If there’s one part of the job I hate (and there isn’t really, hate’s a very strong word for something which is generally much fun) it’s the catch up calls; those quick calls from the producer to see how the script’s coming along.
You know the ones: “Hi, how’s it going? Did you see ‘Program X’ last night? Wasn’t it shit/good? How did the thing you were doing the other night go? Uh-huh, yeah; and how are you getting on with the script?”
Subtext being: “Is it done? I need it now! I don’t believe you’re doing anything, I think you’re just sitting around in your pants eating Doritos and masturbating to reruns of Cash in the Attic. Don’t you understand how urgent this is? How long does it take to put the fucking words on the fucking paper? I told you what to write, for fuck’s sake! Where’s my fucking script?”
Which is ridiculous. Everyone knows 9 out 10 writers prefer to eat popcorn whilst masturbating to reruns of Cash in the Attic. You could take your eye* out with a Doritos point if you’re not paying attention.
“Is it done?”
Stupidest fucking question since “Are we there yet?” Yes, yes we are. I’m just driving round in circles now in the vain hope you’ll throw up on me.
“Is it done?” Yeah, I finished months ago. I haven’t sent the script because I’ve been using it to prop up the wobbly table.
Look, this is really simple: if the script was done, you’d have it in your hands. Look at your hands, do it now. DO IT! Is there a script there? No? Then it’s not fucking done, is it?
The stupid bit is, I know once I hand the script over you won’t read it for weeks. I fucking know that, that’s what you always do when I send you a script. Every time I ring up to casually enquire if you’ve read it; you know:
“Hi, how’s it going? Did you see ‘Program X’ last night? Wasn’t it shit/good? How did the thing you were doing the other night go? Uh-huh, yeah. Oh, have you had a chance to read the script yet?”
Oh wait …
Maybe there’s two sides to this story? Maybe that explains why you’re always out of breath when I ring you between 11.45 and 12.15, you Doritos munching self-lover you?
Patience. There’s not enough of it to go round.
* You may choose to imagine something filthy and extremely painful here, if it so pleases you.