Part Two: Chain of Title

As some of you know, Traces, a film I wrote, directed, and co-produced, was recently released in the UK.

So, I thought it would be fun to share some behind-the-scenes stories. If you have no idea what I’m talking about or why there’s a Part Two in the title, check out Part One here. I’ll wait.

Also, it’s getting crowded, so I think it best to throw up some credits:

Narrator……………………………………………………………MCH

Lawyer/Executive Producer…....................................Paul

Producer…………………………………………………………….Dan

The Director……………………………………………………Charlie

Sleazy Financier………………………………………………..Steve

Supercool Financier…………..............………………Lawrence

The Conniver……………...……………………………Himself

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐒𝐜𝐫𝐢𝐩𝐭: 𝐃𝐨 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐇𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐑𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐬?

When we returned from the road trip, refreshed and with a new appreciation for KOAs, Route 66, and Cody, Wyoming, my lawyer Paul and the producer (Dan) invited me for lunch in Redondo Beach to discuss When We Were Seventeen. I knew this was good news, or at least encouraging news, as you don’t invite someone who lives in The Valley out to the West Side (Paul and Dan’s home turf) just to say:

“Sorry, we’re not going to make your movie. Lunch is on us; try the shrimp scampi.”

That shit can be said on the phone. Paul’s a good man; it was good news if he wanted to meet me face-to-face.

The fact that it was all the way out in Redondo Beach as opposed to somewhere in the middle like, say, Century City or even Mid-City… Well, I can’t say for certain, but I’m pretty sure that was a strategy play by Dan. “Let’s see how bad he wants it.

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐝𝐮𝐜𝐞𝐫

You may remember Dan from the last Facebook posts where I referred to him simply as The Producer. Shortsighted on my part because:

A) He is a singular being and not an amalgam of ‘producers’ as is usually true when writing these things.

B) Dan plays a very integral role in this odyssey and calling him “the producer” seems impersonal and cartoonish, especially during some of the more rancorous displays of power he was prone to have. Like, say, scheduling a lunch meeting in Redondo Beach instead of Beverly Hills… Hell, Culver City would have been more accessible, for God’s sake! (Anyone who has ever driven the 405 Southbound knows what I’m talking about).

I met Dan through Paul two years earlier. Paul had known Dan since he was nineteen years old. Paul had been a great mentor to Dan, and I understood they had worked together often; Paul handled all legal aspects, and Dan handled the physical production. Together, they worked on quite a few movies.

It was one of those movies, a nasty little creature feature I was a rather big fan of called Splinter, that made Paul think Dan would be the perfect producer for my meta slasher 𝑃5𝑌𝐶𝐻—a screenplay of mine I was co-producing and slated to direct—that I had optioned to a financier named Steve. Under the impression the financing was somewhat in place, Dan had worked with Steve and me for the better part of a year until everything imploded. Surprise, surprise, Steve was a fraud who had no money. Welcome to Hollywood.

When I asked Dan if he wanted to produce When We Were Seventeen (back when I was going to star and my buddy was going to direct), he was understandably reticent. And then, when it fell apart I figured with the one-two punch of that and the P5YCH debacle, the working relationship was done. Yet, when I walked into the Redondo Beach restaurant that afternoon, he was, at the table with Paul, ordering a Cobb salad.

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐋𝐚𝐰𝐲𝐞𝐫

It’s here, I should say; I like Paul, still to this day. He’s a decent man. He helped protect my IP after Steve threatened to sue me and entrap me into breach of contract. He always took my calls, listened to my terrible pitches, brought me in on some exciting meetings and opportunities when I was considering getting into the distribution game, and even years after we stopped working together, Paul counseled me through some pretty scary legal situations that had nothing to do with entertainment law (some asshole tried to sue me for A LOT of money after a car accident). And he did that for free. Plus, he’s a hell of a musician—we’ll get to that in a bit.

Were mistakes on both sides made? Sure. Does he still represent my legal interests? No. Would we ever work together again? Maybe. Is he one of the good guys in this crazy industry? Abso-fucking-lutely. Paul is one of the great guys, and I still consider him a dear friend. So I sit down.

Paul: “Dan did a proper budget for When We Were Seventeen.”

𝐃𝐚𝐧: “We shouldn’t make this for $250,000 or even $450K. We should shoot this for just under a million.”

𝐌𝐞: “Wait. Are we making 𝑊ℎ𝑒𝑛 𝑊𝑒 𝑊𝑒𝑟𝑒 𝑆𝑒𝑣𝑒𝑛𝑡𝑒𝑒𝑛?”

Paul: “I have three people I want to take this to for financing. There are no guarantees. But I think I know someone who will love this script.”

𝐃𝐚𝐧: “Are you sure you’re ready to do this?

𝐌𝐞: (I didn’t even hesitate) “Yes.”

I asked Paul if there was anything I needed to do about Charlie I was working with on this. Even though he bailed, I wondered if he had any legal rights to the script because we both worked on it.

Also, here’s the thing with any great director: They will ALWAYS work on the script with the writer… always. I have never met a seasoned director who hasn’t put their stamp on a screenplay. Not out of ego—any director worth their salt will rarely take credit for their contributions—but out of service to a vision and a sense of artistic obligation that just comes with experience. The best of them will always let the writer take all the credit.

I was so fucking gun-shy ever since 𝑃5𝑌𝐶𝐻 and the drama with Steve that I wanted to make sure I was doing everything right. Paul assured me that because I was the one who wrote the screenplay, which was based on my (embellished) experiences, it was MY screenplay. At best, Charlie would be entitled to a "Based on an Idea By" or, if I was feeling generous, a "Story By" credit.

