There’s this film production market called "Berlinale," to which Michele has been wanting to pitch his story The Syrian. If accepted to Berlinale, there's a very high probability that Michele's story will get some sort of distribution deal. Many big name actors and filmmakers attend the market to hear about all the new movie ideas. And even though The Syrian script sucks, the story may actually be good enough for him to pitch on its own. However, before anyone can attend Berlinale, they need to be accepted.
It's the responsibility of the storyteller to understand what Berlinale is and how the application process works. It's crucial, in fact. After all, they are the ones who need to perfectly fill out the application, hand it on to an initial producer (my boss Avi), and then proceed to convince other producers at the market to fund his or her story.
Michele has no experience in the movie industry. However, it’s important to note that he acts like he does. So he comes to the office today, demanding that the Berlinale application for his script The Syrian be completed in time. The application is due in a week. It requires about 15 pages worth of intricately worded essays. In English. And up until today, Michele, of course, had never seen a copy of the form.
Michele has these hopes and dreams and illusions. And what those illusions tell him is that he’s going to be the next big storyteller to come out of Hollywood, despite living in the Middle East, knowing limited English, and refusing to do any required work.
It was myself, Michele and Avi in the meeting today. Michele came up with the idea to mark the initials of the person who would complete various elements of the application. Fine. That may actually be a good way for us to progress on a form in which we have absolutely no chance of finishing by next Thursday. We start scrolling down, and I see him vigorously writing initials in his red pen. He goes through 3 pages in about 30 seconds, and then hands me the form:
It reads: S.F., S.F., S.F., S.F., A.B., A.B., S.F., A.B., S.F., M.I., S.F.
He assigned me to about 70% of an application which I knew 0% about. The one section with Michele’s "M.I." initials next to it was the Writer’s Contact Information. Wow, thanks for the contribution. He generously assigned Avi and I the tasks of answering the form's following questions (taken nearly verbatim from the document, but not in the same order):
1) What do you hope to get out of the Berlinale Co-Production Market? (S.F.)
2) Why should this film be an international co-production? (S.F.)
3) How do you want to set up the film as an international co-production? (S.F.)
4) Which positions are open to potential co-producers/partners? (S.F.)
5) Have you participated in or applied for any other co-production market(s)
or any development and/or training initiatives with this project? (Please name) (S.F.)
6) Treatment (5-8 pages) (S.F.) (Still don’t know what the hell this means, by the way)
7) Script Excerpt (5 pages) (S.F.)
8) Synopsis (25 lines) (S.F.)
9) Company Profile (A.B.)
10) Financiers/Partners already confirmed (A.B.)
11) Writer’s name (Please write in crayon) (M.I.)
There are also required (*) aspects of the form like “Director’s Note and Visual Concept (25 lines)”; “Director’s Biography/Filmography (5-7 lines)”; and “Main Cast” that Michele elected to answer with a simple “N/A.”
I think more fitting initials for Michele should be: M.I.A.
After M.I.A. presented us with this foolproof plan of how he was going to submit this application professionally and on-time to Berlinale, Avi calmly flipped. At first Michele started yelling because he couldn’t understand why this couldn’t be done in one week. Then Avi started yelling back because he couldn’t understand how one could possibly think that this could be done in one week. There was no director, no cast, no crew, a shitty script, and a man who had no other answers but to point the finger at everybody else.
“We’ve had plenty of time to fill out!” M.I.A. yelled. “Why do you now tell me of all these things!”
Eventually the yelling became too heated and difficult to continue in English. They were really only speaking English because I was in the room. But when the content of the argument became much bigger than me, they switched back and forth between Hebrew and French.
I understood various words of the argument, helping me keep up with what they were saying. I heard words like impossible, idiot, and my favorite, Scott. I forget, but I hope they weren’t using them all in the same sentence.
