The Rough Draft

What exactly is a Proxy? According to the Final Draft Thesaurus, a Proxy is ‘One who acts for another,’ but if you go down to the ‘related to:’ section you’ll find a more appropriate term ‘tool.’ I’m also using as a reference the ‘Hudsucker’s proxy’ a movie by the Coen Brothers; and I’m Tim Robbins…only shorter.

It’s also helps that the character Tim Robbins and I have more in common, we’re both from the country and a bit taken by the energy of the people we encounter. We both had a great idea we wanted to see happen, and we both looked awed by the interest people had in our ability. Tool doesn’t feel right; I’m going to go with Chump.

In the beginning, I had a script called Clean Fight and I was planning to direct it as a short film; I also had a producer attached who fell by the wayside but I won’t go into that. I also had actors that were interested in the project and I had traveled to Banff to pitch the project to a producer…but I also had my issues with pulling it off right so I decide I might need a director I trusted to come on board to show me the ropes…an advisor if you will.

The pitches in Banff went very well, there was a lot of interest and want of follow-ups, but my other producer wasn’t completely up to the task so not much more was done about it. I, myself, raised twelve grand to pursue the project but it also fell at the wayside when the project started growing bigger and bigger. Eventually, I gave into the calls to step aside as director and hand it over to the person that was supposed to be mentoring me, and ultimately ended up directing. For some reason, and to this day I have never figured out how it happened as I was told after it was decided…the director’s friend and producing partner came onto the project with support from the other producer that was helping me.

And thus, my chumphood was enacted.

This other company with the director that came in was a fledgling one, so I assumed at the time that I would still retain control over my project; and thus the dance of manipulation began. I admit I wasn’t completely naive to the situation, the first producer left and I brought on another one to look after my interests, he’s from LA so I assumed he’d be able to keep my role in things strong. But when people know how to handle you…they do it well.

It was subtle at first, when new decisions were made they were always made with the statement at the end of ‘but as far as we’re concerned, this is your project, it’s what you want to do.” And I swear that’s an actual quote…and at the time, filled me with so much confidence that even as cracks began to appear I would put up a struggle, but believe what I was being fed.

It was in the next six months that I started to see that it was getting away from me, as I watched the production company use Clean Fight or my other projects to get meetings with my contacts only to pitch their own wares…on that sticks out in my mind was a pitch with the women who started my career for me, only to have to remind the director that we’re pitching ‘Clean Fight.’

Then it took off, we were given the go ahead from the network to start ‘Clean Fight,’ and suddenly I became ‘only the writer,’ and was told ‘you’re only the writer, you should feel lucky you were allowed this much input,’ Devastating…yeah. But then came the point when it was pointed out that to get the funding the project must be run by an aboriginal company with majority control of the project.

Thus, my proxyhood was begun.

The chimera dance of how it was my project began again, I was wined, dined, introduced to people as the executive producer and must admit, even when I was warned by a friend that the producers weren’t to be trust (he himself ripped off by them), I still fell for it. It was a few months of them keeping me in the loop, doing trust worthy things that I fell for…the fact that I would make choices and they would get done. I approached other actors on behalf of the project, and people hired were run past me first…and the sales pitch of my executive producer ship was put to the network and they loved it.

In the garage of the director, with his kid playing out in the yard he put contracts in front of me with a huge grin on his face. These were contracts my lawyer told me not to sign, that I would be giving up control; but I listened to the director, in his home as he told me that ‘you’ll still have a say in everything,’ but I believe him even more when I had him promise me that he would never rewrite me…his reply “I’m not the type of person that would do that to you.” I believed him, with so much trust…so I signed.
And my journey to proxy hood was complete.

Then my leadership position disappeared, I was the executive producer on the project and fifty one percent owner of the company but any decision I made was ignored, or agreed to and then done differently. The Banff trip was a sure sign of things to come as the director and producing partner tried to bring on a larger company to work with them on the project, a company the director was trying to get in good with, I was informed after the pitch was made, the line I was given was ‘these things happen fast, we don’t have time to talk it over before I have to decide.’ It was a good debate at the table; I had to ask friends who this company was, and was then surprised to find that the director didn’t even want me to meet the head of this production company. To them, as I found out, I was only the writer.

The company was formed; I made the mistake of signing over the signatory rights and I soon became obsolete. It came to the point when I was complaining on set, and the other producer actually informed me that I was ‘irrelevant.’ His quote really was ‘it doesn’t matter what you do, you’re irrelevant.’ So I spent the rest of the day refusing to sign the contracts for funding that they needed me to, get money for the production; thus, they actually brought in the producer from LA guy I brought in to watch out for my interests…to handle me.

And then, they rewrote me…there’s more to go into there which I will in a future article…but just days before shooting, when I wasn’t around they quickly rewrote me and handed the script out. The big promise. I spent the weekend trying to get the script back to the one I wrote….that was fun.

The next step, I noticed that they began to leave me out of meetings; mostly likely because I attended one where they actually were deciding the best lie to tell people. I had a ‘hissy fit’ by balking at the notion of a company actually sitting down and deciding the best dishonest method of telling someone they’re not getting paid that they could get away with. It wasn’t so much leaving me out of meetings as not telling me they were happening.

In the end though, was it worth the trouble, the headaches and the bitching?

Not sure…but they will be kissing up again in the next little while if it’s picked up for series…question is, do I fall for it again, have I learned my lesson?

I like to think so.

Andrew Genaille

(Editor’s Note)

Clean Fight the series was not picked up by the funding channel

My first project that I could call my own was Cinderfella, I wrote it in grade eight long before I even knew who jerry Lewis was. We were given the assignment of doing fairy tales and I didn’t like Cinderella as it was presented so I went home and wrote out my own version; my friends Nathan, Jim and the Hawaii dude came on, we rehearsed and fixed the script…and it was the first time I got to say to a girl, “ I need you to look hot and walk by on stage.” We got laughs, Nathan wore a dress and I was a prince….we were hooked.

Several skits later, grade eleven came around and I tried my hand at filmmaking; I wrote the basic outline of a twenty minute film called ‘bumpy 2: the knuckle sandwich.’ Then on the days we filmed, me and the actors would go through what we wanted, find the funny moments and then act it out. Sure it was stressful, we filmed during lunch break, through SSR, sometimes skipping the occasional class to meet up for a scene and then after school…but it was freaken fun. Not once did we consider stopping just because a teacher lectured us, once the next chance came around we’d be ripping through more ideas. Editing itself was a tale, two in the morning at the cable building; once locked in because they forgot we were in the building.

I followed that up with ‘The deadly art of macramé.’

Then the first taste of real stress, I had just spent ten thousand dollars of other people’s money on film school and was now out in the real world. I put together a crap load of proposals and raised myself six thousand dollars to do a short film called ‘The making of the Cry of the Thunderbird.’

Shot over two weekends on Betacam, with a small crew and friends as my actors. There was a script I wrote, full of humour and good times; followed by the storyboard, but that’s not where the fun was.

The fun, I noticed was during the shoot, standing around with the actors trying to work out scenes, throwing around different ideas and latching onto the funniest moment, or the most series moment. It was ten minutes before shooting a scene that my brother goes…I should wear a moustache for this scene, and we pointed out he wasn’t wearing one for the character in the other scenes…and he says, that’s what makes it funny.

Another moment, and I kept the outtakes from it has my brother and friend Jason playing a producer and director watching their lead actor get eaten by wolves. The first take they seemed upset, so between takes I said they should be freaking out., so the second take was louder, so after the third take I went ‘dudes, just go nuts.’ The fourth take, Jason races at the fence and starts climbing it and screaming at the wolves, my brother Robert pulls him down and starts rubbing his hair saying ‘it’s okay, it’s okay,’ I laughed for nearly twenty minutes, it started a giggle fit that spread through the cast and crew and it was the take we used.

And the famous ‘let’s do this one completely in the nude,’ outtake, wasn’t in the script, we came up with that when we realized we would have to come back the next week. Nine pm on Sunday night, there were six of us in the basement sitting around joking about what we could’ve done; my sister has video footage of my face lighting up when the idea popped into my head and trying not to laugh as I explain it.

That was filmmaking to me.

It occurred to me tonight, I will never have that feeling again; because I now work with professionals.

