Saturday, August 21, 2010

The Late, Late Show

My post here a week or so ago about meeting deadlines evoked a great deal of response...and a few curious ones. I received one vituperative message from a comic book writer I barely know who thought (a) I was lecturing him in particular and (b) I was advising all to "Hand in crap if you have to but meet the deadline." I dunno where he got any of that. He also seemed to think I was a devout reader, and therefore admirer or his work. Wrong again. I don't think I've ever read anything the guy's written...and if he writes like he reads, I'm not missing much.

I also got an odd message from someone who thought I was just echoing what publishers and editors and producers always tell writers because it serves the interests of Management. Well, yes, it probably does serve their interests when the work is in on time. The point I was trying to make is that it serves the writer's interests, as well. If you wish to get offered more opportunities — and if you wish to have more clout and control on the projects you do undertake — get the damned pages in on time. If you're not going to do it for those who pay you or collaborate with you, do it for your own benefit...because there's plenty.

The wondrous Colleen Doran wasn't wild about my comparison between a writer (or artist) meeting deadlines and Sir Laurence Olivier always being ready to go on stage when the curtain goes up. She wrote, "It is one thing to show up and perform in a play that runs two hours. It is another thing to draw the cast of thousands the writer gave you to draw in the same time frame as a pinup." She's right to some extent and I should have noted that meeting deadlines may also involve saying, of some assignment, "Sorry...it's not humanly possible for me to get that piece of work done in the allotted time." Of course, the time to say that is before you agree to do it in the allotted time.

One of the things I've learned about time management, not just in work but in life, is that it's important to develop a realistic sense of how long things take, especially if you back-time. Back-timing (and this can be dangerous) means that you decide you can write the script, which is due on the 10th, in two days...and then you put indulgences or other, less time-sensitive tasks ahead of it and don't start 'til the 8th. Even if you can probably write it in two days, it can be lethal to count on that. What if it does take longer? Or what if your power's out for much of those two days or a relative dies or you get the flu? I used to have this colorful notion that I did my best work under pressure; that it might even result in a better script if I trapped myself into having to write it at the last minute. It wasn't always fatal but it often screwed up my life to make myself a prisoner of a deadline.

The only person I ever knew who seemed good at back-timing his life was Dick Clark. I worked for him (and as a producer, even hired him once) back in the eighties. If you said to Dick, "We need you on the set, ready to shoot at Noon," Dick would say — and this is not me exaggerating for effect — "Okay, that means I'll need to hit wardrobe at 11:53, which means I'll need to be at hair and makeup at 11:41, which means I'll have to get to the studio at 11:35, so I'll leave Malibu at 11:06." And somehow, don't ask me how, he'd leave his home at Malibu at 11:06 and walk onto the set at 11:59, ready to shoot.

He was never late. Traffic didn't stop him. Mechanical failure didn't stop him. One year, he wanted to me to fly back to New York with him to assist with the live broadcast from Times Square on New Year's Eve. I wound up not doing it but I saw the itinerary and it was scary, especially when you considered that there was no backup plan if he wasn't there on time. The rest of the show was already pretaped, with its hosts saying, "Let's cut to our pal Dick Clark in Times Square." Then they left a hole which had to be filled. (When that was taped, it was October...and Dick, in his capacity as producer, was standing near the camera in that studio.)

You'd think that, since he absolutely had to be there at the Midnight Hour and since Times Square and the surrounding streets can get a wee bit congested the last day of the year — to say nothing of the likelihood of snow — he'd go to New York a few days early and check into a hotel, preferably the one with the rooftop from which he'd be broadcasting to ring in the new. Maybe he did that some years but the year he asked me to go, we would have been flying back at the last possible minute with only a little pad in the schedule for contingencies. And somehow, we would have made it because he was Dick Clark.

Alas, none of us is Dick Clark. (And even more alas is that these days, Dick Clark isn't Dick Clark.) We mortals, mere as we are, must deal with the laws of space, time and physics. We can't plan our lives in that manner...as I learned the hard way when being around Dick for a time caused me to try. There are times when for reasons beyond my control, I do have to get something written at the last minute. But to the extent I can, I really (really, really) try not to get into that situation. It harms me and it can also harm the work.

I always remember a story a writer friend told me. For a brief time, he dated a stunning young lady who had once folded-out in the center of Playboy. The first date ended with a polite kiss. The second ended with a less polite kiss. The third ended with serious necking and he was pretty sure the fourth and all subsequent ones would climax with climax. Another alas: There was no fourth date. She was called to Europe for a modelling assignment and then she got involved with someone else and he got involved with someone else and...well, that was it.

A few years later, he was no longer involved with that someone else or with anyone. He was writing a cartoon show and had blown the last few deadlines. He was given a last chance and basically told that if this one wasn't in on time, he could forget about ever writing this show — or any show — ever again. The studio was going to send a messenger to his home Friday evening at 6 PM. If he did not hand that messenger a completed script, the career was over. It would be time to go apply for a job putting Jack Sauce on Jackburgers at Jack-in-the-Box.

You probably see where this is going...

Despite all that was on the line, he put off starting work on the script so he could go to dinner with friends, put it off so he could work on the boat he owned (and would lose if the assignment wasn't in), put it off for umpteen reasons. He finally buckled down on Thursday evening and worked all through the night.

