Following the standard professional-screenwriter procedure, we wrote “CHICKENS” on an index card and attached it to the whiteboard with a magnet. To my knowledge, that was the last thing we ever did with the whiteboard. We spent the rest of our time typing on my computer, outlining the scenes we would include in our screenplay. I have saved the notes we made during this process. Here is a sampling:19 • A race of super chickens. Very strong, very smart. They can talk.
• They hear a lot of hip-hop in the plant, and they really like it.
• Anybody who threatens them, they kill them.
• The owner of the factory—a real slimeball—is in cahoots—doesn’t have to pay wages or salaries. Doesn’t have to worry about unions.
• They need a few weeks to build a big enough supply of eggs—they’re going to send eggs out all over the country in trucks.
• At some point, the chickens kill a PETA representative.
• Mark notices there are chickens on the street, giving him the eye.
• Goes to a bar—something weird—chicken there? Bartender scared?
• A plant worker tries to make a break—“I can’t take any more!” The chickens take him down.
• Mark and Tami run outside, horrified. go to SHERIFF’S OFFICE. Look in the window—there sits the sheriff, surrounded by chickens.
• THE CAUCUSES ARE GOING ON.
• The president comes to town.
• Mark escapes the bad guys, pursued by bad guys and chickens.
• Gets into a debate or press conference.
• Informs the president.
• SOMEHOW IN THE COURSE OF HIS BEING DRAGGED AWAY SOMETHING HAPPENS WITH THE CHICKENS AND IT BECOMES CLEAR THAT HE’S TELLING THE TRUTH.
• METHANE—chickenshit raining down on Wolf Blitzer in Des Moines.
I don’t remember exactly what plot reason we had for that last note; maybe we were just responding to the universal human longing to see Wolf Blitzer inundated by chickenshit. All I know is, when Gene left Miami, we honestly, sincerely believed that this was the screenplay we were going to write.
Fortunately, as soon as we stopped exposing each other to bad ideas, our IQs started to rise. When we tried to actually write Chickens!, we quickly realized that we had come up with possibly the most ridiculous movie concept ever that was not part of the Star Wars franchise. So, using our restored brain function, we analyzed Chickens!, trying to pinpoint the problem. We decided it was: the chickens.
So we tweaked it. We kept the supermarket tabloid reporter and the presidential campaign, but we replaced the chickens with a political theme, and we wrote a screenplay that we called Head of State. We spent months working on it, sending scenes back and forth, writing and rewriting them. We got into heated arguments, because we had serious creative differences about certain elements of the story, by which I mean the size of the female characters’ breasts. Gene felt they should all be small and perky; I did not. This dispute was both idiotic and irrelevant, because you don’t put physical descriptions of characters in screenplays. But Gene, who for the record is insane, would regularly send me scenes that began like this:INT. THE WHITE HOUSE
NATALIE ENTERS THE OVAL OFFICE WITH HER SMALL, PERKY BREASTS.
I would feel compelled to revise this and send it back:INT. THE WHITE HOUSE
NATALIE ENTERS THE OVAL OFFICE, FALLING FORWARD AS GRAVITY ATTRACTS HER VAST BOSOMS.
We also worked on the actual plot, and we came up with what I still think was a pretty clever one, with numerous fun and wacky elements. To my knowledge, Head of State is the only screenplay ever written in which the president of the United States uses a nationally televised appearance to send a secret message by doing, in very slow motion, the Hokey Pokey.
When, at last, Gene and I were satisfied with Head of State, we sent it off to our agent in Los Angeles, a smart and savvy guy whom I will identify only as “Matt” so he can continue to have a career. Gene and I then sat back and prepared to consider the various incoming offers so we could decide which studio was the best “fit” for us in the sense of giving us the largest total number of dollars.
Except that no offers came in. I don’t know what the problem was. Maybe we didn’t have enough quadrants. Every few days Matt would send us an e-mail updating us on which studios had most recently passed on our screenplay. He tried to cheer us up by including tidbits of positive feedback (“This time it came back with very few vomit stains”). But as rejection followed rejection, we started to get the sinking feeling that our many hours of work had been for nothing, not to mention the cost of the magnetic board. After a while we both were convinced that the project had been a complete waste of time, and we pretty much forgot about it.
But sometimes, in real life as in the movies, there are happy endings. One day Gene and I got a brief e-mail from Matt: A studio had made an offer! He wanted to set up a conference call to explain it to us. I will never forget the moment when, after Gene and I were both on the line, Matt revealed the amount of money we were being offered. We were totally floored when he named the figure.
Fifty-eight dollars.
OK, technically it was more than that. But in Hollywood screenplay terms, the offer was the equivalent of $58. It was definitely less money than the average Hollywood movie production spends just on muffins.
