Tuesday, August 30, 2005

Second Guessing

To say my first encounter with second guessing occured within the last decade would surely be false. Just as we sometimes hear something many times, there comes a point when we really understand it. Perhaps when our receptors are ready or when the strength of the transmission signal is irrepressible.
Such was the case with second guessing. I had just started studying with Cay Patten in New York. I felt immediately at ease with her during our interview. She was not the touchy-feely, new age teacher I had when younger. She was a New York intellectual. And a fat Greek lady, just like my mother. Anyway the interview went well and she admitted me to intermediate scene study. I was happy not to start in the beginning class, yet nervous. Especially when I saw a couple people in the lobby wearing national tour jackets from shows.
One of the show vets was an actor called Steven. In one of my first classes Steven was making a salad in his scene. Or he was going through the motions of making a salad. Every question Cay asked him about the salad, Steven answered with a defense of his choice, citing his (mis-)interpretation of Cay's input rather than an answer to her simple questions. Finally she had enough and told him she was finished with him. Not just for the day, but forever. She told him he was never going to be a good actor if he second guessed clear, simple direction.
I thought, Yes!, she's absolutely right. I further deduced that good actors don't second guess impulses. Just like people don't second guess the sunlight of the spirit, except when our neuroses get in our way, of course.

I optioned Original Glory to a producer with limited experience and we went through a long phase of development during which the script improved in some ways and died in others. I've always had a hard time pitching the script. It is not a high concept script for one. But the plot covers a lot of ground. To get from A to Z, I've had to leap over certain plot developments, expecting the audience to jump with me.
It seems that readers in Hollywood all stumble at those junctures. They say things like, I don't feel you earn the murder of the father. Or, He makes a phone call for help and then he's thirty days sober.
My response is usually something along the lines of, I don't really want the audience to be concentrating on the details of the plot, I want them to go on the journey with the characters.
Those with money need plot points. They need structure. They need a package that they feel is marketable. In the past, I've second guessed this. Resisted it. Judged it.
I've been seeing it differently of late. It's giving me a lot of freedom. I realize that what people are objecting to is the structure of the script. They love the stories and the characters and the physical world that I've created. But I've packed too much into its 100 pages. I've spoiled them. If I rewrite it using only the first act, they'll miss the ending or something in the second act. I've created this smorgasboord that incites gluttony.
I realized this after hearing the same feedback for years on this project. The first producer I worked with belabored the details, when I should have gone back and simplified the structure. Recently, I watched a few films that are similar to Original Glory with a careful eye toward plot development. If I were to shoot my film and expect it to come in around ninety minutes, it would be a ruthless whirlwind. While I want it pack a wallop, I want the story to be able to breathe. Think of spaghetti westerns -- three or four gunfights and a lot of quiet space between them.
In developing the script a couple of years ago I killed a lot of darlings in order to make room for more plot devices that still aren't working entirely. No more second guessing Hollywood.

I read Mark Medoff's great play, When You Comin Back, Red Ryder? Teddy, the outlaw, is ruthless, raw and honest. Every moment counts. It's like Shakespeare -- no need for stage directions. Reading it, I recalled the rawness of the characters in my script before all the second guessing under the guise of polishing.

I spoke to Michael Cassidy about this with some trepidation a couple of days back. He had just watched Peckinpah's The Getaway and Bring Me the Head of Alfredo Garcia.
Once again, we were on the same page.

