Pitching to Joel Schumacher in a Lift

Screenwriters get introduced to the idea of the ‘elevator pitch’ with the following scenario:

Imagine that you found yourself in a lift with a Hollywood power-player, and you only had that 60 seconds or so to sell them on the idea of your movie. 60 seconds to convince them that the idea might be worth further investigation. 60 seconds to make them care.

This scenario works quite well as a means of making people think about the hook of their story. Amazingly gifted screenwriters can still be amazingly poor orators, and those words that flow so beautifully on paper can often dry up to a series of splutters and false starts when someone asks what their brilliant movie is actually about. Focusing on communicating the essence of a proposed movie in an incredibly short space of time can be a really useful exercise, but the idea of actually pitching in a lift is largely meant to be a metaphor.

Nonetheless, last year I accidentally found myself pitching in a lift to Joel Schumacher. And, hey, I was a teenager when The Lost Boys came out. It’s one of those movies that made me who I am; everything I’ve ever written has contained elements of both comedy and horror. There’s strands of Lost Boys DNA running through every screenplay to leave my office. I owe Joel Schumacher a lot, and I finally got to repay him by babbling for around a minute about a screenplay that I’m extremely proud of called Your Lying Eyes.

Let me back up a bit. First of all, I’m not one to engineer meetings with people whose work I admire. I feel much happier watching and listening to such people rather than speaking to them. There’s a speech about never meeting your heroes in my script for The Devil’s Music which sums up largely how I feel about it. There’s simply too much riding on it for it to be any fun. Look, I’m a massive Springsteen fan, but if you gave me the chance to sit and have a drink with the guy I’d probably run a mile. Not because I’d be intimidated (people are just people, after all), but what if it went badly? What if we simply didn’t get on? Would I still feel the same way about Thunder Road, or would there be a nagging ‘but…’ in the back of my head every time I listened to it?

So, in the interests of never getting a nagging ‘but…’ every time I watched Falling Down, I probably wouldn’t have engineered a situation where I got to pitch a movie to Joel Schumacher in a lift. But the London Screenwriters Festival had other plans.

If you haven’t heard of the festival, it’s now the largest screenwriting festival in the world. 800-odd screenwriters and speakers, plus a fair few producers and agents knocking about. Lots of people drinking coffee and talking about movies, lots of interesting events and cool stuff. On the Sunday of the festival, I had a meeting about Your Lying Eyes lined up which I was excited but mildly stressed about. It’s a really good script, probably the best thing I’ve ever written, and for this particular meeting I was determined to bring my A-game.

My mate Jim Eaves and I grabbed coffee, and we ended up in a queue for The Elevator Pitch. This was a thing set up by the festival where screenwriters could do the elevator pitch thing for real, usually to somebody connected with the UK industry. I figured it might be a nice little dry-run prior to my meeting. I figured it might be with someone I’d spoken to previously (either at the festival or in the world at large).

It wasn’t, of course. It was Joel Schumacher.

Joel Schumacher in a lift getting babbled at

I think it’s safe to say that my tight-as-a-drum pitch got punctured somewhere on its way out of my mouth and emerged as a bundle of jumbled character motivation and messy beats. Seriously, though, what do you want from me? Dude directed The Lost Boys, for chrissakes.

So elevator pitches are sometimes very real. And not just at orchestrated events at screenwriting festivals. My mate Jim I mentioned? On another occasion, he ended up randomly in a lift with a certain notorious Hollywood mega producer. But that’s his story to tell, not mine.

What floor do you want?

Bad Things Happen to Eyeballs Again

image

On the set of House on the Witchpit last month, I had a conversation with my DoP about imagery cropping up over and over again in films that I’d written or directed. I sometimes lecture about film theory, and have therefore spent many days of my life discussing the recurring imagery of the great filmmakers, but I’d never particularly thought about it in the case of my own flicks. Other than Kim Newman once calling me an “Essex Auteur” in Empire a few years back (many thanks, Kim!), I’ve never had any cause to wonder whether the tiny-budgeted horrors that I’ve introduced to the world (or, indeed, the scripts like Strippers vs Werewolves that I’ve sold to other people for them to do with what they will) have featured any commonality of theme or image. I certainly never consciously intended there to be any.

That being said, surely I must have experienced a sense of deja-vu at trying to get fake blood out of tuxedos or evening gowns at the end of a feature shoot? Five out of eight scripts/movies have resulted in a tick in the ‘Bloody Formal Wear’ box. That’s nothing, of course, compared to the ‘Female Stabbing Someone’ motif, which I only seem to have avoided in one script, including those that haven’t been produced or sold yet.

These recurring visuals weren’t a conscious decision, but now I’ve started picking through my stuff looking for them I’ve a feeling I’ll be extremely aware of them from this point onwards. That’s not to say I’ll avoid including them, of course, just that I won’t be able to do it in quite such a state of blissful ignorance.

And what’s the deal with me and eyeballs?