Gene and I were deeply disappointed, and somewhat insulted. But in the end, we took the money, and for a very sound professional reason: We are whores. Also the contract said that if the studio decided that the screenplay needed to be rewritten, we would get first crack at it, and we would also be paid for that.
Several months after we sold our screenplay, some studio people called Gene and me to talk about the possibility of a rewrite. They were very nice. They said they really liked our screenplay, but wondered if we might want to consider “taking it in a different direction.” Two of the directions they suggested—bear in mind, we had written a comedy about presidential politics—were: • Making it about the National Football League.
• Making it into a musical.
This is kind of like telling Herman Melville you really like Moby-Dick, but you want to lose the whale. Not that I’m comparing Head of State to Moby-Dick. For one thing, Head of State has more fart jokes. But you see my point. We couldn’t make it about the NFL without essentially dumping everything we’d written and starting over. And we definitely were not capable of turning it into a musical. I have written one reasonably successful song in my life, and it’s about Tupperware. And compared to Gene, I am Mozart.
So we declined the offer to attempt a rewrite. As far as I know, nobody else has attempted one, either. I think Head of State has gone to that Big Screenplay Dumpster in the Sky. Although you never know; weird things can happen in the movie business. Maybe, in time, the studio will decide to revive our screenplay; maybe they’ll hire somebody to rewrite it; and maybe it’ll actually get the green light. So if, someday, you go to see a movie, and it turns out to be a musical about the NFL, remember whose idea that was: not ours.
But if it has superhuman chickens in it, I will be pissed.
24
The Ultimate Script
6 A.M.
SETTING: THE WHITE HOUSE SITUATION ROOM
The president, seen only in silhouette, sits at the head of a conference table. Seated around the table are the vice president, the Joint Chiefs of Staff, and various important-looking extras. The lighting is dim.
THE PRESIDENT
I’ve called you together because we have received intelligence concerning a serious threat that could . . . What is it, Mr. Vice President?
THE VICE PRESIDENT
Why is the lighting so dim?
THE PRESIDENT
For dramatic effect. You’ll also notice that many characters in this show whisper for no good reason.
THE VICE PRESIDENT (PEERING AT THE PRESIDENT)
Wait a minute. You’re a kangaroo.
THE PRESIDENT
Yes. The
writers already did an African-American president and a woman president, so this season they were thinking, “Maybe a Jewish president?” And then they thought, “Nah, too unrealistic.” So they went kangaroo.
But is that even constitutional? And where do you go to the bathroom?
THE PRESIDENT
Nobody on this show goes to the bathroom.
THE VICE PRESIDENT
Touché.
THE PRESIDENT
As I was saying, we have received intelligence concerning a threat that could cause the deaths of millions of Americans.
THE VICE PRESIDENT
My God! What is it?
THE PRESIDENT
What is what?
THE VICE PRESIDENT
The threat.
THE PRESIDENT
I’ll let the FBI director, played by a fading movie star such as William Hurt or Gene Hackman, answer that.
FBI DIRECTOR
We have reason to believe that a vaguely Middle Eastern terrorist organization has acquired a proton defrackulator.
THE VICE PRESIDENT
What’s a proton defrackulator?
FBI DIRECTOR
We have no idea. But it sounds very bad.
THE PRESIDENT
Well, if these terrorists think I’m going to let them kill millions of Americans on my watch just because I have short, thumbless forelimbs, then they have another think coming. General, what do the Joint Chiefs recommend?
GENERAL
We recommend an immediate tactical nuclear missile strike against Boston.
THE PRESIDENT
Is that where the terrorists are?
GENERAL
No, we just hate Boston.
THE PRESIDENT
Fair enough. But we also need to do something about these terrorists.
CHIEF OF STAFF
If I may . . .
THE PRESIDENT
Aren’t you one of the Baldwin brothers?
CHIEF OF STAFF
I believe so.
THE PRESIDENT
Go on.
CHIEF OF STAFF
There is only one man who can stop these terrorists, and that man is Jack Bauer.
THE PRESIDENT
Bauer . . . I know that name.
CHIEF OF STAFF
He’s the main character.
THE PRESIDENT
Ah, right. But didn’t he end the last season being arrested on trumped-up charges after he was framed by a shadowy cabal of powerful men?
CHIEF OF STAFF
That’s how he ends every season.
THE PRESIDENT
So where is Bauer now?
CHIEF OF STAFF
He was imprisoned in a secret California prison facility.
THE PRESIDENT
Have him released.
CHIEF OF STAFF
He was also tortured.
THE PRESIDENT
Well, have a medical team . . .
CHIEF OF STAFF
Then he was decapitated and fed to boars.
