L.A. Stories- Duck and Coverage (Reading a Known Killer's Screenplay)

This is the true story of the time I was asked to give my opinion about a screenplay written by a very scary person, who would then have access to my full name and where I worked. Awesome.

"Coverage" is when a Reader- intern (usually an unpaid volunteer blindly groping in the dark at a falsely whispered promise of paying work) reads a script, then writes a small 2-page book report about the script. These interns can be highly qualified, or, not.
In addition to the 2-page synopsis of the script, a Reader is also expected to write 1 or2 pages of professional opinion about the commercial potential of the script.
Finally, the Reader is asked to either "pass" on a script or recommend it. A Reader can pass or recommend just the script itself, just the writer, or the entire package. For example, you can love the concept of a screenplay but hate the way it was written. Or, you can love the writing of a really stupid concept. Or, it can rock or suck out loud all the way through. Either way, you have to form a strong opinion, back it up intellectually, then stand by it as your name and opinion travel up the ladder and eventually get back to the screenwriter's literary agent, who submitted this project in the first place.
On the second day of my Culver City internship, my mentor-intern, the girl who'd trained me the previous day, approached me with a script in her hand. She lowered her voice.
"Hey, you like horror, right?"
I nodded enthusiastically, eager to prove my expertise in my favorite genre.
She weighed the heavy screenplay in her palm.
"Listen- I'm leaving in two days, so I can't take on any additional scripts- I've been hanging on to this one for a while, because I really wanted to do it, but I won't have time now because they put me on another project- I like you. Do you want it?"
"What's so special about it," I asked.
"This guy- the writer- he was an established horror writer- I know you've seen his stuff. Anyway, a few years back he had a really horrific personal tragedy, and this is his first screenplay since that. I just know it's gonna be good, and if you're the one to identify a good screenplay, then, you know."
"It's good for me."
"Right."
She handed me the screenplay gently, almost reluctantly.
"I know it's gonna be so twisted and great," she said, a twinge of jealousy in her voice.
"Thank you for this," I said.
A few hours later, I was relieved of my front desk shift and allowed to go read. Reverently, I peeled back the title page, and delved into what I thought, at first, was a joke.
This can't be right, I thought.
The characters were so one-dimensional, I thought for sure I was reading the next Scary Movie VI- I kept waiting for the Wayans brothers to appear.
There was some gore, sure, but it was unimaginative and nothing I hadn't already seen in "Ghost Ship" and "The Exorcist."
Really? REALLY?
Thinking my trainer was playing some sort of hazing prank, I googled the writer. "Horrific Personal Tragedy," I thought. Sheyah, right.
...Holy Shit- here is the TRUE STORY of what the writer did:
In 2001, shortly following the massive success from a huge blockbuster remake he wrote, writer X was driving his Cadillac Escalade. At an intersection in Santa Monica, X approached a red light and caused a tiny fender-bender with the smaller car in front of it. The driver of the smaller car and his girlfriend were OK, but the driver got out of his car to see if X was OK.
The driver approached X's Cadillac, and saw X slumped over the steering wheel, with bright red eyes. When the driver asked if X was OK, X responded by pressing his foot down on the accelerator pedal. The driver yelled at X to stop, but X continued to accelerate, pushing the tiny car (with the screaming girlfriend inside it) into oncoming traffic.
A few other cars slammed into the tiny car, killing the girlfriend instantly, and forming a massive pile-up of twisted metal at the intersection. X continued to accelerate, and eventually the plastic bumpers of the wreckage gave way and his Cadillac shot from 0mph to 55mph, rocketing through a crowded glass bus-stop where pedestrians were gathered to gawk at the accident scene.
X drove through the crowd, maiming a few more people, before driving across the sidewalk and through the plate glass window of a crowded bar. His joyride came to a stop at a marble countertop with two dead people pinned against it, crushed from the chest down.
But wait, there's more!
X calmly gets out of his car, completely unscathed, and takes a survey of all the destruction he's caused. He then approaches the shattered glass window, picks up a large shard of broken glass and SLASHES HIS OWN THROAT.
Paramedics arrived shortly afterward, and were able to get writer X to the hospital in time to save his life. However, he refused to tell the doctors his real name, insisting instead that he be registered as "Akin Roam."
X had never used a pseudonym before, but people were later chilled to discover that "Akin Roam" is an anagram for the phrase, "I ran amok."
Wowwwww...
So I finished this piece of crap screenplay, and found myself between a rock and a hard place, which, granted, is better than a Cadillac and a countertop. X never went to jail. X went to rehab and got a slap on the wrist. X was still out there...
This was his first screenplay since this "accident," and I was sad to see that none of the real-life horror found its way into the script. It was awful, awful, awful. And stupid, predictable, ridiculous and boring to boot.
However, he is a known "name" writer. So if I trash it, I run the risk of looking like a fool. If I recommend it, thought, and they read what utter garbage it is, I also look like a fool.
Bottom line is, I had to be honest. So I tactfully, carefully, delicately passed on it, citing reasonably stated concerns with the material.
When I passed on it, my company notified X's agent, who then told X that it had been rejected.
To this day I expect a Cadillac Escalade to come crashing through my windows, with a demon-eyed coked-up X behind the wheel.
He may hate me. But his screenplay totally sucked.

