The high technology wireless radio devices that are concealed in the ear canals of the good guys for surreptitious communication work just fine without sticking your finger in your ear. And yet on NCIS Los Angeles last week –- in a pivotal scene where a guy is being shadowed -– there were all the protagonists, obvious as could be, looking like they forgot to take a Q-Tip to their ears for the last month.

For once, writers are off the hook. Nowhere in the scene description do we tell actors to poke their fingers in their ear canals.

Rather, it’s directors who are likely propping up this cliché, worried that the audience — particularly a CBS audience — won’t understand why characters are talking to invisible people.

In a rough economy, it’s no surprise to find workers in all industries making less, but in the case of the writers, it feels a lot different on the ground. It’s not simply the economy.

Fundamental relationships and business practices are changing. More writers are competing for fewer jobs. Established quotes are being ignored. Mid-tier writers are passed over in favor of the very cheap or very expensive, and even they have a hard time actually getting paid.

Get a group of working — or should be working — screenwriters together for more than ten minutes, and you’re likely to discuss all these issues.

Last week, David A. Goodman (Family Guy), Kayla Alpert (Confessions of a Shopaholic) and I did a panel on KCRW’s The Business, discussing these topics. The show is now online, and worth a listen.

Some important points to emphasize:

• All writers in the industry are essentially freelance. Even being staffed on a TV show is seasonal. Writers aren’t “laid off;” they’re simply unhired. That’s true for many jobs in film and TV, from actors to gaffers to costume designers. Writers are pretty much the only craft that can generate their own work, however.

• Writing is the R&D of the entertainment industry. Try as they might, studios don’t know which projects — or even which genres — are going to be hits. That’s why they develop a range of properties, knowing that only a few of them will go into production. A studio that doesn’t develop material won’t have movies or shows for upcoming seasons.

• Studios are small parts of big corporations. While studios have often been owned by larger corporations, from Gulf+Western to Coca-Cola, the current consolidation and integration of the major studios is unprecedented. Film and TV used to be largely insulated for a downturn in the economy — people still wanted their movies and shows. But now that studios are so tightly entwined with their parent companies, corporate cutbacks hit Hollywood much more directly.

• Quotes are both real and imaginary. A writer’s quote is generally whatever she has recently been paid for a roughly equivalent job. ¹ If Sasha Dramaturg received $200K for a draft, set and polish² on a movie at Fox, her quote would be $200K. If Fox wanted to hire her to write a movie, her agents would be looking for at least that much money. Recently, however, quotes are sometimes being ignored. Fox might tell her agents that they’re paying $100K, take it or leave it. If Sasha takes it, her quote is now $100K.³

• Writers aren’t unique. While this panel was about writers, every facet of film and television is in upheaval. You can take any profession or craft, from development executive to stunt coordinator, and find uncertainty and anxiety about where this is all headed.

Host Kim Masters did a smart job stoking the conversation, and producer Darby Maloney cut an hour’s worth of material down with remarkable finesse.

One thing that didn’t make the cut was a list that a friend had sent me in anticipation of the panel. It’s more bloggy than radio anyway:

What’s Wrong With The Film Business

1. The conflict and turnover caused by the buying and selling of companies causes confusion, uncertainty, and weakens morale in the production area.

2. The “suits” who control the studios interfere too much with creative decisions; the studios should be run by creative people rather than businessmen, lawyers, etc.

3. The constant turnover of the production head of the studio is disastrous.

4. Overhead is indefensibly high.

5. Authority is not clearly defined.

6. Producers are given exorbitant contracts, and there is no relationship between what a producer receives and the box-office success of his or her films.

7. Screenplay costs are excessive and and the write-off on stories and contracts is enormous.

While this seems like a very current assessment, the list actually comes from a 1936 report by Joseph P. Kennedy, who was hired by Paramount’s board of directors to determine what was ailing the studio. ⁴

I find it strangely comforting to realize that the industry was just as broken 70 years ago.

To me, it suggests there’s a cycle to the industry. While we’re in a painful contraction phase now, there is still reason for optimism. Hollywood loves money, and money loves Hollywood. As the economy improves, I suspect we’ll see increased investment in the industry, either through new technology (as happened with home video) or new piles of money (such as foreign investment funds).

It’s a strange time for a writer to be starting in the industry. Not only will you be competing with every other aspiring writer, you’ll also find yourself up against established writers who’ve been forced to cut their quotes. With uncertainty comes caution, and studios will be less likely to take a chance on an unknown writer.

But crisis is also an opportunity. When I meet with recent film school graduates, I remind them that whatever happens next in the industry won’t be something my generation does. It will happen among the 20-somethings, the narrative entrepreneurs who figure out how to make the next great thing. Rather than seeking permission to work in the existing industry, they’ll make their own.