In the past, I've always been anxious to do the rewriting on Original Glory. Seemed there was always a deadline, real or imagined. I'm sitting back on this one. Gonna let it simmer. Gonna figure on where I want to start and where I want to finish. Then I'm gong to write a logline. Then I'm going to work up an outline. I'm going to let it come to me.
I'm not going to second guess it.

signore direttore

Monday, August 29, 2005


As far back as I can remember, I've been self-concious. As I have tried to move away from self-obsession, the culture has increasingly embraced it. Not all of the independents have been co-opted. Pedro certainly has, yet he continues to stay true to his original vision.
I recall seeing films by Scorcese, Almodovar and Jarmusch in the 70s and 80s having no idea who the filmmaker was. By the early 90s, just after Resevoir Dogs came out, I saw a poster of Tarantino in the window of Django's, his name emblazoned across the bottom.
(Nostalgia can be a slippery slope, I'm experiencing a flood of sense memories regarding Django's.)
The fare in those early days of independent cinema was meager in between the feasts. One of those feasts -- a double bill of She's Gotta Have It and Down by Law at the Clinton Street -- still offers a bit of nourishment. Another film, largely forgotten, that I loved: Patti Rocks. Mamet's House of Games was another favorite. Oh, how I loved Almodovar -- the colors, the quirky stories, the awkward and twisted sex. So rich. The themes and situations at once totally alien and yet all too close to me. I lived in Europe from 1985 to 87, ages 17 - 19, experiencing many more situations out of the films of Almodovar and Jarmusch than of Hollywood's.
I suppose I'm blurring the lines between indie, small studio and foreign films in terms of financing, but the heart and soul of the films are akin.
It was while living in Germany, West Germany in those days, that I discovered Fellini. A friend gave me a VHS copy of Amarcord for my 19th birthday. Mike Gallo, a former high school English teacher and writer for a small-town paper in upstate New York, was my sidekick and mentor in those days. It's a long story how he ended up in the Army, but thank goodness he did. He saved me from the philistines. The last time I saw him he was in graduate school in Sacramento. I showed up at his door at 7am in a stolen convertible, drunk and eager to add fuel to my fire. He indulged my escapades in a dive bar, bought me lunch and sent me on my way with a copy of The Ginger Man. Yikes.
Gallo and I were very unpopular at the armed forces movie theaters. We loudly mocked sentimental tripe like The Color Purple and Platoon. Eventually we were 86d after getting caught drinking beer during one of the latter Rockys.
I found a link to Almodovar's site, where he keeps on online journal. I'm so glad he's exalted and appreciated. His films are just as good, if not better than they were when nobody knew who I was talking about as I blathered on about his genius.

John Peirson's book, Spike, Mike, Slackers and Dykes is a good read on the history of independent film in that era.

As I recall those films, the details of the theaters and my companions all spring to life in my memory, shutting out the pain, confusion and hurlyburly of the rest of my life at the time. Many of us have these things that chrystalize our memories so -- my friend Dan Eccles has it with music. He recalls at once the melody and the record jacket or concert. It is in his bones. His fingers move as if on frets and his the lyrics start in the back of his neck.

I leave you with a roll call:
Matt Van Vlack, Clinton Street Theater, Cinema 21, Bleecker St Theater, Spike Lee, Please baby baby please, Sarah Posey, Ara Vallaster, The Red Vic, David Lynch, Koin Cinemas, The Fifth Avenue, Siesta, Matador, Mamet, Sujata Kakar, Mala Noche, The Castro, Drugstore Cowboy, Slackers, Hollywood Shuffle, Tampopo, Sex, lies and videotape, Laws of Gravity, Adam Trese, Roger & me, The Thin Blue Line, Carl Scott, Din Johnson, and many more…


Sunday, August 28, 2005

The Greeks called it Hubris

There are three cases of arrogance on my mind today.

The most immediate is of the naive variety. Just sat through the beautiful afternoon indoors for a casting session for Nick Peterson's film Yellow, a musical. Actors came in and sang along with a recording and then read sides. Two were well prepared and two were not. One of the ill prepared was a student of mine. A student on partial scholarship. A student I passionately recommended to Nick. I wonder what the point of showing up to an audition unprepared might be. Could it be that the actor thinks of it as an opportunity to meet and greet the filmmaker or casting director? Or that by simply showing up they'll be cast based on their good looks and winning ways? My student will be called back. Unfortunately, in my opinion. He sings well and he is a good actor, his talent certainly came through. Though not nearly as well had he put an hour into preparing for the audition I set up for him more than a week ago.
My money is on the other two guys. Both of whom are non-actors, by the way. It helps that they are musicians, most particularly for this film, but it's their charisma combined with their preparation that's winning them near the kiss.

