I don’t know whether to be pissed off or not.
I woke up this morning and felt like shit. I just couldn’t be bothered to get up and drag my aching arse into Cannes, so I didn’t. There were a couple of meetings this morning, but I knew one of them was a waste of time and the only other one I was interested in was this afternoon, a follow up meeting to yesterday’s intriguing one.
The only problem was, they didn’t want me at the second meeting. I’m not sure why, but I guess it’s all business stuff so I wasn’t too bothered. It’s pointless sitting in on producer-stuff meetings, other than out of curiosity; which I have very little of, since they don’t really have anything to do with me.
Other than deciding the fate of my script, but I’ve already pitched the thing, so it’s out of my hands now.
I hung around the hotel all day, just chilling and went into town this evening to meet Marion for dinner. It wasn’t a total waste of a day, I got a lot of thinking done. I worked out the plot for the non-existent TV mini-series I was asked about yesterday, and I came up with an idea for a producer I was chatting to who wants a ‘British Dodgeball’.
I have that now, it’s done.
So I get into town, eager to hear what happened in the meeting. The exciting second meeting where the producers who’d shown a lot of interest in the project wanted to see us (or rather Marion) again. The meeting which could potentially make the difference between whether or not the project goes ahead.
“Well, ” I ask “how’d it go?”
Marion smiles and replies:
“I can’t tell you.”
Stunned pause. I think I blinked a lot.
“They told me not to tell anyone.”
“Tell anyone what?”
“I can’t tell you.”
“They specifically said you can’t tell me?”
“No, they said I can’t tell anyone.”
Seriously, what the fuck? What’s going on? Why can’t I be told? And what is it I can’t be told?
I was on the verge of shouting when I thought again. Most of the details in these things make my eyes glaze over and my ears shut themselves off. To be honest, most of the producer-y details of a project bore the living shit out of me.
I’ve tried to pay attention, I’ve tried to take an interest and learn more about the film industry; but I just don’t care. I like being a writer, it’s just me and the laptop. It’s simple. All this messy stuff with locations, cameras, post, crew … in a way, I just want to hand someone a script and have them hand me a ticket to the premiere.
As you can tell, I have no directorial ambitions. Even less producer-orial ones.
Still, I have trailed around Cannes lending moral support, showing a united front, as we try to move the project forward. I’ve sat (slept) through a lot of meetings, I want to know what’s so fucking important I can’t be told.
But do I have a right to get stroppy? Marion’s being working on this project for eight months or so now and I haven’t been kept informed of all the details. I just get a general round up every couple of months or so; which is a damn sight more than I get from some people who’ve optioned my scripts – “Oh, you’ve started production? Really, when?”
If I wasn’t here at all, I wouldn’t be pressing her for information because I wouldn’t know anything had happened. I’m not supposed to be involved with these sorts of negotiations, it’s not my job.
And yet … I am here, I have been (a fairly useless) part of it all. God damn it, I want to know.
What the fuck is going on?