I did a short filmed called ‘The great bear bait,’ about four men that show up at a diner after one of them, who’s now knocked out inside a sleeping bag, fought a grizzly bear. I wrote it for the same friends that did ‘Thunderbird,’ but decided to go with people from the industry including a crew that’s been at it for awhile. We also had a producer working so I could concentrate on directing. The shoot went fast, the set-ups were quick and I like the way it looked at the end…not so much the sound. The actors were so serious though, so strict, the only suggestions they made were how to deliver a line or angle to the camera. No suggestions about a better line, a funnier line or a better way to deliver it that would surprise me. I can watch the rough edit, but it doesn’t have any smirk….a smirk is the knowledge of the actors that what they’re doing is silly.

Then came two professional feature film writing jobs, very serious as well. The first one has its own heartbreaking moments but in the end I learned a lot, and was paid well enough to be able to do another short I thought would be funny.

‘Half Crazy,’ actually didn’t work out for me, it became too big so I handed it off to another director hoping to piggy back a second one off of it. Which led me to a ten minute short called ‘Urn.’

“Urn” to me was funny, and was full of funny moments. I actually chuckled a few times while reading it. It was another film with professionals, actually more professional than ‘great bear baiter.’ It also suffered though, mostly though I think, from the lack of familiarity that we had with each other; to them I was a new director and I admit I was still getting my footing working out of my normal environment. There were some suggestions make to make things better, the DOP certainly helped in changing things around…but it was still missing that feeling, that moment of ‘let’s just have fun,’ yes he’s very upset here, but blurt out something. Ryan actually changed a moment, putting his arms out at one point that made me chuckle…but where was the giggle fits?

Then we come to ‘Clean Fight.’

I wrote Clean Fight several years ago after a very heated debate with my mother, who was just diagnosed with diabetes but was in denial, she was under the impression she could still eat chips and chocolate. I put in kickboxing because at that time I was taking part in it and loved the sport, and I made it about a man who was good at something only to lose it because of himself, and a disease he can’t control…something that happened to me I will never go into the details. So it was a very personal, all around my story. I put a lot of my emotion into it, statements I’ve made, and a lot of fear I’ve gone through… and then, I put in what I also add when I feel horrible… I put in humour. I love humour, humour makes me laugh.

That was the last time that script was ever pure.

I had another producer attached at that point, it was an interesting dynamic we had going; I spent a lot of time explaining who we should be pitching to at the Banff Television festival and setting up meetings while she preferred hanging out at parties. I pitched to the network, who seemed very interested but was less than excited about our producing team.

My producer pulled out because we couldn’t trust each other; but by the time she did I already had two others attached. Then following that, one of the producers became the director and pulled his friend in to direct, and it morphed into a project by his company. It wasn’t decided, it just happened.

Another year passed and I found myself at the Banff Television festival again, going through the same motions; only this time watching the project be at the bottom of a pile my producing partners carried around with them. My first sign of lack of fun was trying to bring up my projects at meetings I booked, trying to get them into the conversation.
Another year passes, with talks with the network coming and going before they finally came forward with the great news that they would give us a broadcast license. I was quickly moved from being the producer to just a writer, my first real taste of being an outsider on a project I loved.

Then I was needed again. And this is how I became the token Indian.

The network, aboriginal by nature, needed a company to be controlled by an aboriginal person or they wouldn’t push the project forward. I was sold, another chance of keeping control over the child that was going into its teenage years. Out came the promises, a say in events, a director promising me that I’m going to be with the script every step of the way, something writers never get to do (they do, I just didn’t know it at the time). Look at me people, I’m the president.

Not really.

I’m the ‘Clean Fight Proxy.’

When the film really took place, I was left out of choices, decisions and not even required to talk to people that were being hired. Major Corporation mergers were made without input…we almost partnered with a larger company that wanted to change everything. And my script was being rewritten. I was demeaned, ignored, belittled, lectured and handled (when you’re handled, and told there’ll be a grievance process, and a quick verbal fellatio about how great a project we have here)…but worst of all, there was no moment of hanging out with the talent and bantering, no joking around to make a scene different. I saw very little humour in the scenes, the fast chatter was played for heartfelt reactions, the raised eyebrows were replaced by anger, and the thing that got me though the dark times…the smirk was gone.

I’m getting no artistic satisfaction from the project, no emotional satisfaction, and none of the closure you get when dealing with issues; and as it turns out, there’s going to be no monetary satisfaction either.

I did take some pleasure with paying back a few people, Aaron Nicholson was my friend from ‘the thunderbird,’ but again, he didn’t have time to be fun; or the courage to smirk. My brother, also from ‘Thunderbird,’ who had four years of acting training, several films under his belt wasn’t allowed a cameo because they thought he would look at the camera.

Yeah…right.

My last hope, Clean Fight, the project that would give me a reason to enjoy this industry again after a few projects that lacked fun…turned into the worst of them. Mostly because its expectations were already so high to me that it had the furthest to fall, and fall it did. Leaving me to wonder, is this all there is to look forward to. It was ‘Clean Fight’ that made me realize, those days of hanging out in a basement after a day of filming out in the rain, and coming up with better ideas were gone. That spark that made you go out into the rain, that made the arguments worth it that made the politics worth it that made the paper work worth it…it’s gone for good.

I noticed it’s starting to effect my other work, they’re starting to take a darker tone…not supernatural, that’s where I love to delve all the time…but darker in their delivery. The humour is stretched further out, the characters have less to be happy about; a script I started before ‘Clean Fight’ and ended after has such a different tone that people are even asking what happened when I got to page fifty that it went that way.

Thus bringing me here, at two in the morning I was lying in bed and hit with an epiphany. The fun of filmmaking isn’t there anymore, and I don’t know if it’ll ever return; it’s not a business, the objective is to make product and to make cash. You don’t do it because it’s going to be fun, you do it because there’s demand out there for it.

There’s talk of going to series with ‘Clean Fight’ and we’re still waiting to find out if it is, there’s still it chance it might not but we’re crossing our fingers and hoping. After the experience of the pilot I had to ask myself, what idiot would put himself through that again; left to feel like the bottom of society without any tangible rewards or feeling of accomplishment for going through the hardship. I considered not going forward with it, simply walking away but then more information presented itself. A person I consider a friend, a really good guy, talked me into it as he’s one of the producers and views this as worthwhile. I’ve also considered the other people working on it, from crew and actors that are counting on coming back to it…and some members of the community looking for their break into something bigger than presented by living on reserves.

Thus, like taking bitter medicine, I cover my nose and swallow with a bit of sugar.
All mute if it’s not picked up…but still interesting to think about.

Andrew.

I do all right with dialogue, it’s never been compared to Shakespeare or Laurence Kasdan but it gets the reader through the script alright. I have a few actor friends that ask me to send them my latest script to see the word play, I actually have a fondness for it, it’s an art form unto itself. The art of screen writing; done right is smooth and effortless, done wrong and the actors verbally trip. I like dialogue.

You give me a month, and I’ll write you a screenplay with a story, and dialogue throughout that, hopefully, will enthrall you. I’m not boosting, I’m going somewhere with this. Unfortunately, meet me in public and ask me about the weather, and I’ll fill the next minute with ‘ums,’ ‘uhs’ and the occasional ‘it’d be really sunny, if it wasn’t so dark.” This is why writers write, it’s not that the real world doesn’t appeal to us, we’re just not very good at talking about it.
This is an unfair generalization actually, I know a few writers that are both good writers and fluent in the real world; they are freaks though, mutants.

There are real departmental applications where this inability to talk well comes into play…picking up girls at parties (it is a new wallet, want to smell)…but in the film industry I’m discovering that articulation is a plus. I’ve been in story meetings where I’ve had a room full of people staring at me like I’m from Mars, and it’s true that I’ve become flustered trying to figure out how they’re unable to comprehend. Backtracking has helped, filling in spots and patiently answering their questions before moving on; I’ve also discovered that if you only think statements in order to plow through faster, they’re unable to pick it up.

This is dangerous for one simple reason, if it’s your idea and you don’t fill in the blanks, it allows them the opportunity to fill it in for you. This sometimes creates a new alternate direction of the story on the table; and being inarticulate, it’s three times as hard to bring the conversation and story back on track without appearing over protective. I cling to the notion that I’m not over protective, I’m just right.