To become one of those inventors of industry, you need to surround yourself with similarly ambitious people. Film school is a good choice, but so is living and working in the right neighborhood in Silverlake or Brooklyn or Austin — or more likely, a place I wouldn’t even realize is a hotbed.

In the KCRW panel, Kayla Alpert made a final point worth repeating: writers can write. As frustrating a time as this is, screenwriters at every level have the unique opportunity to make something new by themselves. That’s a luxury worth more than dollars.

1. Quotes work the same for actors and directors.
2. “Draft, set and polish” is common shorthand for a writer’s first draft, a rewrite of that draft, and smaller polish on that draft.
3. Deals can also be “no-quote,” meaning they’re not supposed to be disclosed. For the animated movies I’ve written, I’ve made significantly less than my quote.
4. This list comes courtesy Howard Suber, who makes reference of it in his book The Power of Film. It originally appeared in Leo Rosten’s 1941 book Hollywood: The Movie Colony/The Movie Makers (New York: Harcourt, Brace and Company, Inc., 1941), Pp. 253-254. Rosten’s book is out of print, but available as a .pdf.

Cablevision wants to offer DVR as a service instead of a device. Rather than recording 30 Rock on the box attached to your TV, the show will be recorded at Cablevision’s headquarters. Then, when you want to watch it, Cablevision will send the show to your television. If it works right, it should feel just like a normal DVR. Only without the cost of the DVR.

I thought it sounded great if you were a consumer, or Cablevision. And pretty damn bad if you were a copyright holder, or someone who produced content. Like, say, a screenwriter.

Cablevision’s RS-DVR is back-door video-on-demand. They’re trying to offer the networks’ output to their customers on their own terms, without paying any additional fees.

The U.S. Supreme Court disagrees. Sort of.

Today, it refused to hear an appeal on the Cablevision case, allowing the Second Circuit Court’s decision to stand. Cablevision can begin introducing its service.

In a brief to the Supreme Court, the U.S. Solicitor General’s office had already urged the Court to skip this case, rather than risk bad precedents:

Network-based technologies for copying and replaying television programming raise potentially significant questions, but this case does not provide a suitable occasion for this Court to address them.

The parties’ stipulations, moreover, have removed two critical issues — contributory infringement and fair use — from this case. That artificial truncation of the possible grounds for decision would make this case an unsuitable vehicle for clarifying the proper application of copyright principles to technologies like the one at issue here.

If Cablevision’s service really is exactly analogous to a conventional DVR — a giant farm with one hard drive per customer, recording shows only a time-forward basis (no reaching back to record last week’s 30 Rock) — then it’s pretty easy to use the metaphor of a very long hard drive cable. A different case, or a more ambitious service, would offer a better venue for figuring out what role a middleman can play in offering content to consumers.

I don’t think consumers really want a virtual DVR. They want content. They want to watch whichever TV show they want, whenever they want it. And they should be able to.

As I said in my first article:

The studios should then negotiate with Cablevision and all the other cable and satellite providers to roll out a system that calls this service what it really is: video-on-demand. A consumer should be able to watch (or record in their home) an episode when it’s first broadcast, or get it through VOD for a fee. That fee should be low, cheap enough to make it an appealing alternative to piracy.

– Joel
Chicago, IL

Any sort of application, whether it’s for a grant, for college or for a job, needs to do exactly three things:

1. Explain your qualifications
2. Explain your ambitions
3. Explain why these two things make you an ideal candidate

It’s in this third aspect that you acknowledge what the organization (or individual) does, and if there really is something laudatory about it, you can work that in without being a kiss-ass.

For example, if you were applying to the ABC/Disney Emerging Writers Program, you would read the note by Anne Sweeney on the website:

Individuals with diverse voices, talents, backgrounds and experiences are imperative to creating high-quality content that is reflective of our audiences.

She’s saying (a) we want to make great shows that are (b) liked by a wide range of audiences, so (c) we’re deliberately looking for writers that come from a wide cross-section of backgrounds and experiences. Notably absent in her statement is any sense of “for the good of the world” or social justice. She is framing it as a smart business decision, which is your cue to do the same.

In your application, it’s fine to commend this program’s goals and explain why its mission so suits your goals and experience. Draw parallels between your background and that of past fellows whose work you admire. Talk about how you hope to work at a company that understands the importance of diverse opinions. But don’t drone on about how much you love Desperate Housewives, or how Mulan transformed your life. That’s brown-nosing. It’s transparent, gross and unhelpful.