The second instance of hubris I experienced this weekend is of the harumph variety. I suffered through Ridley Scott's commentary on the Thelma & Louise DVD. Clearly he's a man of considerable talent and accomplishment. Knighted by the Queen. A member of both the American and British film academies. Indeed.
"My genius is caah-sting, you see. When the actors are well caahst, they know what to do and I can concentrate on things like this shot." A night travelling shot of Louise's T-bird passing a truck on the highway. A shot that tells us nothing. Totally arbitrary.
I quite wish he would have let us experience a shot of Geena Davis's face when she's about to get raped. That way we would have felt what she felt as it was happening, instead of seeing insert shots of her panties getting pulled down. (Which leans more toward eroticism than violence if you ask me.) Had we experienced the imminent threat of violation with her in the parking lot, the moment that Thelma stops Louise from second-guessing herself later in the movie and reminds her "He was hurting me." would have had much more of an impact.

The other case of excessive confidence that comes to mind is David Walker's film reviews in the last two issues of WW. The exact position of film critic for an alt-weekly is in question. Certainly we expect a little sardonic zest, wit and hipness in such a rag. Though, is not the job really about letting us know -- in a hip, witty and zesty sardonic fashion, of course -- if the film is worth a sawbuck and two hours of our time? Surely we do not expect Film Comment nor Cahiers du cinema. A little film crit is welcome for the cinephiles, sure, but let's serve the common WW reader. Well lately DW has erred not in the over-erudition of his criticism, but in subsuming the reader's knowledge and going straight for the kill. (Or in the case of a local film on which he toiled as associate producer, straight for the fluff job.)
First the fluff. Eight paragraphs or so qualifying his review of the film, two paragraphs of plot summary and a paragraph excusing the poor craftsmanship of the filmmakers. He claimed that the film showed the promise of digital video. I thought promise requires more than getting some people together to make a movie with no thought toward composition, lighting, sound or story development. Dear David, I would have appreciated a heads up that the film stinks and it's not worth my time, let alone my money.
Then the kill. "John Singleton is a no talent hack." Though DW loves Hustle & Flow, as do I, which wouldn't have gotten made had not John Singleton put up his own money to produce it. DW's review of H&F is a good example of why he is gainfully employed as a film critic, by the way. "Someone should pay Rob Schneider to go fuck himself." Does Deuce Bigleow European Gigolo really incite such vitriol? Sky High: "Super-stupid family-friendly comedy that…" DW doesn't have a family and doesn't have to endure family films. But I do and after seeing the super-stupid moron-friendly film DW fluffed earlier in the day, Sky High seemed like the Wizard of Oz later in the evening. Dear David, Sky High was well worth our $12 and the two-hour roundtrip out to Newberg to see it at the 99W drive-in.

I would write a letter to DW c/o WW, but I'm practicing restraint of tongue and pen. Lest I wind up fodder for an arrogance posting in some blog.