Sadly, there’s a noticeable parallel between your inability to talk and the importance of the meeting that you’re in. I have a screenplay I’m quite attached to, very proud of and one I want to remain apart of; thus I took it upon myself to pitch it to an individual that can easily have it made; not to mention that to date, my entire career has been shaped by her…thus, giving her a reverence not unlike the pope to me. This script, called ‘Tragedy,’ not that the title is reflective of it’s state right now, it’s actually falling into place and almost ready to send out. As I was saying, I know this script back and forth, know the characters and know perfectly how I want it to look; so I pitched it with a few easily overlooked stutters, as I could see the interest from the people I was pitching to. It really wasn’t too hard, as I’d rehearsed the pitch in my head seven, eight times just in the lobby; on the elevator, twenty times on the drive over, etc.

Then she asked who was producing, I mentioned I wanted my friend Bannister working on it with the intent to get a baby-sitter. Then…who’s going to direct…it took me four minutes, and a big round about way…a story too…before getting to “I’d like to.”

This is what I’ve decided, from now on when I pitch or going to story meetings I’m going to write it down and hand the paper over. Any questions, e-mail them to me and I’ll write it out. To pick up women, I’m just going to hand over the most romantic script I’ve written and say read it, if they want to hook up for a night I’ll be over there by the bar. I’ve also discovered the secret, no-fail answer to the dreaded ‘what do you think of this weather?".

“Forget the weather, this thing’s been growing for a week, and I think it’s going to pop tonight, feel how gooey it is.”

I spent a good amount of time locked in my basement learning how to write, it’s an easy thing to do when you live out in the middle of nowhere; there’s a lack of trappings that would detour you away from the computer. I’ve encountered producers and friends that have marveled at my speed and ability, literally awestruck by my quick turn around time on rewrites. Many a time I’ve wanted to say, um…what else am I going to do?

I have a few regrets about opportunities I never took to party, excursions to the city my friends took that I opted out of in order to write. In exchange, I have a dedication to the keyboard; I’ve learned many a thing that can only be learned through countless months of trial and error. It’s paid off for me, I have a script being optioned, another optioned and a feature film that’s in the editing process right now…not to mention, being invited to parties in the film industry.

Which brings me to my Conundrum.

Film industry parties are a brand apart from any other party I’ve encountered, they’re actually fun. Free booze, free food, by the nature of the industry the parties are made up of the most creative and entertaining people you’ll run into; they’re, “Funtasticle.” I never encountered them before getting my break, I heard of them, and saw them in the movies, but never attended. Thus, locked in my hermit like existence, I never was in want of them and could focus directly on my craft.

I’ve tasted the parties now, and can only think of one phrase to sum them up; Kristen Dunst in Interview with the Vampire said it best…. “I want some more.”

Recently I attended the Vancouver Film Festival, saw films during the day and partied at night…a rush. After two weeks of this I returned home to start on a script, and found myself looking at the screen while thinking of the parties, trying to figure out the next one, wondering about excuses that I could use to get back to some more. Writers make the best drug addicts, the yarns we can create in order to justify what we need.

It does come down to this though, I want more parties, but boring writing got me to the parties, so I have to write more to get to more parties….but I’m trying to figure out, how do I get the same effect of being invited to parties without having to put in any hard work. Granted, and it did cross my mind, but producing isn’t really an option right now.

Here’s what’s suffered, my work ethic has been drastically reduced, my legendary speed has dropped considerably, my friends are now telling me that I have to focus on what has to be done. It’s also not only parties, I’m trying to plan golf games around industry friends to just to hang….hang out, that involves socializing, my excuse is research on dialogue.

In the end, I must do the honourable thing, put it all out of my mind and get back to work; and I have a few thoughts to cling to, with pay comes expectations to deliver, if I don’t….they’ll take my parties away. And we must have our parties, we must.

Andrew Genaille

I’ve just returned from the Vancouver Trade Forum, and was going to take today off to just relax but I figured that I might update where things are at from the Banff festival. I wanted to write some articles on “Writing for your girlfriend,” and “your script doesn’t suck, it’s the people you ask to proof read it that do,” but I’m in a bragging mood, so I spelled out what’s below. It’s actually an email I sent to a really good friend that asked me what I’ve been up to lately, so I’m leaving out the details of legal stuff, embellished a few things to make myself cooler but it’s pretty close. It’s also a good look into a fast email, my first impressions in my head of the event, keep in mind that if you come across something as if answering a question that’s not there. Another point, I’m quiet in real life but as a writer I tend to ramble. I’ll analyze it later, and come fill in the blanks in further articles.

