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Life’s
a Pitch A
painfully slow elevator and my eagerness to join the festivities that were
already underway prompted me to beg my old college roommate, with whom I was
crashing during the film festival, to take the stairs up to the third story
after-hours venue. I finally
convinced her to ignore her aching feet by pointing out how “Titanic-like”
the staircase looked. Three floors
later, “Look, I’m Jack!” didn’t have quite the same alluring effect on
her that it did the first time I played the role. Yet,
I thought I heard a chuckle, or maybe a slight groan. I looked up the half-staircase remaining to my goal and saw
him: Andrew McCarthy, the fabulously talented director who had screened his
debut short earlier that evening. We
made eye contact. “Hi,”
I could hear myself saying. Oh
shoot, I thought. Now I have to
actually do what I preach to my students: I
must pitch to him. “Loved
your film,” I said. Not because I
was kissing ass…well, maybe a little because I was kissing ass.
But honestly, I genuinely (and surprisingly) did love his film.
Still do. (Incidentally,
NEWS FOR THE CHURCH took home the Rhode Island International Film Festival’s
Grand Prize later that week, making it eligible for an Academy nomination.) He
thanked me, with a sort of genuine appreciation that relayed to me he was
pleased I hadn’t brought up his Brat Pack notoriety. I
could see that he was waiting for the elevator, so I heeded the words I have so
often spoken to my students-- you might be lucky and have as many as thirty
seconds to pitch. I
dove in and asked if he had his next project lined up, and if it would be a
feature length film that he would direct. With
genuine relief that I still had not spoken those Brat Pack words aloud, he
answered that he did indeed want to direct a feature, but hadn’t yet found a
project. “I
just happen to be a screenwriter,” I heard myself saying.
“One of my screenplays won First Prize at this festival two years ago
and landed me a New York agent and an LA manager.”
Establish credibility, I heard my classroom mantra echoing in my head. I
handed him my business card, the one I had doctored for just this opportunity; I
had listed two of my top award-winning scripts on the back of the card: title,
genre, logline and awards. In a
readable point size, no less. (For
that last bit I am especially proud.) He
glanced at the card as I continued. “It’s
a family fantasy.” “I’m
not sure I’m ready to direct a family feature just yet,” he said. He
flipped the card over. I struck.
“The other’s a romantic comedy.” He
shook his head. I wasn’t sure if
I’d simply missed on the two genres, or if we weren’t connecting as I hoped.
“What genre script do you wish to direct?” “Well,
you saw my film?” It was less a question and more an opener, as I nodded that
I had indeed. After all, how else
could I possibly know that I’d loved it?
“Something similar to that.” “A
drama.” I breathed a sigh of relief. “Yes,
I have a couple of those. An
award-winning one, too; a father-son bonding story, set in the 1940s.
The father’s a first generation Italian-American mill worker; the son
struggles to gain his father’s approval for the artist that he is.
I developed it at UCLA.” Andrew
nodded thoughtfully and grinned. “Yes,
I think I’d like to read that.” “I’d
be happy to send it to you after the festival,” I said.
And I jumped in with the ask: “Do
you have a card?” He
reached convincingly into his pocket and withdrew an empty hand.
“I’m sorry I don’t. Not
on me.” He held my card up.
“I’ll have my manager contact you, though.” My
bubble burst. “Don’t leave
without contact information,” I could hear myself saying to my students.
How many times had I repeated that?
Enough to know by heart what followed:
“Otherwise you’ll never hear from the person again.” As
if on cue one of his people swept in and, in an out-of-breath tone that
suggested he’d been looking absolutely everywhere for Andrew, announced that
Andrew’s wife was waiting for him. The
elevator still not there, Andrew apologized as he bounded down the Titanic-esque
stairs. Watching him flee reminded
me of a white tail deer escaping the hunter’s sight. My
roommate and I were alone again. “Guess
I blew that one,” I confessed. “Are
you kidding?” she shot back. “The
two of you were talking like old friends.” “Really?
Well, I guess I’ll just have to find the contact information for his
manager myself,” I said with more confidence than I felt.
Yet, I think I was smiling as we finally entered the festival party.
Yep. I was definitely
smiling. EPILOGUE: I
was able to find contact information for Andrew’s manager and, after an e-mail
query to him, he invited me to send along my spec screenplay.
In return, Andrew, who was kind enough to remember me, sent me a
screening copy of his short film, the script that led to it, and the marketing
materials for me to share with my students at the University of New Hampshire.
Now I anxiously await the reaction to my carefully crafted words. New Hampshire-based, award-winning screenwriter and playwright Dana Biscotti Myskowski teaches screenwriting as an adjunct professor at the University of New Hampshire-Manchester and is ScriptBiz Director for the Rhode Island International Film Festival. Her multi-media script BREATHING SPACE premieres this fall at the Christa McAuliffe Planetarium in Concord, NH. Her romantic comedy feature-spec BOX SCORE has been selected for a staged reading at the New Hampshire State Library this fall. Her stage adaptation, Fluffy Follow Devil based on Mark Twain’s Tom Sawyer, debuted in July. THE LEMONADE STAND, a short comedy, was produced after Dana's script won first place in the 2002 Project Midnight Contest (find it on IMDb). Her latest projects include penning a Writing the Short Script book proposal that she is working on with her agent; presenting “Writing the Short Script,” “The Business of Screenwriting” and “Pitch Fiesta” workshops for film festivals and writer’s organizations, and offering her services as a reader and reviewer of short scripts. Dana holds a Professional Certificate in Screenwriting from UCLA. She can be contacted at: notquitesotilted@mcttelecom.com. |
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