By Noon the next day, he had it about two-thirds written and figured that he would just barely finish by the time the messenger showed at six. That was when the phone rang.

You guessed it. It was Miss April — or whatever month she was — calling from a hotel out by the airport. She described to my friend what little she was wearing and announced, "I have five hours before I have to leave for a year-long job in Japan. I've been thinking about you and about that date we never had. And if you can get out here right away..."

I'll spare you the graphic details of the offering. I'll even spare you the description of my friend weeping as he told me the tale, lower lip all atremble. The story had a double-sad ending because not only did he have to say no to the young lady but he didn't get the script done by 6. And though his career didn't exactly end, employment at that studio did.

I'll probably write more on this topic in the next week or so. I want to emphasize how being late not only destroys careers, it can also injure the work. Right now though, I have to get back to work on a script. It's not due for a while and even though I won't be getting any offers like my friend received, I don't want to put it off until the deadline's looming. After all, I'm not Dick Clark.

• Posted at 11:02 PM · LINK

Today's Video Link

I don't believe all of these are real — especially the last one — but it's a nice little package of clips set to the right tune...

• Posted at 11:12 AM · LINK

Saturday Morning

You know what bothers me most about this whole "Obama is a Muslim" thing? It's that it seems to really come from nowhere. I used to get annoyed (more than I do now) at people who were utterly certain that 18,000 conspirators got together to murder John F. Kennedy but at least those folks had some actual evidence, however misinterpreted, that the official version was suspect. The Obama-Muslim meme seems to come down to "We don't like what's happening with the economy so the rumors must be true he's a Muslim. Especially since he's black." An awful lot of the folks saying that don't seem to know what a Muslim is, either. But then most of those same people don't seem to know what a Socialist is, what a Fascist is, what a Communist is, etc. All those terms are getting reduced to generic, interchangeable insults you hurl at anyone you don't like. "Hitler" is now a euphemism for "opponent."

• Posted at 11:11 AM · LINK

From the E-Mailbag...

Dan Kravetz read my posting about Los Angeles kid show hosts and sent the following...

I was a devoted viewer of Cartoon Carousel when Skipper Frank switched dummies in about 1960. The original was named Julius and also had a last name which I can't remember. I don't recall the Skipper mentioning on the show specifically that Julius had been stolen from his car, but he did create some sort of mystery about his pal being missing, and on one episode displayed a "letter" from Julius that read, "I have been kidnapped by Jimmy Weldon!"

The new dummy was named Ziggy Zachary, but before it was ready, the Skipper did a bit of ventriloquism with a temporary replacement named Pancho Blinkey, a kind of mitten puppet that could be purchased in toy stores. I started watching Carousel around 1954 or '55, when the cartoon fare was the earliest Looney Tunes starring Bosko and Buddy. I seem to recall that his show lasted an hour, from 4:00 to 5:00 PM, at which time one could switch to KABC for the original hour-long Mickey Mouse Club. When Mickey moved to a half-hour at 5:30, that made it possible to catch Tom Hatten and Popeye at 5:00. I believe Engineer Bill came on later, during the dinner hour, and Sheriff John was on at noon, during school, so I didn't get to see them nearly as often, but all were fine men whom youngsters could respect, even when they were pushing products.

I believe Cartoon Carnival (Skipper Frank's show) went on in '56 but I do remember him showing the earliest Looney Tunes. I don't remember that letter from Julius. I watched every day and would have laughed my head off at the mention of Jimmy Weldon, who was on Channel 13 opposite Skipper Frank.

And I had my own Pancho Blinkey, which was just a white glove printed with the kind of face Señor Wences drew on his hand. It was a lot of fun for about the first three minutes you owned one.

Another memory I have of Skipper Frank is what I believe was his final series for KTLA, Channel 5. Their afternoon bloc of kids' show hosts had gone away so late in the sixties, he did a morning show for them and it was done as a live remote. You'd turn it on and there would be the Skipper coming to us from somewhere in Los Angeles, broadcasting from a truck that the KTLA newsmen would be using later in the day to cover stories. Someone back at the studio (I guess) would be rolling in the cartoons he introduced.

This might have been a good idea if he could have done it from local events — fairs, public gatherings, places where things were occurring — but it rarely was. The show aired at either 7 AM or 8 AM (the latter, I think) and nothing much was happening at that hour. So it would just be Skipper Frank inexplicably standing by the KTLA truck in some parking lot somewhere. For a time, they did it like a contest. They'd drive around L.A., pick some residential street and do the show from outside someone's house. If it was your house and you came outside and said you were watching, you got some sort of prize...but I don't recall that anyone ever did.

I watched him while I was getting dressed for school and wondered why they were going to the trouble and expense of taking the truck out every morn to basically do the show from nowhere. Later, I realized it was probably the cheapest way they could have done the program, broadcasting from a truck with a crew that was probably about two guys, rather than opening the studio. Doing it on location like that meant no lighting men, no security staff, a one-camera shoot, etc. That it was still watchable television had everything to do with Skipper Frank's great ability to just talk on camera and be interesting. I don't see a lot of people on my TV these days who can do that.

• Posted at 9:41 AM · LINK