Several years ago I wrote a screenplay called “The Only Good Indian,” (name has to do with plot) and put it into the system of friends to get their impression; wasn’t really worried where it would end up as I didn’t consider it to be the best of my works. More on that script later.
Fast forward to a few months ago, I get an email from a producer on the island saying that they just fired their writer and in a meeting with another producer from the mainland I was recommended as a writer. I wasn’t sure how to take it, I didn’t know who this mainland producer was at all so I phoned all my friends and asked if they had ever heard her but nobody did; I phoned my producer friend Bob Fugger but only got his answering machine. I figured, all right, I’ll call tomorrow sometime and find out. More on that in a moment.
The script, “The Only Good Indian,” was spotted by a guy out of Vancouver that wanted to direct it, as well as produce last year but only offered me eight grand for the whole thing. I told him that I couldn’t take the deal and asked for fifteen minimum if it’s under five hundred grand, if the budget goes higher than I want Writers Guild of Canada, IPA standard, which is forty five minimum. He said there were deadlines coming up, we have to get it decided now, but come on, I’m not going to sign something so amateur. He said he would think about it, and then disappeared for a year. Then, in the same batch as my Island producer, he sent me an email saying he’ll meet my asking price of a maximum of fifteen grand; to which I replied that fifteen was the minimum; he sent another email offering a few other things and a sixteen page contract that sold everything to him. I forwarded it off to my lawyer and said I would have to wait for my lawyer to get back to me. Over the next few days though he would email me, phone and carrier pigeon (made the last one up) saying that he wants to get started on the project and we should get together in a day or two to sign the contract. He even said that he would drive out to my place in an hour to sign it but would just need to know where I lived. More on that in a second.
Bob Fugger phoned me at work, the moment he got my message and said very straight, “Your mainland producer is the head of programming and independent production for Chum Television (CityTV, Space, Bravo); and you are to call back whoever she recommended you to and take the job.”
I said, “Okay.”
“I’ve been trying to get a meeting with her for the last four months, how do you know her?”
To which I replied, “I don’t have a clue.”
The next day I phoned my new best friend (the Island producer) up and told her who I was, she said they were doing a feature film and just fired their writer because he wasn’t working out. She told me I was an amazing writer, we talked about me sending out copies of things that I had and notes on the treatment I was being sent. Which I did, I asked her what Diane read, she said she didn’t know but would check; there were also two other writers that they had to try; Jordan Wheeler and Evan Adams. Based on our notes, they would pick a writer.
Over the next two weeks I had, then didn’t have, then had, then didn’t have the job as Jordan Wheeler would get first dibs as he’s union and used to write for North of Sixty. But he was taking his time to make up his mind. I was told he had until Friday for an answer, but she likes my work and we’ll see. Friday comes around; Jordan calls up and says he wants the job. I get a call, and spend the weekend saying ‘oh well,’ at least the Producer at CHUM knows my name.
Monday rolls around, Diane calls up and says that Jordan will take the job but can’t start until after Christmas and Chum doesn’t want to wait…congratulations, it’s yours. And oh yeah, the producer at CHUM read a script of yours that she absolutely fell in love with, could she (the Island Producer) have a look at it. I said sure, but I don’t have a clue which script.
Two hours later, a producer out of Edmonton called with a Movie of the Week he needs written, heard I was a good writer and wants me to put the script together. I checked him out, he’s done some stuff in Edmonton; I called him back and said yes.
Two jobs.
Mike, a producer friend that Bob Fugger put on finding out about the producer in Vancouver that was starting to annoy me and said he’s never done anything at all. In the next email though, the guy in Van said that the script was put into a CHUM contest for funding on the island and out of 785 submissions, mine made it to runner up so he knows it has life and wants to get going. I emailed the letter to Mike for advice and he came back with ’sounds really condescending’ while my lawyer said not to sign; it’d leave me with no script even if it doesn’t get filmed.
I put two and two together, CHUM read that script and recommended it to my Island Producer; and now I have a job.
It gets better.
I went to the Vancouver Trade Forum, and during this my friend Bob Fugger ran into Louise Clark from CTV; he pitched her a movie of the week about the Bushman of northern BC; she told him on Friday that it’s been given the ‘go’ on development. I’m not involved, but I have to say I was pretty ecstatic for Bob; huge, huge grin on that guy’s face as he left the building on his way to his day job (photographer for catalogs).
But yet, it still gets better.
At the party on Friday Night put on by Bright Light Pictures, I mentioned to another producer friend, Yves Ma, that I’m working for CHUM but have yet to meet my mysterious producer. He said he knows her, pointed her out and then disappeared; when he came back he saw I was still working out how to approach, he brought me over, introduced me as Andrew Genaille, we shook hands and then Yves walked away. I spent two minutes talking to her about the party, but could see that she was just being polite because she didn’t know who I was; and then something clicked, her eyebrows went up, she pointed at me and blurted out ‘you’re Andrew Genaille!.’ I was stunned, but managed a ‘most people tell me that,’ but then she followed it up with ‘you wrote ‘Brave New World (the title change by the Vancouver producers), I loved that script.”
“thank-you”
“And now you’re writing Too Tall, why didn’t you say something?”
“Rules of Schmoozing, I was told not to talk about projects or work”
“I agree with that, but I’m allowed to break those rules; where is Brave World now?”
“I have a copy on my computer” By this point she was kind of wired, and I was getting nervous; started out nervous but now it was affecting my brain. She laughed; I’m hoping she thought it was a joke.
“Where it’s at, is it with anybody right now?”
“I sent a copy to Danielle; she wanted to see what I can write”
“But did you option it, has anybody optioned it yet?
“No.”
“Don’t option it, don’t sell it; and don’t show it to anybody else”
At that point, I think my heart stopped. My brain was kind of fuzzy and I came out with a nervous, “Okay.”
“I’ll get back to you in two weeks; we need to talk to you about it”
“I just gave my last {Business} card away, but I can get…”
“Don’t worry about it right now, I will find you; but I love your script”
She talked about the script, the characters and a few things in it and all I could keep saying was Thank-you, cool and things like that. When an Actress came over, the lead actress in the feature that Diane is looking after for CHUM and started talking with her and said she should meet me; “This is Andrew, he’s an amazing writer.” At that point my mind went blank, some actresses are very pretty, and so my mind went blank. Very, very, very blank.
“What type of writing do you do?”
“Mostly scripts” Well, duh. But followed up nicely with, “Whatever comes into my head at the time.”
“Comedy?”
“Some comedy, some drama, drama with humor…” I would like to use an example here; my performance here is a lot like a scene in a script I once wrote. A young guy is paying for food from a girl he likes, he’s a regular customer so she notices that he has a new wallet when he pays; so says ‘new wallet,’ and the guy in his nervousness says ‘yeah, brand new; want to smell.” The look on the actresses face was exactly the look I wanted the waitresses to have, that ‘right, okay.’
At that point my cell phone went off, sent on vibrate and sliding in my pocket to the frontal area; not the best thing to happen when talking to important people and will not help the situation with pretty women, a pretty woman and vibrate don’t mix in public. I grabbed the phone out quickly, excused myself and moved away. Never found out who called though, never will forgive them if I do; that’s one conversation you never walk away from unless you have to…and I found out, for a phone call…turn them off people.
I went back to my friends Steve Abbott and Keith, told them what happened and basked in their show of condolences. I had to get back on the horse, and figured that introducing Steve and Keith was a good excuse to meet Diane again. I offered it to them took them over and waited for a quick opening; getting her attention and then introducing them.
“This is Steve, got me into the film world, and Keith” but before I could finish she grabbed somebody else at the party and turned him around. But before she could start introducing, Keith recognized him from a show they worked on together; Keith used to be a Locations Manager and they chatted for a second; always a good thing as it makes the conversation easier as there’s already a built familiarity…Keith do good, Andy proud of Keith. She introduced him as Steve (I don’t remember his last name), one of the producers of Bright Light pictures.’
‘Oh.’
Keith leaned over and said, ‘They’re throwing this party”
“Oah…right.”
Diane then introduced me to Steve as, ‘This is Andrew, he’s writing Too Tall for us; but he wrote Brave New World,”
The look on this guys face was of interest, moving up and shaking my hand; “That’s an amazing script, very imaginative and original; you’re a talented writer.’
‘Thank-you.”
“We loved it, we really did.”
A moment….maybe he didn’t hear me so I said again, “Th…thank-you.”
Steve, my friend, and I would like to point out around six foot two, large man and a producer in his own right, stepped in, shook this new Steve’s hand and said “What Andrew’s trying to say is, he appreciates your compliments and looks forward to working with you in the future.”
“Yes,” my reply, some good laughter; they’ll remember me, not how I want them to, but they’ll remember me.
There was some more chatting, my mind was blank some more but Steve and Keith are experts at conversations and I got to stand there and still look important.
I took some time out after the conversation ended and Diane went to mingle with others, I mentioned that my brain doesn’t seem to be working with all that’s going on but they pointed out that it was probably still all right. They were lying, but I may have some leeway as a writer to be somewhat bizarre…right?
And still, a little bit more…
Before what happened above, I was on the balcony looking over and talking with a producer from the Island as we watched Canadian Celebrities arrive. Steve turned me around to talk to somebody he introduced as Brenda, I shook hands and there was some chatter between her and Keith so I took the time to ask Steve {Note: Steve may have a different version in his article, he’s a lying bastard, how I say what I said is what I said) “Who is she?” He pointed out she was an agent from ‘Characters Talent Agency,’ Keith did most of the chatting and in the end she handed him and myself a card. I didn’t find out until later that she said to give her a call on Monday.
Steve left the party as it was breaking up, but Keith and I took a moment to stand out on the balcony and just let it sink in; every little think that we accomplished needed to be put in perspective. And what was it? I don’t know yet.
CHUM likes my script, as does a producer; but that’s not a sale…could turn into one, but it doesn’t feel real. It’s an industry built on spin, so I’ve been told congratulations on it but who’s to say that people will be interested in a few months, or they forget me. Maybe I’ve misread what they said, after all my brain had a few moments it needed to reboot.
Thus, I’m excited that it might happen while at the same time I’m not going to count my chickens before they act.
There was also a moment I came to realize, there’s lots of stress in trying to get noticed, to get something done, to get to the point that I’m at now; and I always took it for granted that it would go away the moment I reach that point. It doesn’t. It’s new stress; it’s now living up to being introduced as somebody that can pull the job off and living up to expectations. A larger bump where if you fail, it’s not at least you tried and we applaud your effort, it’s you had your chance but you pulled back at the last moment.
But alas, it’s the life we chose; and I’m holding out that after my first big hit all the stress goes away.
Plus, when do all the girls show up?
Andrew.

I was laying in bed Saturday morning, around three am, staring up at the
ceiling; processing in my head everything that’s happened over the last
week, something made easier with these articles. My synapses were replaying
my meeting with CBC over and over again, looking for something I may have
missed; and then it hit me, a crushing sickle through my lower abdomen, this
could actually happen. My film could get made. Screw that, I wasn’t
getting to sleep after that.

I had a sudden urge of energy, so I packed my things and moved my baggage as
close to the door as possible in preparation for our trip. It wasn’t the
feeling of exhilaration that you’d expect with great news, in fact, it was
completely on the other side of the spectrum; I wasn’t excited that the
project was moving forward, I was pissed off that it had taken so long. Not
just the kind of seething feeling that comes across as pouting, but the kind
of anger that causes you to lose the ability to simply zip up a suitcase;
where you’re tugging and tugging but all you manage to do is entangle it
further. It was time for a walk, apparently a tradition among dramatic
filmmakers.