Signore Direttore

Thursday, August 25, 2005

A Movie I'd Like to See Remade

I'm not a fan of remakes normally. But I am a fan of auteurs. And of good stories. So when I read and, or see a good story poorly told I like to think of ways it could have been improved.
I've been watching and reading road movies this week. Last night's film was Thelma and Louise. Ridley Scott was the wrong director for that film. It's hopelessly slick and lifeless. Since it can't be remade in the past by any of my heroes of the 70s, it will have to be remade in the future.
There was an article in the NYT this week about the studios admitting better movies need to be made. Michael Bay's The Island didn't make any money -- boo hoo. This is good news for auteurs -- since the studio biggies are failing to bust blocks this summer, movies by Miranda July, Jim Jarmusch and Craig Brewer are all tracking long theatrical runs.
At times the acting in Thelma and Louise was a commentary on the themes and plot of the film. I blame the director for that. Susan Sarandon and Geena Davis both did a great job as far they were allowed to take it. Brad Pitt, Mike Madsen and Harvey Keitel were all very good as well. However, if the camera isn't there to record the inner life of the actor, there isn't much an actor can do about it. The objectivity of the camera work in Me and You and Everyone Else We Know would serve the tale of the ladies from Arkansas very well.
Gus Van Sant likes to remake films. The quiet lurking of his recent films would set a wonderful tone for Thelma & Louise.
I don't really care who helms the remake as long as it's gritty and human and the humor comes from our collective difficulties with sexism and chauvinism instead of the one-note spin and visual cliches under Scott's direction.

Buona sera,
Signore Direttore

Wednesday, August 24, 2005

Cento metro di Federico

A friend told me today that I'm a hundred yards from the finish line, and like on any tough terrain, it's the hardest part of the journey. Well thank you, friend, for the comforting words. I'm not sure that I buy it, but I see the wisdom in his analogy and I am comforted by it.
It is the journey and not the destination that interests me, I'm nearly always pleased to recall.
There is a tendency at times like this that I'm tempted to look only forward and back, ignoring the present.
A friend is going through chemo, my aunt is moving back to the awful small town in Ohio that she spent the last five years trying to get away from to try to get her cheating husband back and poor W is suffering a 36% approval rating.
Meanwhile, my wife is beautifully pregnant, my children are healthy and happy and I just returned from a bicycle ride on a beautiful summer evening.
Repeat after me:
Slow and steady wins the race.
Slow and steady wins the race.
Slow and …

Ciao amici,
Signore Direttore

Tuesday, August 23, 2005

Between a diamond and a sapphire: luxury problems part uno

Today's my birthday.
I met with the storyboard artist first thing this morning. So very nice to see images of the ideas that have been kicking around in my head for so long. I would love to board the entire film, but there's a lack of funds available for such work at present. That meeting was interupted by a phone call from 323. The secretary - Neal, I have x on the phone.
X is an old friend that I got in touch with to go over what I am doing with The Gersh Agency. She's extremely busy these days developing a bunch of tv stuff for one of the networks. She and her company have been all over the trades the past couple of weeks. I am grateful she took the time to return my call. Unfortunately she told me the same old thing that I've been hearing for years -- don't try to direct this film, get out of the way. Don't do anything, just wait for them to come round.
Meanwhile, I'm looking around my house for things we can sell. I'm considering jobs as a custodian. Maybe moving the family into a one bedroom apartment. I got number three on the way. I've been working toward this for years. I'm not holding out to direct because I think it will be cool. I'm ready to do the work of a director. If David Fincher or Sofia Coppola wants to direct this, I'll step aside, all too gladly. But I'm not going to get out of the way for somebody that flatlined some lame picture nobody has ever heard of.
At the same time, I'm talking to someone making fifteen-k a week to play Playstation in a trailer on the set of a studio movie who is complaining about how lousy that is and how he can't wait to make this film with me. He's telling me to hang in, that I'm his only hope.
I'm not whining about this. And truthfully, there's really nothing I can do. There's no offer on the table to give the film up to another director. There's nothing except regular news that the script is slowly working its way up the food chain. Nobody is saying, here's the deal. I'm might ask Gersh if there's some re-writing work or some such thing available to hold me over. But I'm not sure if that's even appropriate.
I am grateful to be in such a difficult place. They may well be nice problems to have, but that don't make 'em easy to solve.