If you were applying for an internship at Platinum Dunes (Michael Bay’s company), you would absolutely want to express your enthusiasm for populist genre fare. But appreciation is not fanboy-dom. Be enthusiastic but sane. Companies want employees, not cultists.

Any time you’re applying for something, imagine you’re the person reading through all the applications. What would the perfect candidate look like? How close can you come to being that candidate?

I met him through Larry Andries, who is also writer/showrunner (but not Jonny’s boss). It was at a birthday party at a speakeasy in Koreatown, complete with a password at the door. So don’t forget that mixing and mingling is a crucial part of the industry.

When I found out what Jonny did, I asked him to write a first-person account for the blog. And here it is.

My name is Jonny Sommers and I’m a 25-year old nascent screenwriter. I’ve been living in Los Angeles for a little over three years. For the past year and a half, I’ve been employed as a showrunner’s assistant on a network hour drama show.

The job is akin to any other assistant gig in Hollywood. Difference is, your boss is running a corporation called a “TV show” and it employs hundreds of people. It’s the showrunner’s job to run the corporation smoothly, to make the best television possible. It’s your job make sure your boss can do their job well. This means:

• managing their schedule
• rolling calls (keeping a thorough call log and forwarding any calls to their cell)
• setting up travel
• coordinating their day
• making sure they are where they need to be and are as informed as possible
• reading scripts and writing coverage (providing a story synopsis and comments)
• taking notes on calls
• getting coffee
• getting gas for their car
• sending gifts
• setting up dinners
• getting that salad from that one place they love
• listening to them vent their frustrations
• being a gatekeeper and sometimes, their confidant.

There’s a large learning curve to the job. When I was new, I made more than my fair share of mistakes.

You cannot forget that word “assistant” in your title. Though you have access to every aspect of your boss’ life, you’re not an executive. Your thoughts, your feelings, and your opinions aren’t particularly important. Maybe one day your boss and you will forge some professional relationship and you’ll become more than an assistant. Until then, be quiet, listen, and make sure your boss looks good.

Your boss can ask you anything at any time and they don’t want to wait for an answer. Maybe it’s the name of an actor’s agent, or the shooting start time, or casting director’s cell number. You need to have all of this information ready.

The job requires long hours. You could be there late into the night. If you’re a clock-watcher, you’re doomed. I don’t mind the long hours because each moment is a chance to learn. It’s not that I have to stay until 2 AM because they’re still shooting, it’s that I get to stay.

Being flexible means your life plans take second place to the job. You will disappoint people because you will often have to blow off the 7:30 movie you planned or explain to your significant other that you’re working late, again.

Gatekeeping and Trust

With the hundreds of people associated with a network show, your boss is a wanted person. Everybody wants a piece of his or her time. Whatever issue they want to talk about, to that person, it’s the most important thing in the world.

It is your job to prioritize their day and protect their time so they can deal with more pressing matters. You’ll need to have a solid working knowledge of Hollywood and its players. Beyond knowing the names of cast, crew and executives on the show, you need to know who’s currently important in Hollywood. Is that person who just left word (industry term for leaving a message) a big movie producer or some no-name agent making unsolicited calls?

The relationship between showrunner and assistant requires trust. Since you are listening in on many of their calls, you’ll have experience with how the entertainment industry works. This also means that you’re privy to very confidential information. Subsequently, people on the show will try to buddy up with you to glean information.

A few years back, a young woman, brand new to Hollywood, somehow landed an assistant position at a major agency. At the end of her first week, she sent her hometown friends a breathlessly gushy e-mail about all the important people she’s met, and the juicy conversations she’s overheard. Unfortunately, she accidentally sent the e-mail to her the entire agency. She was fired on the spot.

The Good

For any open showrunner assistant gig, there might be 200+ applicants. It is the job that most assistants would kill for. Tourists pay fifty bucks a person to get a tour of where you work. You’re surrounded by celebrities. If you freeze your DVR, you might see your name in the end credits. You get to go to various parties and drinks with other assistants. You get free show presents such as sweatshirts, DVDs, screening tickets and so on. Plus, the pay isn’t that bad.

You’re in proximity to brilliant writers, directors, actors and other industry professionals. When my boss was hiring a writing staff for his show, I was able to get a first-hand look at how he, the studio, and the network, selected the staff. Those lessons will be beneficial when I’m going out for a job as a staff writer, which is my next career goal.

Not all showrunner’s assistants want to write. Some want to direct, produce, or work as a studio executive. Whatever your aspirations might be, this job can help you get there but it doesn’t guarantee that you will. If you don’t make the most of the opportunity, it can pass you by. This job, no matter how cool it is, should be a springboard and not an ultimate destination.