Anyway, after sitting there awkwardly for about 10 minutes, Avi sits back in his chair and starts speaking English. He was speaking to Michele, but now also indirectly to me:
“Filmmaking is a very tedious process. You can’t cut corners in this industry. If you are not prepared to submit a project, you need to be patient. You can’t rush the process. Everything takes time, Michele, if you want to do it right. It’s like a diamond cutter. People can tell when a diamond is fake and when it is very well done. All the small things show. Filmmaking is the same. You can’t come in here not prepared and expect everything to be good. It’s your story and your vision. Scott can help you word stuff and I can help you pitch it. But ultimately, it’s going to have to be you.”
Avi actually speaks really good English. So that grammar wasn’t too far from how he legitimately talks.
“Scott, will you please leave the room. I need to speak to Michele in Hebrew now,” he continued, in similar fashion to how a mobster might send away a young child before performing a hit.
I gladly left.
The yelling presumed on the other side of the door. But I wasn't listening. I sat at my computer, hearing only the replayed words from Avi’s mini speech. They really resonated with me. So many people are like Michele when it comes to the film industry. Everyone thinks it’s easy and that they can become a famous Hollywood figure overnight. Including myself at times. We are all looking for our 15 minutes. But working at this office -- seeing how Avi conducts business and takes on projects -- I’m learning a lot about the filmmaking profession. Profession being the key word. It’s tedious, stressful, and most of all, unstable. But this is precisely what I think drives me most to want to continue in this field. The most insignificant results are emphasized a million times because of the work it takes to get there. People are so proud when they complete even the shittiest 5-minute film ever uploaded onto YouTube. And with good reason.
As I was witnessing the highs and lows of Michele and Avi’s relationship, I immediately understood the relationship I have to develop with the film industry if I want to survive. It has to be nothing short of love-hate. If it's all love -- like the relationship most have with the film industry -- then we all become walking/talking Micheles.
For the past week and a half I’ve been working with a former BBC employee, named Ben, on the pitch of a documentary feature film. He’s been working to edit a 3-minute teaser, and I’ve been writing the document that we plan on sending to PBS, BBC and some French and Israel financers. The story is about the dramatic exodus of the Jews of Algeria in the 1960s, told through the eyes and music of Maurice El Medioni, the 2007 winner of BBC’s World Music Award. The documentary is much more complex than this. But that’s what the pitch and trailer are for.
Anyway, after about 20 hours spent on the actual writing of the 3-page pitch, and another 15 hours researching methods to properly pitch it to these big wigs, I’m fed up. So now it’s time for you guys to do the assistant producing…
The link at the bottom of this post will bring you to the pitch. I posted it on my other Web site as I couldn't figure out how to attach a Word document to this blog. It's only the text, which is really all I care about. But give me your input: Can you envision the story? What changes would you make to the narrative? Would you grant our production money – roughly $50,000 – to make the film (keeping in mind that you work for one of the aforementioned production companies)?
Your suggestions and honesty can only help us. We haven’t sent anything yet. As I am now immune to tiny details, it’s up to you to catch the nitty gritty stuff that may get us turned away. Don’t hold back. Because if this project gets proper funding, Ben and I get assistant producer credits as well as creative input into the final cut. But we’re not so concerned about that now. Instead, we spent a good portion of the day discussing how much this project has made us hate the 2007 winner of BBC’s World Music Award – Maurice El Medioni.
But to tie all this stuff together, I want to go back to the Michele fiasco…
I was sitting at my desk working on this Maurice project, when 45 minutes later Michele walks out of Avi’s office with a big smile on his face.
“Uh-oh,” I thought to myself.
He walks over to my desk with the Berlinale form in hand.
“Avi says we can finish this in about 12 hours,” M.I.A. said. “So I’m gonna call and e-mail you this weekend to complete!”
On my tombstone, instead of carving in my name, please just use a red pen and write my initials:
(S.F.)
Click here for the pitch. Its working title is "Maghreb Vista." Again, pay no attention to the formatting. Look forward to your comments.
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