo dolls of anyone - I crochet mine.
Eventually you get to know who your main competition is because they keep getting the movies you would have loved to direct. I have my list, oh I have my list, and each time one of these four directors gets a movie I was falling over myself for, I shake my fist and yell at a cloud and channel my bitterness into my masterplan for revenge and world domination.
Not really, but it’s fun and a little therapeutic to imagine my villain origin story. In truth, it’s the game we all signed up for. I tell people that finding that next directing job is like speed dating. You just keep throwing yourself out there. When you find the right material, and you click with the people who want to make it, and they click with you and want you to make it, you’re golden. Everyone screams “Let’s get married today and have six kids!” Sometimes that mutual-clicking happens for other people because they had the right chemistry or the experience for that job. Or they wore a cooler shirt. No hard feelings. It’s the game and we’re all in the same hustle. So you dust yourself off, work on what they didn’t like, and keep mingling until you find your match - and hope they don’t dump you at the nearest bus stop.