The Bad

There are some weeks when I’m just praying for it to be Friday. Beyond the long hours, the job is extremely fast-paced and very stressful. There are times I feel as though I’m drowning in work and my “To Do List” is growing infinitely.

Sometimes, what your boss is asking for may seem impossible. A friend of mine received a phone call at three in the morning. His boss was in New York City and wanted a private plane to fly him back to Los Angeles at 8 AM. That gave my friend two hours to locate a plane, a pilot, and get his boss on the plane. Somehow he got it done. When his boss arrived to work, my friend was treated with no fanfare. What he did was difficult and impressive but that’s the job. Your boss doesn’t need to thank you, or acknowledge a job well done. This is what you signed up for. If you’re a person that needs constant praise, this job may not be for you.

One executive I know described the assistant-showrunner relation this way: “You’re sort of like my fridge. I just expect it to work.”

From the second my boss walks in the door, to the moment work is done (not when he leaves because your responsibilities will keep you in the office long after your boss leaves) you have to be ‘on’ constantly.

Have you ever been to the circus and saw a juggler juggling fifteen sharp knives? Well, sometimes my job feels that way. Most days start off with my boss rattling off things we need to get done. “Jonny, did we call this person?” “Jonny, are we shooting on the location next Thursday?” “Jonny, can you get my car washed?” “Jonny, did you schedule that meeting?” “Jonny, did you read the pages that came out last night?”

Do your job, wear a smile, and don’t whine. When I first moved to LA, a friend who is a successful writer on a famous show offered me some advice. I asked, “What makes a good assistant?” He answered, “Just shut the fuck up and do your job.” It’s some of the best advice I’ve ever received.

Oh, and you should write, too

The most challenging part of the job happens when the day is over. After a fourteen-hour day of phone calls, endless questions, boring reading, and double-checking schedules, you’re fried. Here comes the second part of the job -– the part where you go home and practice your craft.

There is no such thing as a career assistant in Hollywood and no one is going to promote you to staff writer because you’re really good at rolling calls. You need to be really good at writing. Writing is the only credential that matters.

When you finally get home, you are in complete control of your career destiny. At the end of these long days, writing is the last thing you want to do. Motivating yourself to write in the wee hours, and knowing that you need to get up early to do it all over again, is really difficult. However if you’re serious about making the leap from a Hollywood assistant to a Hollywood writer, you’ll find the time.

It can be tempting to want to share your work with your boss, but there’s an appropriate way and an inappropriate way of advancing your career. The first few months is not time to ask for your boss to read your script. The absolute worst thing you could do is go behind your their back and ask one of their colleagues for a read of your script. The dynamic is akin to any relationship that takes time and trust. Use common sense before you call in any favors. The safe route would be to wait until boss offers to read your script.

Speaking of script, I should really get back to this spec script I’m writing.

Everyone says having your show cancelled is like a death but I’ve been dead before and at least when you’re dead you don’t get thrown off the Warner Bros. lot for haunting your old parking space. They probably mean it’s like the death of a friend or a family member but that shit only hurts when it’s YOUR friend or family member and even then it’s mitigated by age, lifestyle and whether that person was a Hollywood friend or a real one and whether that family member left you money.

Losing your show is more like a surprise divorce where you get served papers in the morning and your (ex)wife is fucking Human Target by three in the afternoon using the same time slot your child was conceived in and also where she did that one thing that one time on your birthday.

Josh’s post are so long and so infrequent he’s more an essayist than a blogger. Still, we should cherish what we get. Read the whole thing.

Do you know of any? It seems everyone I see only accepts ‘original’ material.

– Matisse

Two reasons:

1. Apples to Apples. With an adapted screenplay, it’s not altogether obvious what awesomeness came from the screenwriter, and what came from the underlying material.

2. Legal Awkwardness. Let’s say a screenwriting competition gives first place to an adaptation of the third book of the Twilight series. Do you think Stephanie Meyer (or her business people) would be delighted?

One exception to all of this: television. Writing spec episodes of current television series is an accepted industry practice, and several competitions feature this, including Austin.

An absolute gold mine. If you’re thinking about writing TV, clear your schedule and start reading. (Thanks to Jim Campolongo for the link.)

But as a consumer of content, I would love it. That’s why studios, networks, guilds and operators need to keep working on ways to make it legal and cheap to watch any show, any time.

They just need to call it what it actually is: video on demand.