I wont bore you with the details of the last few years of my projects,
lets just say that it was one bad choice after another; a lot of times
against the advice of people I have the utmost trust in. I can look aback
and see where the choices were, many times knowing that I was making the
wrong choice at the time; even when they were presented again. Several
times I would be smart, and make the right choice and come to a happier
place that would only allow me to think about how if I had done this the
first time I’d have been this far earlier. I cringe at the thought of why I
didn’t, I don’t like to see, let alone cause a woman to cry; plus our
arrangement involved the occasional push of tits against my arm or
accidental butt slide. It was mostly guilt, I put my worry of somebody
else’s career of going nowhere against my own need to get ahead; many times
it was explained to me that there are people that will make it, and those
that wont; watch who you attach yourself to. It took me two years to get
out of this arrangement, and even then it was her who pulled herself out when I didn’t cave in during an argument. Yes, I know, two
years is a long time to get stuck in a situation that was hurting me more
than helping; but they were really great tits, and if I stuck around long
enough…

To add insult to injury, this new producing team took me further in three
months than my last producer did in two years. Am I bitter, yeah, Bit him
too.

There are other clues I should’ve noticed. I spent a long time being talked
to like a child; I’m aboriginal, I’m used to people talking a little slower
as they explain how the cap comes off the top of the toothpaste; but no one should
sit through that when talking about their scripts. Now I’ve discovered
that there’s actually fun in film-making; there are people out there that
dont mind telling me what’s good and if it sucks, they have a reason
why and, sometimes they can suggest how to make it unsuck. My story
meetings have gone from me sitting there going, “Okay, okay, right,” to nearly
pissing myself with laughter as they tell me why my favorite scene has to be
cut for time. Instead of dreading calls, I’m making them; that alone is a
sign I should’ve made this choice a long time ago.

If my testicles had dropped last year, just one year ago; the one person in
the entire world I wanted to impress wouldn’t have had the last image of me,
still living under his roof, partially on his dime, promising that things
are moving forward but it takes some time. Now, its a regret I get to take
to my grave, I’d like to think that because of this, that if anyone holds me
back again, they’ll reap a whirlwind of my vengeance; but that’s not my
style, they will though, get an icky character named after them. Learn to
cut them loose.

About this time, five thirty, I wasn’t as ticked; I did however see an elk,
and tried to tell him about a cousin he may have that’s been on Northern
Exposure; I, myself, had a cousin on that show so we have something in
common. Perhaps in the future the two of could get together and discuss
working on a project. I think I was a little tired, so decided to head
back to the motel.

Was the trip to Banff worth it? I have to answer that while everything is
still an intangible verbal agreement that we’ll discuss moving forward;
granted, to an Indian even a written contract is suspect. I’ve spent
fifteen hundred dollars, and owe an estimated six hundred to travel
companion Keith, the countless hours of stress putting together the trip and
pitching plans; there’s also the risk that all the projects never break out
off the development phase. Yes, unquestionably yes; the contacts and
knowledge brought back are indispensable; granted, these people aren’t going
to invite me home for coffee, but they wont hang up on me either as I look
for tidbits of info. There may actually be moments they’ll take my call
when I mention that I have something they may be interested in hearing, the
occasional logline. All based on the fact I could cut the rug on the dance
floor. Well worth it.

I returned to the Motel, waking Keith up as I break into the room. We chat
about him waking up unable to breathe; I tell him it could be a common
incidence of parts of his brain waking up before others in the sequence of
coming to consciousness; in the olden days people believed it was a demon
laying on their chest. Possible symptoms caused by stress, something easily
overlooked by the pace of everything. Keith is in the same boat as I am a
project with some sizzle, getting attention but not tangible enough to feel
secure. What will make or break him will be how well he sustains it in the
coming weeks. At that point, I must have dozed off, just enough time to get
an hour sleep before we were supposed to be on the road.

And the man that brought me this close in three months, I got to thank him
an hour later when he woke me up; where I apparently snapped awake, pointed
at him and said, “You’re a dead man, Fugger.” Was that my subconscious
trying to tell him something, that he should be weary for unleashing my
scripts on the world, or it knows Bob shouldn’t have given me the
possibilities as I’m not emotionally ready for it. Then again, maybe my
sub-conscious was simply saying, in an unorthodox way, “Five more minutes,
please.”

Andrew

This is the last of Andrew’s articles from the Banff Television Festival. Due to the nature of this page, the articles are posted with the most recent being the first or top story. If you want to read this in cronological order, you need to go to the bottom of the page and start with Banff -2. I have immensely enjoyed these articles and hope that Andrew can make it out to join me in Toronto for the film festival here this summer. I’m sure we could get into all kinds of trouble.

Day 6

Sometime during Breakfast, Bob pointed out that as the week progressed, so did the amount of time we allowed for sleeping in; on Sunday we were up at eight, while here we are on Friday eating breakfast at one thirty in the afternoon. Hurriedly eating, as we watch bus after bus drive past the windows, coming from the Banff springs on their way to the Lake Louise excursion; we have until two to catch the last one. There’s nothing like rushing a bacon, cheese and mushroom omelet to get you in the mood for a hike several hundred feet above sea level.

Last night, Fareed lost his cell phone at the barbecue; checking his
message from Keith’s phone he hears a female voice say “no, it’s dead.” Not much of a clue, but at least we know it’s been found, the real clicker though, is Bob was standing next to Anita, a producer, the night before after finding a cell phone and saying those exact words. Not knowing Fareed has lost his phone. Bob didn’t pay too much attention as Anita turned it in to the lost and found. Which is where Fareed went, causing him to miss our bus to Lake Louise.

We regretted not wrestling the bus driver down, but knew that Fareed could catch one of the last two; at least we hoped he would. In the meantime, we discussed people we want to stay in contact with over the next year, for professional and personal reasons; emphasizing on those that would be fun to work with.

The lake Louise Excursion was somewhat uneventful, Fareed did arrive on the next bus and our group, now including Anita, Rebecca and another producer headed off to the canoe rental stand. Breaking of into pairs, they headed out onto the water; I broke off to make contact with three native women I had met earlier; one of which had told me a few nights ago about a trip to LA some of them were taking. A government thing mixed with their own money to pitch to the Studios down south, Spielberg was mentioned. They told me how I could get in on it, show up on my own dime and their boss would vouch me through to the meetings; their boss is John, a nice producer that’s done several projects I’d already admire. Sadly though, my own dime is tapped out from this trip, so much that I’m borrowing money off of Keith’s credit card, so I’ll have to pass; not to mention Bob wouldn’t be there, the thought of pitching on my own doesn’t appeal to me.

I was impressed by the mist that floated around the mountains, then watched in amusement as the canoes in the distance began turning around in unison. In moments, they were racing to shore as pellets of ice showered down on them. Turning the excursion into an indoor event.

There was a buffet, not overly hungry I followed Bob around, possibly hoping for a repeat of the napkin incident; he entered the corner where Rebecca was eating, the writer that shares the same interest in a subject matter as myself. I must admit, the slight of the other night seems just a figment of my imagination; as the group discusses School politics. Being the only one there without children, I won’t address my two cents, but will talk about this: I’ve come to the conclusion about this industry, first impressions do not work; as much as people tell you to make a good impression, don’t trust your own of others. I’ve had several that went from “this is a good person that’ll help my career,” all the way to “How did I get stuck with this person, off, off.” Not to mention this is an industry of eccentric people, there could be a hundred reasons they make a bad impression but
still be a genius; look at Glen Gould. The opposite is also true, jerks and talent less hacks compensate by being a great personality; it’s how they survive. It’s only later, when the pressure is on that Eddie Haskell shows himself, but by then you’re already pregnant with his bastard version of your film; try getting child support out of him then, he’s already charming the copyright off the next up and coming writer.

I’m sorry, what was I saying? Oh yeah, Rebecca may not hate me but is just not sure what to make of me yet.

I’ve also had the opportunity to meet Jared, a native producer looking for a native writer for a native project. It would be wrong to mention the subject matter here, not my cup of tea really, a genre I tend to avoid; but I still stepped up and asked him to consider me if he didn’t have luck with the others. As it were, he was already considering me, and suggested we get together later in the night to test each other out, see if we could work together; the meeting didn’t take place, nor has he phoned, but at least I know some people know who I am.

At least I tried, right.

