What's been happening outside of 'business' - well, L.A. is the same as before. Both scary and exciting all at once... This year I am lucky - I have friends here - old aquaintences, and even some faces from Oz.
There has been a lot of 'star spotting' this year - they must have known I was coming... this morning I had my favourite star encounter - Tricky (Uk/massive attack artist) - sitting next to us at Urth Cafe. Funny, funny man... skinny guy with a haircut like a pineapple and a voice louder than joan rivers. He struck up a conversation with us at lunch because he heard the british accent and proceeded to shout loud enough to embarass the new yorkers at his table... the more they squirmed, the louder and fouler his language got. We, understandably encouraged this...
He then took offense at the look a very blonde, very 'la la' girl gave him. Very snotty - a M.A.W. (Model. Actress. Whatever. - dont quote me on that, it's an old Don Simpson saying)... so, he proceeds to stand directly next to her as if to challenge the look and take pictures of her with his phone... very funny - he's a bastard, but a funny bastard.
Last night was the Beverly Hills Film Festival opening, so I went along to check it out... much like last years, it was full of some great people and some... how should I put this? 'Berets and Squinters' was how I put it last time. People that like to look important, whilst squinting and referencing french movies... there were more tossers than a Salad Makers Convention.
One in particular caught my eye - it wasn't hard as he practically shone a spotlight on himself and announced from a loudspeaker that he was 'A DIRECTOR AND WRITER AND HIS FILM WAS ABOUT TO SHOW NEXT!!!!!!'.
Six foot five, long wavy hair, milan model looks and an ego to match. Imagine if you took Hugh Jackman and Steven Seagal, let them have a fist fight and then compacted them in a mincer - he would be the result once you put them back together. He pushed, cajoled, harangued and generally pissed off most of the people present as he overtook the proceedings with his one man show. He also had a 'rent-a-crowd' of L.A.'s finest for his film and literally snatched tickets from other people to make sure his film would be well received. Oh dear...
So, the film before his starts and as the credits are still rolling, he stands to the side and loudly announces that 'this is taking a bit long'.... pity the poor filmmakers that screened with him. (they were in the audience). So - light go up and he starts announcing (during the other film still rolling : ) "I am the director, I am the writer of ... (title deleted) - Let me introduce you to my actor!!!" - F**K off! it's a short film!! not the academy awards - but nothing would deter him... the film screens - it sucked - every applauded... welcome to hollywood.
I'll continuing dining tomorrow...
Thursday, April 12, 2007
The *hor* d'ouvre's...
Sorry for the tardiness of these posts... I have been up, down and all around L.A. with good days, bad days and walking around in a hell of a daze.
Last year I learnt a lesson that you don't walk in los angeles and you don't catch cabs. Being the dumb tourist that I am, that is exactly what I am doing this year. Fortunately I have sensible friends like Jai that rented a car and are too nice to tell me to bugger off when I need a lift somewhere.
The only way I'll be able to recap the last week (which is a bit of a blur) is by segregating it into tasty morsels. I'll set it up like a cheap menu at Denny's, where to start? Where to start? Let me think... It feels like I've been selling myself around town on every street corner... so what would the menu section be?? Ah! That's it - let's start with... the 'whore d'oeuvres'.
O.k. this week has all been about meetings, the small, fast, digestible snacks that are the most important meal of the day. The tasters of what may come, the threat of an empty stomach? My agents have done an incredible job. response to my script has been good... how it works here is that you either get a) and instant sale (VERY rare), b) a 'pass' and a meeting (hard to get) or c) a 'pass' and no meeting (not good)... it's like standing on the edge of a cliff, looking into a black void and being told to jump - without knowing if you are going to land in a field of poppies or poopies (lame I know but I couldn't think of anything else).
Anyway - I've been getting option b) which is great - lots of meetings with the kind of people that I only ever get to see at the end of the credits to many of my favourite films... my aim is to see them for longer than the usual 30 second scroll as they pass me by and less important credits greet me.
Every meeting feels important, every meeting has it's own pressure... do you turn up looking like a writer? (i.e. flip flops, creased jeans and 2 day growth) or like a professional (shirt, shoes and portfolio) - either way I am either panicking that I look like a hobo or an undergrad looking for his first job. I opt to hit the middle and hope they figure me for a homeless professional... it seems to be working although I've yet to get any loose change in my hat.
Every meeting is daunting - walking into lobbies where the posters on the wall are The Departed, The Grudge or Three Kings... a far cry from home - most lobbies I walk into have the very same posters - only it's at Blockbuster Video.
I can't divulge too much info in a blog but suffice to say I am 'swinging with the big dicks' - I say that with trepidation as, once again, I am staying in BoyTown.