Pasta and bagels,
Signore Direttore

Thursday, August 11, 2005


Had my first session with a storyboard artist this morning. It was very exciting to think about the film in visual terms from shot to shot. I discovered that I have developed a fluency of cinematic language. That I have strong ideas about where to put the camera and why. It's very exciting.
There are varying opinions on the use of storyboards. Roman Polanski feels they stiffen actors. I don't agree. As an actor I like to know the director has thought carefully about the placement of the camera. It helps me feel supported in order to go deeper with my work. It's my opinion that actors play better to a camera carefully placed rather than letting an actor go and trying to catch it. I suppose in comedy that's the way to go, but with drama I'm all for detailed mise en scene.
Seems the Italians are some of the most fluid when it comes to actor-camera symbiosis. Think Bertolucci, Leone, Fellini, Rosselini. Last Tango in Paris is a great example of intense inner lives of actors in a film with complex actor as well as camera blocking. I'm sure the source is the Italian cultural legacy of commedia del'arte and opera.
The storyboard artist said Original Glory reminded him of The Last Picture Show. I liked that movie, but I felt it was very distant and cold emotionally. The black and white photography was beautiful, of course, but it certainly contributed to the muted emotional tone of the film. The acting was very good, I could only hope for a cast so great.
I think where storyboards can pose potential problems is when directors are determined to shoot specific shots in spite of what might be evolving out of the story and the contributions of the cinematographer and the actors, not to mention the production designer. I have used them a bit in my last couple of short films and I think the films have been better because of it. As I've studied film over the years there have been theories, like Polanski's denouncement of storyboards, that have appealed to me, but I find that in practice I'm forced to abandon them. I used to want to be the next Cassavetes or Scorcese, but now I just want to be the first Neal A. Corl. To do that I have to find my own way, taking and leaving from those that have mastered the craft through trial and error. Trial and error on my own dime, when it comes to seven figure budgets, there's a very reasonable expectation on the part of the investors to have a solid idea regarding the vision for the film.
Ultimately, as a first-timer, it would be foolish for me to not do everything I can to show potential producers what my vision is for this film.

signorre direttore

Sunday, August 07, 2005

No mas

I'm sure Roberto Duran made it further than round two when he uttered his famous surrender, but I won't be making the family picnic today for round three of my high school reunion. Enough is enough. The picnic host fondled my derriere and threatened further assaults should I complain too loudly. He may well have been joking, but he's off his rocker. I watched him demonstrating the obscure form of martial arts he studies to some other classmate later in the evening. Too much money isn't good for you. Keith Reddin writes in Brutality of Fact - If you have money, it's eccentricity. Since I know this fellow has never worked a day in his life as well having sat around the dinner table with his kooky clan many times, I'm calling a spade a spade - He's mentally ill.
He's not the only reason I'm begging off. I taught class yesterday morning, then went to a pig roast hosted by some college friends. (Whom, at large, I prefer to my high school friends.) I'm reserving my energy for Andrew and Susan's wedding this evening.
All was not miserable. I faced the fear that's been creeping up on me for the past few years. I let the discomfort exist without dulling the pain with evasion, intoxication or embellishment. I reconnected with a couple of great old friends that I was looking forward to seeing. One of whom's spouse is an organizer of the Bend Film Fest and knows my pal Andrew Dickson. Always a good thing when the good people in one's life have come together outside of your influence.
My wife has been working all weekend and I'm daddying in addition to all the other stresses.
We're off to see the penguins march.