Bob and I lost track of Keith and Fareed as we waited for the return bus; it gave us the time to discuss points of the series, direction and possible weaknesses of the over feel of it, not to mention he doesn’t like the idea that we pitched three projects, two of which the heroes have the same name. He also mentioned holding off writing further episodes, as a writer, and on behalf of all writers whose ideas smash them in the head at two in the morning, and won’t leave them alone until it’s written down in plot form…I say this to you, Bob: I guess so, if it’s best for the project. On the bus ride itself, we discussed the follow up packages to the networks; plotting out our devices that’ll make our proposals stands out. The trick is to wow them without singe-ing(?) them. Too small is unnoticeable on a huge pile of proposals, too big just becomes desperate. I don’t want to ruin the surprise, but we have something brewing.

The conference center is empty, only a few shipping boxes remain; last
minute stragglers check their mailboxes in hope of one final hope of a deal.

The Banff 2003 television festival is over, all that’s left is to take what we started here and push it further. The real work is what comes next.

We head back to the hotel for naps, watch television maybe; it was kind of neat to see Keith seeking advice from Bob on directing and the reply was the two of them watching the first Lethal Weapon, taking it apart scene by scene. I threw my two cents in from a writer’s point of view, but apparently it’s the camera angle, lens size and flash cut that keep the audience enthralled.

Kim Catrell sightings: There’s always next year…or, just watch her on television; meeting her might destroy the illusion and hope that she’s like her character…in Undiscovered Country.

Andrew.

Day Five

Another sleep in day, this time due to a lack of pitches for the projects
Bob and I have, but Bobs idea of sleeping in is insanely nine O’clock; still
earlier than what I consider early to be getting up at. Fareed and Keith
though, still have some pitching to do today, so the four of us made our
way back to the Springs Hotel. It allows us the time to run into a few
people that we find interesting, some we’re hoping to work with in the
future…just talk right now. An added bonus, it’s the day of the Great
Canadian Barbecue, and individuals are already playing dressup, from the
boots all the way to the hats. I’m front the country myself, living on a
farm with cows, I don’t think I’ve ever dressed like that.

A toll is being taken on Fareed, as the stress of minor set backs are
bogging him down, his frustration level is on the rise. I have to admit I
would be somewhat argumentative of the situation in his shoes; to a lesser
degree though, having had a disastrous first run at the event during the
previous year. Our group has mentioned that he would have greater interest
in his project had he compromised on some distributor requests. Two points
he refuses to even consider. That it not be a theatrical release and he not
have the lead role; he is considering not filming it half and half in
Edmonton and Vancouver, but to film it entirely in Edmonton; even though it
means bringing in Calgarian crew, a town he personally has a strain with.
Later this day, I watched as he explained to a contact that it would be
‘whoring’ himself out to allow the money people dictate how his project is
to be done. He’s starting to see though, by this statement, just how the
business is going to work.

I do have a perfect example on how not burning brides benefits a filmmaker
in this industry; Keith and I invited a young lady Jo묬e-Ann from CPAC to
the Barbecue. She declined, not having the money to purchase the ticket she
could not attend, a disappointment to us considering we’ve enjoyed her
company and humor all week. On the way to wait for Bob on one of his
washroom trips we ran into Marten, a documentary filmmaker leaving early
for home. We’ve had dinner and a few drinks with him in the last few days.
Thus he offered us items he couldn’t take on his plane ride, three
Okanagan Spring Extra Special Spring Ale bottles, a box of raisin cookies;
and if we knew anyone that could use, as he couldn’t, his Great Canadian
Barbecue ticket. My friends, Marten is a hero, over and above his work in
Tibet, as our French Belle would be joining us.

Another faux pas pointed out to me at this time; I asked Marten for advice
on writing documentary treatments, in case sometime in the future I decide
to try my luck again; allowed and usually received with joy. I then, asked
for a sample of something already produced…not allowed. Treatment styles
are trade secrets and perfected by the filmmaker, a mistake of ignorance on
my part and I hope others can avoid. No worries though, Marten’s still cool
with me…I hope.

An afternoon to kill, Keith, Bob and I spent time in town shopping for
souvenirs for family. Recommended, it’s a perfect and now welcome way to
keep your mind off projects and pitching, which can wear your mind down.

Five rolled around quickly, our team was dressed and ready. As we waited
for Keith to escort the Quebec contingent to the vehicle, another delegate
approached us for a ride, in the vehicle he was put. During the ride to the
Springs, he causally mentioned he was the producer of Trailer Park boys, a
popular show in our group, even if I don’t watch it…too often.

The barbecue itself was a huge dinner, Alberta beef and fish in one tent,
in two huge buildings were two different music styles and two bonfires.
There was no pitching here; just schmoozing made easier by the free booze.
Bob introduced me to Rebecca, a writer developing a television series on the
same subject I was currently working into a feature; I’m sure Bob’s
intentions were good but the sudden Cold Chill off her made me weak in the
knees. Understood, I was competition. Needless to say, once done going
through the buffet I found a picnic table over warmer weather where I was
joined by Keith, Fareed and Jo묬e-Ann.

Bob tried again, introducing me to a writer out of Toronto; a conversation
on writing styles and writing habits began. I was once told you could spot
a good writer in five minutes of meeting them; she’s up there. I just wish
I could remember her name, Bob has it and I do intend to get it from him as,
I’d like to keep in touch; another thing people of the same interest should
do.

And then the dancing, I’m aware that many writers and I possess no rhythm;
therefor we tend to avoid the dance floor. On the other hand, a blonde
girl in tight jeans can be very persuasive; I spent two hours trying out my
once dormant groove thing next to a bonfire, dancing to the Mocking
Shadows. Joelle-Ann is a glorious instructor, unfortunately I spent more
time copying her moves than creating my own; and I’m afraid my hips don’t
move as well as hers. Come midnight, heading back to the bus, it took three
bottles of water to rehydrate myself.

A vote on the bus led to a crowd being dropped off at the St. James bar,
where my group ordered a few more drinks. At two, through connections we
were on our way to a private party, more schmoozing, but what are you going
to do?

At four, we dropped off our Franco accented Marilyn Monroe, kind of sad as
her plane leaves in the morning…not to be seen by my eyes again in the
near future.

The four men, in our suite, took time out to reflect on the accomplishments
of the week, the failures and the breakevens. Tomorrows a formality, an
excursion, anything we were going to accomplish would have been done by now.
Wait until we get home though, when the follow-ups begin, and it really
starts to pay off…pay being my word of the day.

I’m also starting to think that maybe Kim Catrell isn’t coming.

Andrew.

Day Four

I slept in, I really slept in; I
mean I really, really slept in today. It was noon before I reached the
shower. I remember two groups leaving, each checking to see if I would
wake; I questioned their sanity of waking so early, before rolling over
again. Recommended, one watch, which is the first thing I purchased upon
leaving the motel, a fifty-seven dollar watch with two alarms on it…and it
glows in the dark.

Due to my tardiness, I missed another meeting; with CTV, but Bob was not at
all bothered as he, better than anyone, understands sleep deprivation; he
has two kids and a wife. I should also point out, that he seems to work
better without my hindrance, a theory I’ll test out someday. Bob quickly,
after an hour to find him, filled me in on how the meeting transpired; he
pitched Conduit to a receptive person, and was asked for a package. We’re
taking this as a sign of interest as not every network will ask for one; a
rule, never pull out your package unless it’s asked for, something most men
should have learned through dating. Pitching is tell them a little, get the
reaction, if it’s positive, give them a little more…. And so forth, the
good, really good producers can read the pitchee to a science.

Bob and I went for lunch, where he informed me of the possibility of a
co-production with England, which would entail turning one of the characters
into a Brit; he sincerely asked me how I felt about that. How do I feel
about that, if it gets it made, I feel that Susan, a lead, must have been
top of her class at Oxford. It’s not a hard choice to make, a simple accent
and back ground change not only increases the chances of our project moving
forward but allows us a new dynamic to play with. The more I thought about
it, the more I liked writing for her character. It’s also at this lunch
Bob receives great news. He spots a Leslie, the women he pitched to, and one
of her companions from CTV. Being a good PR man, Bob heads over and not
only gets a friendly hello, but a “We were just talking about you” (about
the project); a really good sign. I, myself, had a bug in my water and had
to send it back, making special note that I better not see it on the bill.