I'm halfway through my trip and I am either going to leave 'on the verge' or literally 'on a verge' - one will be a highway filled with fun and drama - the other filled with semi-trailers and roadkill... watch this space.
Last year I learnt a lesson that you don't walk in los angeles and you don't catch cabs. Being the dumb tourist that I am, that is exactly what I am doing this year. Fortunately I have sensible friends like Jai that rented a car and are too nice to tell me to bugger off when I need a lift somewhere.
The only way I'll be able to recap the last week (which is a bit of a blur) is by segregating it into tasty morsels. I'll set it up like a cheap menu at Denny's, where to start? Where to start? Let me think... It feels like I've been selling myself around town on every street corner... so what would the menu section be?? Ah! That's it - let's start with... the 'whore d'oeuvres'.
O.k. this week has all been about meetings, the small, fast, digestible snacks that are the most important meal of the day. The tasters of what may come, the threat of an empty stomach? My agents have done an incredible job. response to my script has been good... how it works here is that you either get a) and instant sale (VERY rare), b) a 'pass' and a meeting (hard to get) or c) a 'pass' and no meeting (not good)... it's like standing on the edge of a cliff, looking into a black void and being told to jump - without knowing if you are going to land in a field of poppies or poopies (lame I know but I couldn't think of anything else).
Anyway - I've been getting option b) which is great - lots of meetings with the kind of people that I only ever get to see at the end of the credits to many of my favourite films... my aim is to see them for longer than the usual 30 second scroll as they pass me by and less important credits greet me.
Every meeting feels important, every meeting has it's own pressure... do you turn up looking like a writer? (i.e. flip flops, creased jeans and 2 day growth) or like a professional (shirt, shoes and portfolio) - either way I am either panicking that I look like a hobo or an undergrad looking for his first job. I opt to hit the middle and hope they figure me for a homeless professional... it seems to be working although I've yet to get any loose change in my hat.
Every meeting is daunting - walking into lobbies where the posters on the wall are The Departed, The Grudge or Three Kings... a far cry from home - most lobbies I walk into have the very same posters - only it's at Blockbuster Video.
I can't divulge too much info in a blog but suffice to say I am 'swinging with the big dicks' - I say that with trepidation as, once again, I am staying in BoyTown.
I'm halfway through my trip and I am either going to leave 'on the verge' or literally 'on a verge' - one will be a highway filled with fun and drama - the other filled with semi-trailers and roadkill... watch this space.
Sunday, April 8, 2007
2. - WHAT'S IN A NAME?
And so to the plane - and I edge into the cabin, wondering if I will experience the 'chair slammer' of years gone past. What morsel of annoyance can the good lord have bestowed upon me this year (Sounding a bit preachy at the moment - I'll stop that)...
And here she is. I arrive at my seat - 33B and reach up to secure my bag... my eyes dropping to see who my partner for the next 9 hours will be... and there she is - small, slender, middle aged... and dutifully picking the gunk from her toe-nails over my side of the floor.
I stand and stare as she gouges all manner of dead skin and grit from beneath those yellow curlers and wonder aloud if she might like to stop doing that... She moves aside and I slink into my seat... my feet an inch from the floor.
Surely the flight will go according to plan, but as i reach for my entertainment book to get my 'game-head' on for the movie marathon I have in store - something strikes me. In the centre of the aisles is a large screen... you know - like the ones you got ten years ago BEFORE THEY HAD ANY MEDIA SYSTEMS!!!!
Yes - I am on a plane that has no media system... just one screen - dead centre for 50 craning eyes to look at over the heads of others. I reach and grapple beneath my seat as I pull at anything that might resemble a home entertainment systems but all I get is a life jacket and those toe nail clippings...
For anyone that knows me - this is akin to putting an alcoholic at an outdoor concert for thousands and placing an open bottle of vodka in the middle... I'm fucked.
The price of getting the cheapest flight on the net - I settle back and dream of the day that a studio will be paying for a business class seat that offers free cashews instead of toe jam...
I sit back and a man across the way catches my eye - a man that, for a minute looks just like my accountant 'Wee Chan' - I get excited as I realise I might be able to swap seats... but it's not him and I am still fucked.
So I watch the designated program on screen - I get a good hour and a half of 'Rain' in concert - Korea's answer to Justin Timberlake. (I am flying Korean airlines after all). Not only is 'Rain' the answer to Justin Timberlake - he could actually be sued for copyright infringement. He moves, sounds, acts exactly like JT - in fact, as I watch the extravaganza of choreographed robotics and pyrotechnics as 'Rain' sings of 'poppin the hood' - I chuckle as - come the end of the track... and I am sure you didn't see this coming... it rains on 'Rain'.
