Dreams of Stardom (Hollywood SI)

I love the fact that I was reborn in a time when we had cell phones. I can’t even imagine living without it. Internet and technology hadn’t evolved enough to give birth to good smartphones with high speeds. My current phone, the Nokia 9210 Communicator, was good enough for texting and sending simple emails. I couldn’t wait for the iPhone to come and rock this market in 2007. So using the superior technology of Nokia (for that time), I was emailing my girlfriend long distance.

Em: My mum suspects something’s going on.

Me: Whaaaaattt!!?? Howww???!!!

Em: Stop being melodramatic. She is very smart. She asked me point blank if I had a boyfriend. I said no, but I don’t think she believed me. I’m a terrible liar.

Me: Learn to lie from me, Em. I’m a master.

Em: In your dreams. I can always tell when you’re lying.

I wanted to send her a rolling eye emoji, but unfortunately, emojis hadn’t been invented yet.

Me: Whatever you say. By the way, I have just landed in LA.

Em: Already? That’s nice. Have fun, just not too much.

It was such a slow service that I had already gone through the baggage counter by the time I received her last message and had even dodged a few paparazzi. On second thought, instead of an iPhone, I would make do with even a Blackberry at the moment if it meant faster international messages through BBM.

“Would you put that thing down already?” Mum grumbled from beside me as we drove over to our LA home in Beverly Hills. “I don’t know what has gotten into you, but you’re totally addicted to your phone.”

“I was texting Evan, see?” I turned my phone towards her, but as usual, she didn’t even check if I was telling the truth.

“He should’ve come with us,” Mum said. “He could’ve met his uncle’s family.”

And just like that, I was successful in diverting her attention away from my phone.

“He had to go to that Film Festival in Ireland. You know how hard he had worked on that film of his to let this opportunity go.”

“I know,” she agreed. “Doesn't mean I like it though.”

“Even then,” I continued, “we are here only for a few days and will be back in London before Christmas.”

Mum didn’t say anything, as we waited in silence for our driver to take us home. Meanwhile, my thoughts had drifted away to the meetings that I would have in the next few days. My earlier attempts to keep my career going had worked, and my parent had set up meetings with filmmakers and writers about my next film.

This was after the failed meeting we had with another author, Mark Haddon, in Oxford. The rights to the book that I wanted to adapt so badly, [The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time], had been purchased by Brad Pitt for Warner Bros. I remember the movie that Barry Meyer had said he’d owe me, and I fully intend to cash in on it. But that would have to wait. My first meeting here was with another author who had written a banger of a book called [The Perks of Being a Wallflower]. I loved the book, as well as the original movie, which featured Logan Lerman, my dearest Emma Watson, and a future PR nightmare called Ezra Miller.

We also had a few more meetings with some writer-directors who needed a ‘bankable star’ to get funding for their films, but those meetings would come later.

(Break)

“Hello Stephen,” I stood up from the couch and shook Chbosky’s hand. It was strange that so many directors I had worked with had a name Steve, Steven, or a derivative. Be it Dad, Spielberg, Daldry, and now Chbosky.

“I can’t believe we are having this meeting today,” Chbosky said enthusiastically. “I have seen all your movies, and I really love your acting. Can I have a photo with you for my nephew? He’s a huge Harry Potter nerd.”

“Sure,” I smiled at him.

He had come prepared because he took out a camera from his messenger bag and handed it over to Mum, who clicked a few photos.

“Thank you,” he smiled in gratitude before looking at Mum. “Would your husband be joining us later? I talked to him last time.”

“He is not here,” she replied. “He had some urgent last-minute work in the UK, so he couldn’t come.”

More like he had to take Evan to that film festival.

“That’s too bad,” Stephen said.

It would be. Usually, Dad overtook all the producing duties in our family, but this time things were different. I had insisted on producing this film personally. Not just finance, but all behind-the-scenes drama including logistics, location scouting, arranging the cast and the crew, and post-production. I’d do everything. Not alone, but I would definitely oversee the process, just like Dad was doing with Harry Potter. Something Mum and Dad had opposed initially, but eventually gave up on when I was insistent.

“So shall we start the meeting?” I asked Chbosky when there was a lull in the conversation for a few moments.