The afternoon brought a pitch with the Canadian Broadcasting Corporation,
hidden deep in the Banff Springs hotel with their own pitching room. The
representative was nice enough, listening to us and asking very direct
questions; practice allows her the ability of hiding which direction she
feels on the project until the end, when she asked us for a package. Bob
handed her one; her only problem was the budget seemed low at $800,000 an
episode; which was music to our ears. I must admit though, that I was
surprised by the direction of the questions, they both evenly addressed the
technical aspects of the project as well as the characters. As a writer,
not sure if I would use conceited, I like talking about my projects, where
it’s going and the dynamics; it’s nice to know that the people in the suits
do as well. As the meeting ended, she asked to follow up later with a
more detailed package, as the story intrigued her; as well as a writing
sample of mine…my job position is on the line?

A moment to bring this up, Bob and I have both talked about my position on
the project; being this new to the world of television I’m very aware that
I’ll not be the showrunner (head writer, controls the feel of the scripts).
Not only am I not equipped to handle the pressure, my personal feelings
lead me to say that I wouldn’t want the pressure. I have to admit though,
there’s some distress to looking control of the project as my position is
downsized; but what person would come on a project because of how much they
like it, only to turn around and turn it into something else.

Jubilant, Bob and I collected Fareed and Keith, who is also being shown
interest for his (porn’ology) concept, and head back to the motel for a nap. Not together though, well together but in separate rooms. Okay, Keith and
I share a room, but separate beds facing separate ways.

Nap time ends, Fareed heads to take a young lady out on the town, while the
rest of us grab a meal before heading to the Women in Film Martini Madness.
On an unrelated note, Keith broke his water glass as dinner, washing our
table, not important but funny to those that were there.

At the Martini madness, a crowded bar with booze, we mingle with others and
I’m introduced to a few more documentarians. I enter a thought. Documentary filmmakers are a breed of under appreciated filmmakers. They not only work hard but also suffer greatly for it, no wealth, some living
expenses, and lets not forget virtually ignored by the world consumers.

From this party, we move to the Aboriginal Peoples Television Network party;
a blues type theme, general impressions around me were that this was a
better atmosphere; still has music but not deafening to the point where
conversation was impossible; we also get a free T-shirt. Mabel, the
acquisition manager came to us to thank us for attending; which was very
considerate. Unfortunately, it was pointed out by Maya Miller, a Vancouver
filmmaker who witnessed the exchange, Bob, Keith and I became slack jawed
yokels around the attractive young executive; she summed it up nicely: Men.

Throughout the evening, the schmoozing continued, as we gathered information
and war stories in producing from the area. I was amazed at the
opportunities out there I missed in my research; although some were only
offered directly to those with a personal relationship with the sponsors,
something I’m making the effort to build. I had another opportunity to talk
with Mabel, practicing my ability to not automatically pitch my scripts for
her, I believe I came across less like a nervous twit. Sadly though, I
remember nothing of our conversation.

Our evening is cut short as the week is taking it’s toll on our minds, sleep
is called for; but Bob’s PR brain forces us to say goodbye to everyone
we’ve ever exchanged cards with. After it’s done, I see the benefit, they
now know that we consider them a priority to us. Bob’s a golden god.

Kim Catrell sightings: Zero.

Andrew

Day Three

I messed up, I dropped the ball, I, on a cosmic scale took a dash to the
credibility today. I had a noon appointment with the Discovery channel over
Fareed’s documentary; my appointment with the Aboriginal Channel had gone
well, built on the energy of that and the excitement of getting to a James
Burrows interview, I forgot of my obligation to Fareed. It’s not an
excuse, as I’ll admit, it was unprofessional while at the same time a let
down to a friend. And worse, apparently the pitch went as well as apple pie
on blueberry Tuesday; Fareed informed us that the representative not only
turned us down but also took the time out to insult the product itself.

As for our meeting, Bob my driver and myself, with the aboriginal peoples
Television network; it went well. We went into the suite, and were seated
with Mabelle the programming manager, and Linda the programming officer.
This is where the effort of meeting people at social occasions pays off; I
met Mabelle the year before at a sponsored party followed by a pitch. This
allows us to move in the pitch with out the, “Tell us about yourself ,”
formalities; Bob did explain himself…but he’s white and it’s expected.
Our pitch started with “Clean Fight,” a story of a kickboxer sidetracked by
a disability, now on the road to a comeback he’s torn between his friends,
who think he deserves his former glory, and his girlfriend, who’s just
whiny:). As it was pitched last year, Maybell was familiar with the story
but not the recent form; it has merit. Our second short, “straighten up,”
is about a gay man that believes he’s an abomination, who finds a science
experiment that will turn hi straight. The concept interested them but the
lack of native characters would leave it off the agenda.

And there there’s Conduit, our television series that I won’t pitch here. I
will say this, as it was pitched there was a noticeable reaction. It’s been
awhile since I caused a woman to gasp, in that manner, but now I can do it
from across the table. All right, Bob did, but I told him how. We have
nothing in writing, we have a “send us the package” and we’ll talk possible
development funding. Doesn’t sound like much, but it is if you spin it just
right for the other meetings.

James burrows seminar, great man.

Returned to the Banff springs hotel to find Fareed upset about the meeting,
as he’s entitled to be; just as Keith was starting this meeting with two
women I didn’t know, but it was an information session and he was definitely
taking notes…very important. I used this time to reflect on the day and
call my mother…yes, so what?

We decided, for the sake of the group that we should miss an awards gala
for a nap, ironically something my group of last year did. Nap over, we
arrived in time for the gala dinner, and another meeting with Maybell and
Lynda. They started a conversation with Bob, where it was mentioned that
they wouldn’t mind talking to me again; thus Bob pulled me away from
another producer’s pitch on lingerie. This time the conversation was on
artistic expression, scenes from movies and such; at one point I brought up
the pitch from earlier, thankfully Bob interrupted with talk about food.
It’s not a good idea to pitch at these gathers, some may allow it, but you
have to remember that these people have listened to pitches all day, this
is their time to relax and BS. I’ve considered it, and noticed that I
don’t even consider pitching to other bigwigs at events. I can go on about
anything but the pitch. Mabels a tougher sell, and not knowing anything
about her that’s all we have on common. Then it was pointed out to me,
what else do most writers have but their scripts and ideas to impress
people? I know what I’m trying to do, if not intentional, and that’s an
awkward situation waiting to arise…so to speak. It’s best to be avoided,
so avoid it.

On to Karioke, where Bob impressed us all with a perfect rendition of The
Mack is back. Loosing first place to a thespian from Toronto, but in the
end, it brought him some exposure. What else brought him exposure? Using
the urinals at the same time as Ryan Styles, from the Drew Carey show and
‘Who’s line is it anyway.” apparently, as I am told, they were wearing the
same shirt; and a conversation was started up; one that ended with Bob saying
“well, it was nice peeing with you.”

We left the party early, to be fresh for our further meetings the net day;
a little more relaxed with the knowledge that one network is already
thinking of being interested.

Update, Kim Catrell sightings: Zero.

Day 2

Day two, a Monday, begins with a much welcomed sleep in, but with every
unanticipated sleep in comes the obligatory rush to get ready. Not an easy task with four guys and one shower. Unfortunately, we missed the supplied breakfast, but like all low budget filmmakers we adapted… roast beef sandwich.

It’s a slow day for me where pitches are concerned but hective as the amount of introductions grows. People I’ve only met the other day are now introducing me to people that I have just got to meet, that they only met the other day. A new piece of information, based on this, crossed my path, which not only helps me perfect my tactics but explains why there is so much crap on television. The project isn’t ground zero until weeks later; it’s all about personality, charisma, just how much people like you. Kind of an intimidating thing when a writer’s life is spent in virtual isolation. Then, in steps the producer. But, not to blow my own banjo, I believe I’m holding my own.

Robert Fugger, my driver from earlier, has a fellowship with the Canadian Television, from a simple, obviously easy to read application allowed Bob to come to Banff on CTV’S dime. It also, has an added bonus of a direction, in the form of an individual that’s obligated to answer Bob’s questions. I was allowed to sit in as bob practiced his pitch, an ego trip as he’s taught to play up the ability of the writer; I was also witness to her display of pencil editing, reworking dramatically the packages. Not a complaint, not a complaint at all; as someone with her experience and her credentials, we would be idiots, yes; I use the word idiots, to not heed her advice. At the end, both Bob and I were amazed at how improved our pitch was, evolution.