Yes - his signature trick is that, as his finale comes to a crescendo, 'Rain' gets rained upon as water cascades from above the stage over him. It's at this point that I am glad my good friend 'Wee' is not a pop star...
And here she is. I arrive at my seat - 33B and reach up to secure my bag... my eyes dropping to see who my partner for the next 9 hours will be... and there she is - small, slender, middle aged... and dutifully picking the gunk from her toe-nails over my side of the floor.
I stand and stare as she gouges all manner of dead skin and grit from beneath those yellow curlers and wonder aloud if she might like to stop doing that... She moves aside and I slink into my seat... my feet an inch from the floor.
Surely the flight will go according to plan, but as i reach for my entertainment book to get my 'game-head' on for the movie marathon I have in store - something strikes me. In the centre of the aisles is a large screen... you know - like the ones you got ten years ago BEFORE THEY HAD ANY MEDIA SYSTEMS!!!!
Yes - I am on a plane that has no media system... just one screen - dead centre for 50 craning eyes to look at over the heads of others. I reach and grapple beneath my seat as I pull at anything that might resemble a home entertainment systems but all I get is a life jacket and those toe nail clippings...
For anyone that knows me - this is akin to putting an alcoholic at an outdoor concert for thousands and placing an open bottle of vodka in the middle... I'm fucked.
The price of getting the cheapest flight on the net - I settle back and dream of the day that a studio will be paying for a business class seat that offers free cashews instead of toe jam...
I sit back and a man across the way catches my eye - a man that, for a minute looks just like my accountant 'Wee Chan' - I get excited as I realise I might be able to swap seats... but it's not him and I am still fucked.
So I watch the designated program on screen - I get a good hour and a half of 'Rain' in concert - Korea's answer to Justin Timberlake. (I am flying Korean airlines after all). Not only is 'Rain' the answer to Justin Timberlake - he could actually be sued for copyright infringement. He moves, sounds, acts exactly like JT - in fact, as I watch the extravaganza of choreographed robotics and pyrotechnics as 'Rain' sings of 'poppin the hood' - I chuckle as - come the end of the track... and I am sure you didn't see this coming... it rains on 'Rain'.
Yes - his signature trick is that, as his finale comes to a crescendo, 'Rain' gets rained upon as water cascades from above the stage over him. It's at this point that I am glad my good friend 'Wee' is not a pop star...
1. HOW TO KICK A THREE YEAR OLD...
So, I'm headed back to L.A. on a whim, a prayer and a dirty great business loan - and there have been some requests for a repeat blog...
I'm happy, it's not a chore - it kept me sane (barely) last time, so there is no reason why it shouldn't keep my feet firmly planted on the diamond encrusted ground this time...
For any of you that followed the blog last time - you will know there is a formula. I walk around clueless in the city of angels and get approached by various freaks and misfits of the film industry - it's what I do. It's my day to day penance for trying to get over here and get some work... it's my fault... happy to take the blame.
Why am I here? Simple - it's been a year since I last blogged and I felt it was about time to hit the skies and head back to L.A. This time there is no festival... well, there is - the Beverly Hills Film Festival is on, so it's good timing to turn up as a 'self appointed' VIP - yes, I invited myself and 'suggested' that a VIP pass would work nicely. Luckily for me, the guys at BHFF were good to their word. I'm actually here to whore myself as a writer and sell my soul... (cough)... scripts...
For the uninitiated, this won't mean anything - but for those returning to these pages - let's hope that walking the same streets and habituating the same cinema venues will produce some surprise visits from our old friends Douglas Dunning and Jay Von Chey?
I was a little worried that the trip would not start off eventfully as it was an early flight - I was right. Nothing to report at the crack of dawn, but of course, we are at the airport and we are about to head to the gate to board - SURELY there must be some fun ahead.
I get to the gate and grab a coffee - variously stare around and try to hunt down a freak or two, my keenly trained eye looking for anything with a twitch or speech impeppermint... but no - nothing.
Luckily for me, it's early but the queue for boarding is already a mile long. No one is warming up, stretching or gulping down gatorade in anticipation of the starters pistol. No - this lot are happy to line up for hours as if The Phantom Menace were about to have it's premiere screening. I join the end of the queue and decide that this time, I will not get irate at queue jumpers - I will merely observe...
The gate opens - and halfway to the entrance I get my prize - I find the greatest of all line jumpers. Pay no mind to the various 'pretenders' to the "line hopping crown" - they may mill around, eyes to the ceiling, hoping that no one dare shout at them for stepping in as if unaware they are breaking the cardinal rule... no - I have my queen... I have the holy grandmother of line jumpers - I have the bodicea of breaking in.