LA Stories: The Guy With The Knife

I was helping my pseudo-boss from my (unpaid) internship pack his life into a UHAUL Truck so he and his girlfriend could make a short cross-town move. I volunteered for this job, because I am an idiot. I thought I'd be able to spend some time with him and ask all sorts of pertinent industry-related questions, but instead, I got to wait outside with the truck.
Specifically, wait in the BACK of the metal-lined truck, in 97-degree weather, while a mountain range burned nearby. It was fairly uncomfortable.

My pseudoboss and his girlfriend and their roommates and his friend and one other intern were loading stuff into the truck from the 12th story of a building with the World's Slowest Elevators, and nobody wanted to wait outside with the truck in this brutal weather. I was staring at the sidewalk, fantasizing that my pseudoboss would buy us lunch (never happened) and gazing jealously at the happy people eating at a taco stand adjacent to my pseudoboss' building. I was alone.
Which is why no one else saw what I saw:

A short south-American-looking man with dark skin and a moustache walked down the sidewalk near where our truck was parked. I noticed him because he had a straw Panama Jack hat, a flowered shirt and khaki shorts and sandals- he looked like a guy in a costume. Kind of like a tour guide through a tropical jungle. He walked, right-to-left, past the truck.

Then he walked left-to-right past the truck, and this time, he stopped to pick up some litter off the sidewalk and throw it away. Now he REALLY had my attention- a costumed do-gooder? Could this guy be some sort of Los Angeles Superhero? Who else picks up random trash off the sidewalk? Nobody, that's who. This guy was awesome.

Then he walked by the truck again, right to left, CARRYING A KNIFE. Not just any knife, either- a wickedly thin curved knife with a slight hook-shape at the tip- a knife meant for gutting... I was a little freaked out at this point. He carried the blade against his inner arm, to conceal it, and walked with a deliberate stride past the truck. "Oh God," I thought- "He's going to go kill whoever threw that trash on the sidewalk!"

I must've been distracted by the arrival of the other moving-people, because there was a flurry of activity in the truck and then I was by myself again. Sure enough, there he was again- walking right-to-left, carrying duct tape. "Jesus Tapdancing Christ," I thought- "He's found the perpetrator, he's gutted him, and now he's gonna tape his pieces up into plastic bags and throw them into different dumpsters around town for sure!"

I was continuously asked for money by the city's shambling homeless, and watched some giant line-backer-sized man literally ricochet from side to side down the street picking fights and hugging people. Another man insisted that I purchase a bottle of marinade from him, so he could spend the night in a shelter. All this while I'm in the back of a U-Haul truck.

We finished the move, unloading the truck in Korea Town while an Independence Day-Style mushroom cloud of smoke and ash loomed over the city. Epic, and scary. My psuedoboss' girlfriend brought me back to his old place to pick up my car, but I was starving at this point and decided to suck it up and spend a little money to eat at the taco stand. (I had my eye on a handmade sign advertising the 99-cent Jr. taco allll day.) Upon entering the taco stand, I was immediately greeted by THE PANAMA HACK!!! HE STILL HAD HIS KNIFE!!! OMIGOD I WAS A GONER!!! ...But instead, he offered to make me a taco as he used the knife and the tape to create another handmade sign.

It was his restaurant, which explains why he cared about the taco trash on the sidewalk outside. Whew. That was a close one- I bought a taco from the pleasant little man, and went on about my day.