“Yes,” he said. “Let’s. As I discussed with your Dad last week, the only reason I have not yet sold the adaptation rights to the book is that I want to direct the film and no one wants to put $10m in a film by a director who hasn’t made anything substantial. I have received some very good offers for the rights, some of which were too good to be true. But I didn’t budge from my decision.”

I nodded slowly as I understood what the man was getting at.

“If you don’t mind me asking,” I said when he had finished. “Why are you insistent on making the film yourself? If it’s the experience you want, you can work behind the scenes in some other capacity. You can adapt the screenplay, or even be a producer on the film and oversee the entire process.”

Although I know that he directed the original film as well, so he won’t do a terrible job, but future knowledge also tells me that he also directed a movie called [Dear Evan Hansen], which was one of the worst directed movies I have seen. It is possible that an experienced producer was involved in the production who prevented the film from spiraling into a mess. And because I’m not an experienced producer, I can’t take the risk. It’s better to get an experienced director to work on it. Someone like Stephen Daldry, or even Chris Columbus.

Chbosky went quiet for a few moments before saying, “It’s not that. I just don’t want someone else to take my book and butcher it. I have heard from so many writers in Hollywood how a director took their work and turned it into a pile of garbage. I don’t want that with the story that is so personal to me.”

He had a point there. Every director brings their unique vision to a story. The same film directed by two directors could be poles apart.

“What if you make a bad film?” Mum asked this time. “No offense meant, but since you don’t have much experience, what if the film turns out to be inferior to what you’re expecting?”

“I won’t,” Chbosky said with the utmost surety. “Believe me when I say this, from the moment my book was released, not a single day has gone by where I have not thought about how I would adapt it into a film. I have thought of which scenes to delete from the film, and which to include. I have even made a few storyboards in my free time. See.”

With that, he went into his bag again, took out a big drawing book, and turned it to the first page. I was surprised to see the details with which he had crafted the scene on the page. It was one of the last scenes of the book where Charlie, the protagonist, was having a mental breakdown.

A storyboard is essentially a comic panel that shows a series of events. It helps directors decide where to put the camera to get the best effect for a particular scene. Using a storyboard, even an average director can get great effects in a movie. What I was seeing in front of me was exactly the same scene that I remembered seeing in the original movie. The jump cuts, the flashbacks, everything was the same.

“This is very good,” I said.

“Thank you,” he nodded in gratitude. “So what do you say?”

I closed my eyes for a few seconds to think about the problem before opening them.

“Before I make that decision,” I began, “tell me honestly, Stephen—would you be okay if I play Charlie? I know Dad already talked to you about this, but I don’t want you to compromise and hire me unless you want me in the film as well.”

“Yes!” he said quickly. Very quickly. “Honestly, I was a little skeptical because I hadn’t seen any of your latest photos, but seeing you in person now? Definitely. I have no doubt about your acting skills.”

I inclined my head in thanks. “Alright. Have you worked on the screenplay at all?”

“No,” he shook his head. “I haven’t.”

“Okay, so here’s my offer—I’ll pay you $1m for the screenplay.”

He was left speechless and with an open mouth at hearing my offer.

I chuckled at his reaction before continuing, “It includes the adaptation rights, your work on adapting the screenplay, and the storyboards. I want everything. I am packaging this deal because if there are any revisions to the screenplay, the costs would be included in this amount. If you hire any writing assistants, they’ll be paid the union rates, but anything beyond the second draft would be paid out of your salary.”

I made that offer because screenwriters have this habit of giving out unfinished or bad screenplays in Hollywood because they are paid extra for any revisions requested by the producers as per the WGA. This unnecessarily extended the pre-production time. By packaging the deal and paying way above the standard, Stephen didn’t have a choice but to give out his best screenplay at the earliest.

“Also, I want storyboards for the entire movie,” I continued. “Not just a few crucial scenes, but every scene.”

“That will take a lot of time,” Chbosky said nervously. “It will take me at least a year to write the screenplay. If I do the storyboards as well…”

“I will wait then. And if you think it’s too much work for you, hire someone else to draw the storyboards,” I said nonchalantly. “I want us to make a great film, and both of us are inexperienced as filmmakers. I can say for sure that this scene that you’ve drawn will be great, but I don’t know about the rest of the film. Do this, and I will let you direct it just as you like. A further half a million will be your salary for directing the film.”

Stephen silently thought about my offer before nodding minutely. “Okay. Let’s do this.”