Even the great Bodicea had the decency to use bladed wheels to lop off her adversaries at the ankles... but this little old white haired wonder has a better weapon at her disposal... her three year old granddaughter.
I hold up the line as I watch in amazement at her ply to enter the line near the front section. Maybe she heard the announcement ten minutes ago that passengers with young children could go through? I'm sure she did - but then this is a bloodsport to her and there would be no pride in playing by the rules.
She stares at the heavens as she cajoles, whispers, bribes and prods the little girl to jump into the queue but to no avail. Even a three year old is too embarrassed to do this in public. Even a three year old knows it is wrong... maybe she has felt the brute force of granny shoehorning her into line at the local pharmacy for cough lozenges - but the little girl has had enough - she has put her foot down!!!
And then... granny puts the foot in - yes... she actually kicks the three year old into the line. No time for jelly tots and the promise of a pony with this one - just a sharp toe-punt to the backside as the little girl stumbles head first in to the line - separating the heaving bodies like the great tides of the sea.
Granny steps in like a menstrual moses - and... no one says a word. I look around to all and sundry for approval - did anyone see what I saw? Will they join me in a round of applause as we witness a modern miracle? The most effective line jump in our era and no one even bats an eyelid.
I decide to clap - and I am the one that gets glared at. Never mind - I have my first blog entry, and it was worth it.
I'm happy, it's not a chore - it kept me sane (barely) last time, so there is no reason why it shouldn't keep my feet firmly planted on the diamond encrusted ground this time...
For any of you that followed the blog last time - you will know there is a formula. I walk around clueless in the city of angels and get approached by various freaks and misfits of the film industry - it's what I do. It's my day to day penance for trying to get over here and get some work... it's my fault... happy to take the blame.
Why am I here? Simple - it's been a year since I last blogged and I felt it was about time to hit the skies and head back to L.A. This time there is no festival... well, there is - the Beverly Hills Film Festival is on, so it's good timing to turn up as a 'self appointed' VIP - yes, I invited myself and 'suggested' that a VIP pass would work nicely. Luckily for me, the guys at BHFF were good to their word. I'm actually here to whore myself as a writer and sell my soul... (cough)... scripts...
For the uninitiated, this won't mean anything - but for those returning to these pages - let's hope that walking the same streets and habituating the same cinema venues will produce some surprise visits from our old friends Douglas Dunning and Jay Von Chey?
I was a little worried that the trip would not start off eventfully as it was an early flight - I was right. Nothing to report at the crack of dawn, but of course, we are at the airport and we are about to head to the gate to board - SURELY there must be some fun ahead.
I get to the gate and grab a coffee - variously stare around and try to hunt down a freak or two, my keenly trained eye looking for anything with a twitch or speech impeppermint... but no - nothing.
Luckily for me, it's early but the queue for boarding is already a mile long. No one is warming up, stretching or gulping down gatorade in anticipation of the starters pistol. No - this lot are happy to line up for hours as if The Phantom Menace were about to have it's premiere screening. I join the end of the queue and decide that this time, I will not get irate at queue jumpers - I will merely observe...
The gate opens - and halfway to the entrance I get my prize - I find the greatest of all line jumpers. Pay no mind to the various 'pretenders' to the "line hopping crown" - they may mill around, eyes to the ceiling, hoping that no one dare shout at them for stepping in as if unaware they are breaking the cardinal rule... no - I have my queen... I have the holy grandmother of line jumpers - I have the bodicea of breaking in.
Even the great Bodicea had the decency to use bladed wheels to lop off her adversaries at the ankles... but this little old white haired wonder has a better weapon at her disposal... her three year old granddaughter.
I hold up the line as I watch in amazement at her ply to enter the line near the front section. Maybe she heard the announcement ten minutes ago that passengers with young children could go through? I'm sure she did - but then this is a bloodsport to her and there would be no pride in playing by the rules.
She stares at the heavens as she cajoles, whispers, bribes and prods the little girl to jump into the queue but to no avail. Even a three year old is too embarrassed to do this in public. Even a three year old knows it is wrong... maybe she has felt the brute force of granny shoehorning her into line at the local pharmacy for cough lozenges - but the little girl has had enough - she has put her foot down!!!
And then... granny puts the foot in - yes... she actually kicks the three year old into the line. No time for jelly tots and the promise of a pony with this one - just a sharp toe-punt to the backside as the little girl stumbles head first in to the line - separating the heaving bodies like the great tides of the sea.
Granny steps in like a menstrual moses - and... no one says a word. I look around to all and sundry for approval - did anyone see what I saw? Will they join me in a round of applause as we witness a modern miracle? The most effective line jump in our era and no one even bats an eyelid.
I decide to clap - and I am the one that gets glared at. Never mind - I have my first blog entry, and it was worth it.
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