THE PRESIDENT
Whoa.
CHIEF OF STAFF
Fortunately, he was trained for exactly that.
THE PRESIDENT
Are you saying that he could . . .
CHIEF OF STAFF
We won’t know until after the commercial.
COMMERCIAL
SETTING: THE INFIRMARY OF A SECRET CALIFORNIA PRISON
Jack Bauer is sitting on an examination table. There are boar bites all over his body and a bandage wrapped around his neck. A doctor has just finished examining him.
DOCTOR
You’re going to experience some soreness from having your head reattached to your body. I suggest you take it easy for at least the next hour.
JACK
Give me your phone.
DOCTOR
If you need to make a call, there’s a phone in the—
JACK
Dammit, there’s NO TIME!
Jack pulls a gun and shoots the doctor in the thigh. As the doctor falls to the floor, Jack snatches his cell phone and dials a number. The scene shifts to an FBI office in Washington, D.C., where Chloe, sitting at her computer, answers the phone.
CHLOE
Hello?
JACK
Chloe, it’s Jack.
CHLOE
Jack? I thought you were decapitated and consumed by boars.
JACK
Not anymore.
CHLOE
Thank God. I thought I wasn’t getting any lines this season. Last year all I did was a PSA for Earth Day, while Janeane Garofalo got—
JACK
Dammit, Chloe, there’s NO TIME. A terrorist cell is bringing in a proton defrackulator.
CHLOE
That sounds bad.
JACK
I need a map showing the port of entry for every international freight shipment in the past thirteen days weighing between fifty-two and sixty-three kilograms, overlaid with another grid showing the locations of all metropolitan areas with populations of twenty-eight thousand or more, overlaid with another grid showing prevailing wind direction and speed, overlaid with another grid showing the location of every odd-numbered Waffle House in North America.
CHLOE (TAPPING ON HER KEYBOARD)
I’m sending it now.
Jack looks at the cell-phone screen, which says: “DOWNLOADING.”
How are you doing that with my phone? I can’t even get a signal in here.
Jack, without taking his eyes off the phone, shoots the doctor in the other thigh to silence him. The phone is now displaying a detailed map with many symbols, including a blinking red dot over Washington, D.C.
JACK
Looks like they’re bringing the defrackulator into the Washington area.
CHLOE
That makes sense. All the other main characters are here.
JACK (STEPPING OVER THE DOCTOR AND HEADING FOR THE EXIT)
I’ll need transport.
CHLOE (TAPPING)
I’ll send a helicopter.
Jack runs outside. A helicopter immediately appears overhead.
JACK
OK, I see it.
CHLOE
What?
JACK
Sorry. I mean I have a visual on it. Have the FBI set up a perimeter around Washington, Maryland, and Virginia. Don’t let anybody in or out. Shut down the shipping lanes and set up satellite surveillance to detect anybody on the Eastern Seaboard who looks vaguely Middle Eastern.
CHLOE (TAPPING)
I’m on it.
Jack runs to the helicopter. The pilot opens the door. Jack climbs in. The pilot gestures for Jack to put on his seat belt. Jack shouts something, shoots the pilot in the thigh, throws him out of the chopper, grabs the controls, and takes off.
COMMERCIAL
SETTING: A SEAPORT
Two vaguely Middle-Eastern-looking terrorists are watching as a crane lowers a wooden crate from a freighter to the pier. Stenciled on the side of the crate are the words “HARMLESS MACHINE PARTS.”
FIRST TERRORIST
Once the proton defrackulator is loaded into the van, we’ll take it to our secret hideout in Washington.
SECOND TERRORIST
Then we will activate it and carry out the plan to kill millions of Americans.
FIRST TERRORIST
You should roll your “r”s, so our accents sound more alike.
The two men watch as dockworkers finish loading the crate into a white van. The first man pulls out a cell phone and dials a number.
FIRST TERRORIST (INTO PHONE)
I have the floral centerpiece and will deliver it to the wedding reception. (He ends the call.)
SECOND TERRORIST
Was that a coded message to the terrorist mastermind?
FIRST TERRORIST
No, that was my brother-in-law, the florist. I’m helping him out with a wedding.
SECOND TERRORIST
Let’s get going, then. Those millions of Americans aren’t going to kill themselves!
The two men enjoy a vaguely Middle Eastern laugh, then shoot the dockworkers, get into the van, and drive away.
COMMERCIAL
SETTING: INSIDE THE HELICOPTER
Jack is at the controls. The phone he took from the doctor rings. He plugs a Bluetooth headset into his ear.
JACK
Jack Bauer.
CHLOE
Jack, we just got satellite recon video showing unusual activity at the Chevy Chase seaport.
JACK
What kind of unusual activity?