Ciao bella,
Lincoln High Alumnus #92848y529

Saturday, August 06, 2005

Ultimate Folly

Last night was the reception for the twenty year reunion of my high school class.
I kept my mouth shut for the most part, but as I made my way through the evening I marvelled at how little I had to say to these people and my utter lack of nostalgic yearning. Gone were the intense feelings of inadequacy that were chronic in those days. Many quietly expressed their anxiety of being there in my ear. Which I shared absolutely. My tension however had more to do with the shame that I feel regarding who I was rather than who I've become. I've got further work to do as a human being, but I am pretty gosh darn proud of who I am, particularly in the face of who I once was.
I would venture to say it is my ultimate folly whenever I think I'm not good enough and seek to overcompensate. High school was the heyday of such insecurity to extremes that were more Abel Ferrara than John Hughes.
The night was light on fodder.
On the ride over my friend and I mentioned an old classmate. Divorced I'm sure, Dave surmised. Of course the supposed divorcee was one of the first I ran into. After telling him my vitals, he shared his - single, no kids. Oh, you're not divorced? He laughed, not knowing the extent of our predetermination, of course.
There was something else, but I've lost it for now.
Oh, it involved the same guy. He was across the room with a group of people that I was seeing at once now and twenty years in the past. Suddenly he put a cell phone to his ear and I was like, What's that?, for this millisecond.
A similiar thing occurred in Memphis about ten years ago. Peter and I were having breakfast in this downtown cafeteria that hadn't been painted since the 60s let alone remodeled. There was a burly maintenace man with a graying flattop and monochrome work clothes. I'm imagining the garbage strike and segregation, projecting an intense Dixie racism onto the fella when his beeper went off and catapulted me twenty-some years and a Constitutional amendment forward.

Tonight's the big night. I wish men still wore suits. Now when I wear a suit, people can't help but say - What's the occasion? I tried from 1991 to 1998 to endure and ignore such queries, but our casual culture wore me down.
I bring up the suit, because without it as an option I'm at a loss as to what to wear to appear both smart and casual without looking like I've given in to middle age nor trying to hold onto my youth. Maybe I'll dress like a cowboy.

Second to the folly of Bad Lieutenant insecurity in my life's history is the chronic skirt chasing for which I was notorious. Of the first hundred or so names in my black book, a good forty or so were present last night. Let's just say that I'm all too glad to be married and no longer subject to that insatiable master. Most of them I just want to give appropriate space, i.e. polite smiles as I slide past. And perhaps, given the opportunity, offer a sincere apology for my whirlwind antics in the past. There are a few fellas obviously on the prowl and I am so grateful for my immunity from the clutches of that cliche.

Could it be that I've grown up?
Il mio dio.

To quote myown Senior quote:
I was, I am and I now know I will be.

A river dertchee
Signore Neal A. Corl
Direttore di cine

Friday, August 05, 2005

FPS Folly and more

29.97 to 24 to 23.98 to 29.97 to 30 frames per second 2:3:3:2 pulldown AA BB CC EE AE

Somebody come over here and put me out of my mumbojumbo misery please.

Here's a link to a good article about the viability of DV as a prodcution resource.
It's a little outdated, but the core of the info remains vital.


I gleefully cancelled my subscription to Oregon Film Casting Society today.
I've yet to see a casting call that was not viewed earlier on Craig'sList or the Oregonian call board.
My just in case continuation was resolved by my decision to return to my hiatus from acting and to excuse myself from playing politics in the local scene.

Let me say it loud, let me say it proud: I am not an actor!

There are those actors as well as aspects of the craft and process that I adore, but I am a director.
And that's that.

No more hyphens!