I grinned and shook hands with him. “Glad to hear that. My lawyer will send you a contract with all the details and your signing bonus.”

When Stephen had left, Mum, who was mostly silent during the conversation, said, “You offered him too much money.”

“No, I didn’t,” I shook my head. “He deserved it. Were he not so vehement about directing the film himself, he could have gotten an even higher price for just the screenplay.”

“He could make a disaster of a film,” Mum said.

“I won’t let him,” I shot back. “That’s why I’m asking him to storyboard everything. I may give him freedom with the film, but I will control the storyboards completely. I’ll make sure that the storyboards are so detailed that someone as green as Evan would be able to make a great film using them.”

Mum shook her head. “That’s not how it works. If that were the case, no film that used storyboarding would ever be bad.”

That…was true. But Mum didn’t know that I had foresight that most people don’t. So I smartly changed the topic.

“How many more meetings do I have now?”

“Four more.”

I groaned in frustration.

(Break)

Kathy just knew something was not right with Troy. Ever since he finished filming for the third Potter film, he had become addicted to his phone. He thought he was being sneaky, but she was his mother, so of course, she knew when his behavior was different from the norm. Whenever she asked him what he was doing, all he would say was something like, "Texting Jamie/Emma/Or any other random friend." Sometimes he would even talk to a few of his long-term fans over email. While Kathy didn’t have a problem with fan interaction (as long as it was using a computer), she absolutely hated the invention called SMS and those internet phones. Why couldn’t Troy be more like Evan?

“What are you thinking?” Steve interrupted Kathy’s inner monologue.

“Nothing,” she said. “Don’t worry about it. I don’t have time. I have a cake to prepare.”

Given their financial condition, they could afford the best cakes from the most upscale bakeries in the world, but this was something she would always do for her son’s birthday. Time, it seemed, had flown by in a matter of days. It seemed like just yesterday when they had celebrated Troy’s thirteenth birthday. And now he was fourteen years old and just four years away from being an adult. She already feared the day he would turn eighteen and leave the nest.

As Kathy was mixing the batter for Troy’s birthday cake, Steve spoke up, “So how did your meetings go in LA? Besides that Chbosky guy, that is.”

“Tiring,” Kathy said off-handedly. “Out of the four people we met, three are going nowhere. The last one was good, but I don’t think Troy should do that film. It was a film called [The Way Way Back] and its theme is too similar to [The Perks of Being a Wallflower].”

“Hmm,” Steve hummed in thought. “It’s bad for an actor’s image if you take too many similar roles.”

Having mixed the batter, now preparing the mold, Kathy noted idly, “It’s too bad that Evan didn’t win anything at that Film Festival.”

“It had a lot of student entries,” Steve said. “Students who were in film school and doing this for years. Most of their work was top-notch. Considering it was Evan’s first film, he did fantastic. I know he’ll improve. More than anything, it was a great learning experience for him”

Kathy continued making the cake in silence, while Steve accompanied her. Finally, she put the batter in the mold and put it in the oven to bake before starting preparations for the icing. For reference, she pulled out two photos of cakes that she had downloaded from the internet. She was a little confused about which one to pick for the decoration, so she turned to her husband, “Which one is better?”

Steve blinked owlishly looking at two lavishly designed cakes. “Both are good. Choose whichever you like.”

“If I was able to, I wouldn't have asked you,” Kathy deadpanned.

“Ask someone else,” he said deflectively. “Ask Troy.”

“It’s a surprise cake for him; I can’t ask him,” Kathy said.

“Ask Evan then,” Steve said before remembering something. “Better yet, you can ask Emma. She came early for Troy’s birthday party, and they are playing video games in Troy’s room.”

Kathy smiled at that suggestion, “That’s perfect. You men are useless for such things. I’ll ask Emma.”

With a purpose in mind, Kathy left the kitchen and walked over to Troy’s room where the door was closed. She chuckled at the thought that in a few years, she’d have to tell Troy to keep the door open whenever a girl was over. Fortunately for her, Troy and Emma were far too young to do something like that.

She opened the door, only to realize that the kids weren’t that young anymore and that the “few years” had come a little early. Troy and Emma were sitting in front of Troy’s telly, with their lips locked to each other. They separated hastily as soon as the door was fully open.

“Mum, I can explain,” Troy said weakly.

“That you have loads to do, son,” Kathy said dangerously.

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