I asked what the right thing to do was, and Paul, always the calm, forthright pragmatist, just said:

“Have a conversation with Charlie and tell him your intentions. Be honest. Better yet, ask him if it’s okay to go out and give it a shot. Tell him you’ll give him a ‘Story By’ credit.”

And that’s precisely what I did… Sort of.

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐌𝐞𝐞𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠

It was early spring of 2015. I met Charlie at The Federal (again)… and he was in better spirits. He had booked another television show and was about to shoot it in Atlanta. I told him I was interested in taking out 𝑊ℎ𝑒𝑛 𝑊𝑒 𝑊𝑒𝑟𝑒 𝑆𝑒𝑣𝑒𝑛𝑡𝑒𝑒𝑛 and asked for his blessing. He knew that my pull to be behind the camera was getting stronger, and I had set my sights on directing. I had shot a cool Proof of Concept for my film P5YCH, produced a few short films, and had just been paid to write my second screenplay… so it was clear my days in front of the lens were waning.

𝐌𝐞: “I want to try and make 𝑊ℎ𝑒𝑛 𝑊𝑒 𝑊𝑒𝑟𝑒 𝑆𝑒𝑣𝑒𝑛𝑡𝑒𝑒𝑛.”

Charlie: “Go for it. You don’t even need to give me a 'Story By' credit.”

I thought it was weird that he led with “You don’t even need to give me a ‘Story By’ credit” without prompting… but I swear he did.

I’ve come to discover this is a code of ethics thing true Hollywood professionals do to ease writers’ worry about any potential legal blowback regarding the script’s chain-of-title—I’ve worked with many A-list screenwriters, directors, and producers who have helped develop my work—most notably Dean Devlin, who said the same thing to me after releasing the option on a screenplay of mine he helped shape and was going to produce. And it’s something I do as well.

Anyway…

𝐌𝐞: “I’ll give you a 'Story By' credit.”

Charlie: “No need. You did all the work. I hope you get it made someday.”

‘Someday,’ as in one day, is far from now, and not ‘we’ll find out in a week or so if Lawrence (we’ll meet him soon) liked it.’ Which, incidentally, was the last thing Paul said to me about an hour before I went to this meeting… Why couldn’t I tell Charlie this? He said he had no interest in making this movie. Why couldn’t I just say: “Well, funny you should say that because ‘someday’ might be sooner than we think.”

This is something I would regret for a very long time. And while I never lied, it was a lie of omission. One I justified because he never thought to ask the question directly: “Oh. Is someone interested in financing the movie?”

And why would he? Charlie and I knew how insanely difficult it was to finance a movie, especially for a first-time filmmaker. Looking back, this is what I should have said:

𝐌𝐞: “I have an opportunity to make 𝑊ℎ𝑒𝑛 𝑊𝑒 𝑊𝑒𝑟𝑒 𝑆𝑒𝑣𝑒𝑛𝑡𝑒𝑒𝑛. We all know it’s nothing until it’s something, but before I go any further, I wanted to talk to you and let you know that we’re actively taking it out. I’d like your blessing to discuss credit. I think it’s fair that I have ‘Screenplay by,’ and we share ‘Story By’ credit. What do you think?”

But I didn’t. When he said, “Take it,” and then offered, without prompting, “I don’t even need a ‘Story By’ credit,” it was his way of saying, “This is what we do. We work alongside our writers. This is our credo. This is our code.”

But that’s not what I heard. What I heard was:

Take it. None of this matters because you’ll never get 𝑊ℎ𝑒𝑛 𝑊𝑒 𝑊𝑒𝑟𝑒 𝑆𝑒𝑣𝑒𝑛𝑡𝑒𝑒𝑛 made, anyway. Not without my money. Best of luck, kid.

Look, if I’m being honest… a part of me was still angry about what he did—bailing on the project after all the work we’d done. All the work I’d DONE! Maybe this was my revenge… maybe a part of me wanted to say, “fuck you, man. I trusted you. And you let me down. Again. Well, now I’ll show you!”

That part of me… The Conniver He’s got one job-- to justify any poor decision I make through the subtle dance of projection and justification—The Conniver convinces me that what I did was right, and he has the receipts to prove it.

Children do it all the time, except when they do it, it’s not projection… it’s a lack of executive function.

“Timmy? Why did you take Sally’s ice cream cone?”

“Because it looked yummy.”

"But now she’s sad.”

“So give her another one.”

To clarify, in this little scenario, Timmy is four. I was FORTY. Here’s how the conversation went with all three of us at the table. (Guess which one is the Conniver?)

𝐌𝐞: “I want to try and make 𝑊ℎ𝑒𝑛 𝑊𝑒 𝑊𝑒𝑟𝑒 𝑆𝑒𝑣𝑒𝑛𝑡𝑒𝑒𝑛.”

Because ‘fuck you’ for leading us on and wasting our time last year!

Charlie: “Go for it. You don’t even need to give me a 'Story By' credit.”

Dude, as if we would.

𝐌𝐞: “I’ll give you a 'Story By' credit.”

Did you not hear what he said? Hey. This is the guy that bailed. Oh, remember the last falling out you had? When he bailed THAT time?

Charlie: “No need. You did all the work. I hope you get it made someday.”

MCH, don’t you fucking dare tell him about Paul. He had his shot. This is our time.

𝐌𝐞: “Yeah, here’s hoping.”

And that was it. I left the meeting, and my rights were secured. I was happy, filled with hope and promise… for about 30 seconds. And then I heard it. Loud and clear.

Not that you needed the rights secured; the script had been registered in your name with the WGA from the beginning. This is YOUR story.

Oh shit. I was in trouble with that voice inside my head. Hell, I even wrote a song about him… called 𝑇𝑅𝐴𝐶𝐸𝑆.

𝑻𝒐 𝑩𝒆 𝑪𝒐𝒏𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒖𝒆𝒅…