Fareed though, did have a few pitches, for a film that was close to his emotional centre; unfortunately, not recommended for people trying to make a sell. His intent, although admirable, is to film his project as a feature film; which is the hindrance to his cause. Several meetings resulted in the pitchee suggesting he plan it as a movie of the week and they’ll look harder at it. Fareed is sticking to his guns; it’s a feature film or a pile of paper forever. My recommendations, bite the bullet, take the money and live your dream later.

two notes of interest, I made the faux pas of walking in on someone
chatting with a network exec; it was a party situation and I knew one of the two but still; once you see the zone, that of two people BSing about the industry, stay out of the way. Even though they’re not talking about specific projects, they’re feeling each other out to see if one can take the other serious; sort of like a mating dance but with real items at stake…my pay day. It took me a minute to notice my mistake, but I stepped off. No worries, but I’ve seen others enter the conversation fully, hurting their own chances of getting into the zone. Sometimes, done right it works and you’re part of theirs, but to interrupt is just rude.

Second, not film related, Bob had a wet napkin with A&E printed on it in black, when he wiped his face, it smeared his cheeks and roaming hairline; people must have thought he was pitching a black face program. Not important but still wanting to get it out on the net… it’s funny.

Day Two update, Kim Catrell sightings: Zero.

Andrew.

+1

Last nights bar hopping was a successful endeavor, no one became inebriated but Fareed was spanked in public, by the lead player in a group of nomadic stagette practitioners. A drink and a floor show.

As Sunday rolls around, our group rises early in preparation for the first day of the Banff festival. Too early for some, including this writer, who discovered why the jubilation of getting a suite was to be short lived. The air conditioner, to combat the warm weather, consists of a fan and a window that won’t open. There’s a dip in my bed, other than myself, that makes tossing and turning from the anxiety of the morning nearly impossible. Still, hats off to Keith, it’s still better than the place we stayed last year.

Showered, shaved, primped and on our way t the CBC gala; an event that
makes you truly believe the B.C. film industry is made up of only twelve people. I was introduced to several people tonight that knew of me from other people, or people I know, I would introduce to others that others already knew through others, and even the people that no one knew found out they actually knew them. In the case of myself and Yves out of Vancouver, I took the opportunity to make contact with Jim Compton, a top player in the industry; his word weights a lot, as a single “I guess so: will cause a chain reaction resulting in the production of a television project; did I mention he’s a cousin of my dad. We had a nice conversation before being interrupted by another native filmmaker; an attractive native filmmaker so who am I to argue. And yes, she was a girl. Progress was made in other areas of schmoozing, Keith did some research on an HD girl, Fareed met a few
waitresses; but in the end it became an expensive wine and hors’d oeuvres meet and greet, put together to plan the real meet and greet later on…at the Irish pub.

The amount of people at the pub wouldn’t rival those at the CBC gala, but it’s my belief that these must have been the fun bunch. I learned through several sources this is not the time to pitch; not only would your carefully constructed words be lost over the din of the people; but you’ll kill the buzz of an executive just looking for fun, which will hurt you when the time comes around for the real pitch. Executives, even wasted ones, have long memories.

This evening, I sit here writing this out as my companion’s converse on what tomorrow will bring; tomorrow, which starts in six hours, we have two appointments.

Kim Catrell sightings Zero.

Andrew.

-1 day

The first leg of the trip, sorry to say, was uneventful; after four hours
we arrived at Robert Fuggers’ parents home. Most filmmakers already have a
story in their head of what they would shoot, given the chance, in a place
they visit a lot, Robert is no exception.

Unfortunately, in a car of
filmmakers the idea tends to morph as every one throws in their two cents.
Robert’s simple tale of a women finding a body in a lake, has turned into an
epic mythological expierence as an octopus eats unsuspecting, sometimes
bikini wearing, young adults.

The second leg of the trip, Kamloops to Banff was more eventful; as after a
filling lunch we encountered a tipped over semi-truck up in the mountains. Not us
really, it was two hundred cars ahead off us around some turning roads and
across a bridge. Back where we were, were very warm, and one hot, drivers
waiting paitently. Robert was not one of them. He decided that he was
going to have a closer look at the river, taking along Keith and Fareed for
comfort. I’m happy to report that I now have some exclusive photos, meant
for the highest bidder, of them quickly leaving the high grass and
frantically trying to remove the red (and crunchy according to Keith) ants
from their clothes. And people wonder where I get my ideas, ladies and
gentlemen, I give you my friends on their own reconnaissance?

The semi- is pushed off the road, and on the road we are again.

The rest of the trip is spent discussing the pitching that’s going to take
place over the next week. As I’ve mentioned before, it’s beyond high hopes
that we’ll walk away with something in cement, we’re going to approach each
meeting say, “This is where we’re at,” and “what do you need from us to move
forward.” It’s a plan designed to keep our expectations to a minimum and
avoid heart break. Kind of like asking a girl out on a date by asking her
if you can borrow a napkin; don’t knock it, it works; I have many friends
that tell me they’ve talked to girls.

Arriving in Banff, based on last year’s experience I was expecting a run down
motel with squeaky floors; but that was a lady in the Wardrobe department
that made our travel plans. This year we used Keith, a vetren of the
locations department; who brought us a two bedrooom, one office, seperate
washroom and showe…an effen suite. Thus becomes our base of operations.
Fareed’s already unpacked his laptop, and two printers.

Now we wait, some bar hopping is called for, maybe a movie, scout the
compitition…wait out the night.

Tomorrow, Kim Catrell.

Andrew.

We welcome Andrew Genaille to Sabot. Andrew is an Aboriginal Writer / Filmmaker currently based in British Columbia. He’ll be writing about his current trip to the Banff TV Convention. This is Andrew’s second trip to TV’s wildest week.

Banff -2 days.

Supplies and wardrobe have all been squared away, in anticipation of the
first leg of the
journey to Banff. There’s some anxiety about illness as one of our travel companions has
fallen ill with a sore throat, headaches, and some sort of cough; our anxiety isn’t so much for his well being but for ours, as it’s already been decided that if our vehicle breaks down on some deserted pass, Fareed will be the first one eaten.

There’s debate now whether or not a head cold can be caught through consumption, in the same manner as mad cow desease. No worries though, if that is the case we may switch to Keith, the second smallest of the group; just enough to sustain us the half hour before BCAA arrives.

And how does a writer prepare for Banff? Clothes, camera, reading material for the trip, all of these are the obvious choices but isn’t a complete list of what’s needed for the whirlwind of a week ahead.

Anybody that doesn’t know what Banff is, it’s
a week long excursion in the middle of a mountain paradise, where you spend your days meeting,
greeting and pitching to some of the most powerful men and women in the television industry; then the sun goes down, and you do the same thing with the same people, only with the added help of alcohol. It’s a time for producers to meet with the
money people, in order to get things off the ground; the end result, those images you
see on your television year round.

It would be naive, though, to head up there thinking that you’ll be walking away with a television deal; it’s more of a meet and greet, a chance to schmooze with the big boys, get your name out there. I, myself, am not so great at schmoozing, therefore it’s my intention to meet as many people as I can
that’ll do it for me.

To my original question, how does a Writer prepare for Banff? Tough question to answer, as it’s usually not recommended that writers go to Banff, Banff isn’t a place to sell your script or try to get it into the hands of somebody that’ll make
it.

The money men in Banff are expecting packages, a couple of sheets of paper explaining
the story, why the story will be watched, who the writer is, who the director is, and who the
producer is. So a writer prepares for going to Banff by finding himself a producer first, which should happen months and months before Banff.

I have, therefor I am prepared, as it’s the producer that’ll be doing all the work; the writer is basically just there to keep his mouth shut and look like a prop. I’m good at doing both.

It’s not so bad though, this gives the writer time to look around and meet some of the celebrities that’ll be attending; memories of last year have Steve Smith
(Red Green),
Paul Gross from Due South, two of the Royal Canadian Air Farce members and
David
Suzuki, but the guy that stands out is the Minister of Silly Walks, John
Cleese.

Robert Fugger, my driver (and for all intense and purposes the
director/producer I spoke
of earlier) for the week is going to be arriving soon; having packed the
night before, it’s
a matter of loading up my gear with the rest of the gear and we’re off to
the first base
camp…Mr.Fugger’s parents place halfway to Banff.