Last Days

I walked downtown, over the Hawthorne Bridge, last night to go see Last Days. It was a beautiful night. My old friend Peter arrived from New York on his motorcycle and it was great to walk and talk with him.
I missed Last Days while it was still up at Cinema 21. Regal Cinemas is vile. The advertising for NBC television and their inane in-house entertainment news program The Twenty is maddening. If I wanted to suffer that shite I would stay home and watch the little screen.
Fox Tower may be the place to see art house cinema in Portland, but the quality of the prints, projections and the projector noise from the projection booths is maddening. I had to leave a screening there the other week due to a serious focus issue that went unresolved after multiple complaints. The other sheep sat there squinting in the dark.
Gus Van Sant's latest film has been regaled as visionary and masterful. While viewing I had to struggle to stay awake. Boring doesn't equal bad, however. Thank goodness some critics out there proclaimed its genius, otherwise I might have given up on it. In spite of my attention to filmmaking as an artform, I did come of age and still live in this culture of Hollywood fare. Taylord Hackford's bios of musicians go in one eye and out the other, leaving no aftertaste, but they do meet my expectations of sensational storytelling.
Last Days avoided the sentimental grid that Kurt Cobain's life could easily chart -- the abandoned young daughter, the megalomaniacal wife, the hordes of flannel clad fanatics and worshippers. Instead, Van Sant stages the quietest of passion plays. Aside from a trite confrontation by a record exec played by the stunning but wooden Kim Gordon, the daughter is excused from the manipulation of our heartstrings. We did not have to suffer Courtney. The band was in their own blur, avoiding the usual expository histrionics. Lukas Haas was genius, though a great deal of my praise is for his hipster Jerry Lewis specs.
Sentimentality and judgment were remarkably absent.
The camera did not linger on the tragic beauty of Blake/Kurt. Most of the time we saw only the curtain of his greasy locks. Michael Pitt played the physical life and murmurings of a doped genius perfectly.
The camera work was beautiful. Capturing the physical presence of Pitt, and to some degree Asia Argento, much like Wong Kar Wai's famous shots of women from behind as they lean forward, creating unique organic forms within the formal composition. The reworking of time through multiple perspectives courageously portayed the mundane nature of mental and spiritual disintegration. As Christ reportedly said upon his death, Many will be decieved.
Harmony Korrine's cameo was retarded. And the superimposition of Kurt/Blake's ascension was pushing it.
My viewing partner mused if the mumbling wasn't some sort of subtext indicating the lack of substance in Cobain's words.
Given Gus Van Sant's prediliction for beautiful young men and youth culture, I sincerely doubt that.

Trying hard not to decieve,

Wednesday, August 03, 2005


Some wonderful kismet was in the air yesterday.

#1 - When showing Polar to a friend and fellow filmmaker he noted that perhaps the visual problem (in an otherwise nice little piece of filmmaking) was a frame rate issue. And therefore solvable. Hurray!
Makes sense as my editing experience went on hiatus in 2003 before 24p DV hit the streets. I was excited to salvage the film as I decided after putting the film in a mailer to meet Monday's deadline for NWFVF that I didn't want to submit it due to the visual strobing and blurring.

#2 - Just after learning the problem was frame rate related, I received an email stating that the submission deadline has been extended two weeks.

#3 - Mike Cassidy called relating that Lit Agent Sandra Lucchese at the Gersh Agency loved Original Glory and will be in contact soon.

#3 was kismet in the sense that I really need to stop sweating the small stuff and stay focused on the bigger picture. Since moving to Portland I've been somewhat obsessed with gaining status within the local scene. I've met some great local folks - Nick Peterson, Greg Schmitt, David Walker, among others. I've also met a lot of insecure, desperate wannabes that bring out all of my own wannabe sludge.
If I want to be a wannabe, I can always ignore where I'm at, no matter what I've acheived. Or I can want to be exactly where I'm at, celebrating the years of hard work that I've invested in getting to this juncture, and focus on the next task at hand, status be damned. Which is getting Original Glory ready for production. I'm sure as producers are attached further rewrites will be asked of me. Until then I'm taking my hands off the typewriter and picking up the megaphone.

It's a scary and exciting transition. I wrote the outline for OG in 1998. A one hundred and fifteen page prose treatment, fifty-four screenplay drafts and countless revisions later I can finally let go of the evolution of the story and begin to think of it in more realizable terms.

Polar as a title isn't working for me after all. Pretty really sums it up. Shari Menard's performance is stunning. She was in that Blazers spot last year playing Jenga with my man Andrew Dickson and ex-Blazer (officially as of this afternoon, functionally since two seasons ago) Derek Anderson. She totally disappeared in that scene. Well, she's not disappearing off the screen now.

Joey Boyd turns in a solid perf (-ormance - reading too much Variety) as well.

I'm thinking of postponing any more acting for the time being in order to concentrate on prepping OG.

signore direttore