It was hard going from playwright to screenwriting. Why? Loss of control. Here’s an excellent site that goes into much more detail than I will on the subject. The important thing to know is when you, as screenwriter, make a sale, you will be transferring over copyright ownership to the Producers. For a sum of money, you can be fired and replaced on the project you created and your project rewritten. For a playwright, that one was hard to get over…
So, for film scripts, is it really as simple as: Whoever pays the piper calls the tune?
Whether it be a $200+ million dollar Studio film or a $2,000 buck 2-day micro, whoever comes up with the money, in general, gets creative control.
Notice I hedged that bet with “in general”.
This age-old conflict isn’t lost on writers. The eternal warfare between directors like Fellini and Orson Wells with their producers is legendary. Giving away control of your vision? For a price? It’s a hard thing for anyone to reconcile, let alone masters like these.
So how do you reconcile it? And must you?
When I first started writing in London in the 80’s, I was writing poetry. It was just me and my pretentions, cranking out pretty lousy stuff on a daily basis. I would write what I wanted, when I wanted to write it. I controlled the process from A to Z. Why? Because nobody gave a shit. Nobody was invested but myself. Because my stuff was bad. Had I submitted my stuff and if, by some miracle, was published, yes, I would have have had to answer to an editor. But, as a poet, you pretty much control the creative.
In the 90’s I morphed into a playwright. Here again, I wrote what I wanted to write, when I wanted to write it. Subject matter was my domain. I had several companies interested in my stuff and sure, when we did staged readings I would have to take notes and rewrite for the theater companies paying the bills. But the playwright is much higher up on the priority pyramid than the screenwriter. These creative content discussions were truly discussions. Theater is the realm of words. The playwright will always be stronger than the writer of moving images.
On an Indie-budgeted movie, the chances are slim to none that you, as the writer, will be asked to be involved in the post-production process. There is simply no place for you.
When we signed the paperwork for JANE DOE we signed a contract that was quite explicit: For XYZ dollars invested by Unapix Entertainment, Unapix would get, among other things, FINAL CUT. That meant that as director I would control the creative aspect until the rough cut, then would agree to sign over the final vision of the movie to Unapix.
Why on earth would I do that?
Well, the $150,000 they ponied up had a small part to do with it. That sort of money is quite convincing indeed. Money creates illusions, or mirages–for instance, that the producers are “on the same page as us, creatively”. Oh yes, $150,000 dollars will help you talk yourself into just about anything.
So understand clearly what happens when you take their money. When you take their money you give up creative control. And when you give up control, you put yourself at the will and mercy of others.
Life Lesson 12Z: Beware giving up creative control. Beware of who your collaborators are. This will determine the life of the movie itself. Success or failure springs directly from this.
JANE DOE was doomed the morning I delivered the rough cut to Unapix and they quickly told me they “couldn’t fathom” my vision. Changes would need to be made. No need to dredge up that old tale, it’s been talked about and talked about here.
Bob Dylan once wrote: “You’re gonna have to serve somebody.” This is what happens when you don’t know your collaborators, when you take money and give away creative control to the wrong people. Mediocrity ensues.
The beauty of micro-budget is the changing dynamic of control. When you don’t need other people’s money, when you can marshal the resources you need to make your movie yourself, when the barriers of entry fall, then a revolution is truly upon us.
I learned a hard lesson with JANE DOE and wasn’t about to make the same mistake with CHAT. The circumstances were vastly different. Boris Wexler and I had known each other for years. We had been creative collaborators on two previous projects. We had a shorthand built in, a knowledge of how the other guy worked. Most importantly, we had trust. It’s the only reason I signed away final control of CHAT.
You have to draw up legal paperwork, even with a partner you trust. You need it in writing, what the responsibilities are for each partner, what the percentages are should a sale be made. Be safe, get it in writing.
With micro-budget, the landscape shifts, but the rule still stands: Who pays the piper, calls the tune. Boris was directing, and was bringing the largest share of money to project, both with his own investment, and in investors he was bringing in. For this, he wanted Final Cut. I, as writer and producer, would be given a generous back end piece, but I had to agree to give us final control. Was I OK with that? If I wasn’t, Boris and I would have to go our separate ways. I would have to raise the money solo and have to direct. The road would become much, much tougher. Knowing and trusting Boris, I signed the paperwork.
Micro-budget changes the dynamic of movie-making control.
To that, I say HELL YEAH!