Much of the criticism in the ensuing comments came from one Anonymous poster, who claimed he wasn’t a lawyer, but sure wrote like one. And he didn’t deny that he worked for Cablevision, so it’s no surprise he had a strong opinion and very specific knowledge of the legal proceedings thus far:

If you read the 2nd Circuit holding you will see that it is simply not the case that the holding could inadvertently extend to the very different system you imagine. If the Supreme Court hears the case, neither will their holding inadvertently extend to completely different systems. Agree with them or not, the justices are hardly a group of fools. The Court is certain to tailor the decision quite deliberately.

That the system you imagine is achievable is irrelevant. Cases get decided based on the facts of what parties actually do, not based upon completely different facts that others concoct, regardless of whether those concocted facts are achievable.

But of course, the point of a blog is conjecture and analysis. And the job of a screenwriter is to ask what-if questions. What if the Yellowstone supervolcano exploded? What if monsters were afraid of us? What if SkyNet developed consciousness?

I’m certainly not qualified to argue about the language of the 2nd Court holding. But I’m very qualified to ask what-if questions. Nothing about the system I outlined in my original post is crazy. In fact, it’s all so reasonable that it seems very likely to be implemented, if not by Cablevision, then by another provider.

Anonymous continues:

Let’s also remember that even when major changes are faced, the only thing that can be assured is that there will be widespread predictions of doom. Doom actually occurring is much less frequent. The Betamax case is an excellent example of such a change that spawned similar predictions of doom for the film and television industry, yet went on to have the exact opposite effect, vastly increasing revenues into that industry.

Revenues increased because copyright holders suddenly had an entirely new market for their product, which had hitherto been sitting on a shelf. The system I foresee Cablevision building wouldn’t create a new market. It would redefine an existing market (video on demand) and let them keep the profit for themselves.

I disagreed with almost everything Anonymous wrote, but it was a pleasure having such an eloquent spokesperson for the other side. I was serious when I said he/she needed to get a blog of his/her own.

Sérgio Carvalho wonders if we’re just putting off the inevitable:

You do understand that if personal DVRs are allowed, forbidding Cablevision’s “community disk” is a stopgap measure. It buys about ten to fifteen years. Moore’s law (applied to physical storage) coupled with codec evolution means personal DVRs will reach a virtually unlimited storage capacity at some point in the near future.

There’s a big difference between unlimited storage capacity and unlimited access to all television aired. Even if you had an infinitely big hard drive, you couldn’t simultaneously record every channel; there isn’t an infinitely big cable coming into your house. No matter what the storage capacity, a personal DVR is still limited to recording those things you’re interested in, or think you might ever be interested in.

Nick offers a perspective from north of the border.

In fact, in Canada, where the laws are different (though no less draconian in several ways) many cable companies are already offering a service like this: you can watch any show in an on-demand fashion if it is currently airing, but eventually those shows cycle out of your list of available shows.

The U.K. has a similar system, and it sounds useful. It’s the kind of thing networks and providers can offer jointly, with profit for both. While some WGA’ers disagree with me, I think it’s reasonable to define a window of time in which an episode is considered “new,” and doesn’t require any additional payment.¹

No matter what happens with the Supreme Court case, I think you’re going to see the clash between networks and providers become a much more public brawl in the next few years. Recently, Viacom threatened to pull 19 channels from Time Warner Cable when they couldn’t reach a deal. They played rough, with print ads featuring a crying Dora, and ultimately got the deal done.

If a company like Viacom decided they didn’t want their channels recorded on Cablevision’s DVR service, they could make that part of the deal — or walk. Cable isn’t a monopoly anymore. While Viacom would lose a lot of money, they don’t need one cable company as much as that one company needs them.

But again, the smarter solution is to work together find ways to let consumers watch any show at any time for the right price. Sure: easier said than done. But that’s the only way to ensure sustainability.

1. To me, the window is a week. Maybe ten days.

Thinking about director Kim Manners, I wanted to share a scene of his I really loved from the 2003 pilot for Alaska. Kim loved a gunfight, and I felt lucky to watch him put it together.

As a wrap present, Kim gave me Connie’s crayon drawing, nicely framed. It’s hanging in my office, over my TV.

“Two cameras, no waiting!” he’d holler with delight as he found a spot to grab a simultaneous close-up. After a take, he’d glance over at me. Did I want another take? I could always find something I’d tweak, but Kim was smart enough to understand that TV doesn’t dick around getting everything just so. You make your days so you can make your show.

The series didn’t get picked up, and everyone went their separate ways. Yet of all the directors I’ve sat next to, I probably learned the most from him over those twelve cold days and nights in Vancouver. I regret not having the chance to tell him that.

By the accounts I’ve read, he was doing what he loved quite close to the end. That’s something we should all get. My sympathies go out to his family and the folks at Supernatural.