A LITTLE BACKGROUND

I have written half a dozen or so screenplays over the years, none of which had been produced. In the Spring of 1996 I was contacted by a friend, Kerry Hite, an actress in Los Angeles and the ex-wife of one of my best friends, Charlie Hite, himself a former film student and sometime collaborator in screenwriting with me. Kerry knew a person, Lee Schmicker (the relationship will be explained later), in the film business who was starting a production company and was looking at screenplays that had some merit (i.e., not exploitation stuff) but could be produced on a low budget. Kerry had read a script that Charlie and I had written several years before titled The Cheshire Cat, that she thought might be appropriate, and would we be interested in having the producer take a look at it?

Skipping over the obvious answer, the producer in fact settled on The Cheshire Cat as the company's first production, and after discussing between ourselves, it was agreed that I would handle all the rewrites and other interactions with the production, both for personal reasons and because, in the end, while Charlie is wondrously inventive and very good at developing plot and other "strategic" concerns, he's not a writer per se; he doesn't deal with words at a tactical level, if you will.

A director was decided on, then lost, and another director hired, the script went through several months of grueling rewrites, and finally, in the Fall of 1996, production was scheduled. I flew out to Los Angeles for two weeks to be on the set during filming, in case of any questions about the script, last minute rewrites, and because I thought it would be an experience.

It was.

What follows were my after-the-fact notes about the production of The Cheshire Cat. It is a completely biased, occasionally self-serving and entirely one-sided account. The facts are accurate. No names have been changed, 'cause baby, there ain't no innocents anymore.

I knew going out there that this was going to be a tough couple of weeks, for a number of reasons: 1) I had been wrangling with the director, Parris Patton, for two months, and in that time had gone through eight drafts plus minor revisions. In fact, Kay (my wife) had threatened to fly out to L.A. and kill Parris, since he was destroying all of our time together with his demands. 2) This sucker was gonna be shot in 10 days. This is a full length feature film -- which normally take anywhere from a month to a year to film. And this wasn't a student film -- a low budget feature, yes, but a feature, designed for national and international distribution (if we get lucky). So it had every portent of being a grueling, if educational and unforgettable, experience. And guess what? It was.

I flew in to LAX at 2:30 and was picked up by Lee and Kerry. Okay, a little background for those not in the know. Kerry is Charlie's (my friend and co-writer) ex-wife. Charlie and Kerry met when she acted in a short film that we did back in 1988. Lee Schmicker was a film school friend of Charlie's. He also worked on that short. When Charlie and Kerry moved to California, Lee was living out there working as a grip/electrician in movies. Charlie and Kerry got divorced. Lee and Kerry got together. Lee is the producer of Cheshire Cat. Kerry is one of the actresses in it and, by the end of the shoot, also got a (deserved) associate producer credit. So it's a soap opera before filming even begins.

Where was I? I land at 2:30 Sunday afternoon, and Parris has scheduled a read through at 4:00 at a stage he's rented--mostly, I've been told, as a tribute to me, so that I can see how this thing has shaped up. I'm touched. Really I am.

I've been on the ground for an hour before I start smoking. I quit smoking three years ago. I stop at a gas station on the way to the reading and buy three packs of cigarettes.

Parris also, long ago, worked on the film short, but outside of acknowledging that fact we don't know or remember each other. He's said to be a very talented filmmaker -- worked with Prince (the artist formerly know as blah blah blah), directed some of his videos. So far, in pre-production, he's been a frustration -- from my standpoint, no understanding of dramatics or of drama as literary genre. I saw some of my best ideas go out the window because Parris "didn't get it" and thought no one else would either (although everyone I ran them by "got it"). So I'm trepidatious, plus deep down I know I suck and hearing these words out loud is going to cause searing pain in my intestines, and then the whole cast is going to laugh out loud and point derisively at me.

So I'm smoking up a storm. Two, three going at a time--I'm smoking out of orifices I don't even want to talk about. And the reading has even begun yet.

[Side note: Parris dresses real interesting--slacks, dress shoes, and a white t-shirt. Every day for the first few days. Somehow, on Parris, it works.]

I meet the actors (pleasant and hard working, one and all) and the reading begins. As it turns out, everybody just sits in their seats and reads, as opposed to working on the stage, for a couple of reasons: a) we have technical stuff to do during the reading, like reconciling scene numbers in everybody's scripts; we did so many drafts that there is confusion, and b) it's pretty pointless to act out a film script. There's no emotional follow through, scenes are brief, and often entirely visual. But other than that, the reading goes...the reading goes. It finishes and I step outside to smoke (this will be a motif--watch for it). Bill Douglas, cast as Lt. Rigby, comes outside as well -- out of everyone in the room, his line readings came out exactly as I heard them in my head when writing -- an amazing thing, and unexpected. It seems to brighten his day when I tell him.

Brian, on the other hand...Brian plays Parks, the central character. The character is odd, tightly wound, speaks in a very unnatural, hyper-intellectual way and always spouts quotes from literary sources. He is one of my favorite creations, one of the most interesting characters I've ever written. And Brian ain't him. I don't like his line readings, I don't like his look, I don't think he's right for this part at all. So I'm outside smoking up a storm.

And Parris comes out and asks "So what did you think?"

Brian is Parris' creation -- Frankenstein had nothing on him. Parris gave Brian free rein, in character development, and in script suggestion (you begin to see the source of my pique). At one point in pre-prod, I'm up to my eyeballs in liquid anger, choking on the stuff, and Parris asks if it is okay if he and Brian and I have a conference call. I'm thinking -- Yes! Let me set this mythical Brian, who seems to be having all these script problems, right. I will explain, educate, illuminate for him! And then Parris adds, "He's got some ideas I'd like you to hear." The sky falls in sharp chunks. He wants BRIAN to explain the script to ME! I steel myself for the call, firm in the knowledge that Lee has given me carte blanche and full authority to say "Brian, act the words that are given to you. If you can't someone will be found who can." Lee is a god, at this point -- he values the writer intensely, and that is a marvelous and unexpected benefit to this, my first film experience. And wholly unusual.

Back on track, Parris asks "What did you think?" and what he means is "What did you think of Brian." I smile politely and say things like "It's shaping up. It's coming together. I'm anxious to see it in actual production."

We all go home, preparing for the next morning, the day filming begins. Crew call is Six A.M. for a location that it will take approximately 45 minutes to drive to. So I'm jet lagged and have a wake up call for 4:30 a.m.

Ain't Hollywood magic?

And the first day comes to a close.