f you've read all 22—or even any two—of these columns, you could easily get the impression that I and the people I work with and quote here are an unhappy lot. That we are relentlessly critical of the entertainment business. That for us the philosophical choice is not between a glass that is half-full or half-empty, but between a glass that is half-empty, and one that is smashed on the floor.
That we hate our lives in Hollywood.
Well, it's just not true. Some of us have great situations. I mean, look at David E. Kelley, the creator, writer and producer of such series as Picket Fences, Ally McBeal, The Practice and Boston Public. Mr. Kelley is talented, he's revered by the actors he writes for, he's honored by his peers and his audience, he's rich and he's married to Michelle Pfeiffer.
Now, we all can't be David E. Kelley (though God knows, some of us have tried; sorry about those letters, Ms. Pfeiffer).
But many of us find ourselves with jobs that are not only lucrative, but fun in a way that you don't find in, say, business, politics or education.
In Hollywood, you can find the best job on the whole planet.
Casting about for outer beauty
For example, if you are a heterosexual male of any age, you could hope to have a job casting a series like Cleopatra 2525 or, now that that's gone, V.I.P. It is one of the realities of the entertainment business—and here I'm including advertising and fashion as well as movies and television—that beauty sells. It is the rare television series that doesn't depend on this principle. And don't be thinking sci-fi series are immune. Prosecution cites the case of Star Trek: Voyager and the addition of Seven of Nine. And I just spent a week watching Lucy Lawless slide naked into a swimming pool in promos for an upcoming X-Files.
Series tend to have female guest stars, usually on a weekly basis. (In fact, I've heard this category of guest star referred to as "the girl of the week.") So what could be more fun than being in charge of finding that female guest actress of the week? Of being forced to sit through readings
by at least a dozen candidates for each episode, each candidate more attractive than the last? And getting paid to do so?
(I'm sure that casting hunky, handsome and/or sensitive men for an action series or soap has equal appeal to some; adjust accordingly.)
Surely casting could be a candidate for the best job on the planet.
I also have a friend who does voice-overs—feature film trailers, promos for networks, commercials. His clients send a car to pick him up ... drive him to a comfy studio, where he performs for a few hours. Then he returns to one of his many homes with a paycheck. Another good job.
What about writing, since that is, theoretically, the focus of this column? Well, I've already mentioned Mr. Kelley, but he is one of the hardest working people in show business, often writing two scripts a week for his series. The best job in the world shouldn't require that much hard work.
I know a few writers who have found themselves working as collaborators for noted film directors. These writers do first drafts and rewrites, sometimes in the same room as their director-partners, often not. Granted, the creative freedoms are hard to find in being (and this is not my phrase) a "director's pet," but, frankly, are they any more limited than being a freelance writer for films? And, unlike the director, you don't have to get up early in the morning to stand on a location set in the freezing rain.
All of these are fun, but, for me, the best job on the planet has to be editing.
Hollywood puts down the razor
I wouldn't have said this 15 years ago. In those dear, dead days, the mechanical process of editing involved the physical cutting and splicing of a work print. Not only did you have to have the sense of drama, pace and tempo that makes a good editor, you also had to have good motor skills.
Forget the razor blades and tape. Now the only physical skill you need to edit is the ability to click a mouse. At its highest level, it is using a system like Avid or Lightworks. Heck, you can do this at home with an iMac.
These days, every take of a scene, every angle, can be loaded onto a CD and displayed—all of them—as thumbnails on a single screen. You can instantly select the order in which they will appear, or rearrange it with another few clicks. You can change wider coverage to a close-up in seconds ... and, if you don't like it, go back. Or to something else.
You can knock frames off the beginnings and ends of takes with complete ease. You can steal an actor's reading from one angle and lay it over another. You can call up a music CD and create a temporary score.
I can remember the staggering amount of time and labor it took to transform raw dailies into decent work prints, much less final, full-scored prints. Now it can be done in a fraction of the time, and it feels like playing a game.
I know that being an editor requires an artist's eye, and for those who will be locked in a bay with a "visionary" director, a good deal of patience.
I also know that casting, doing voice-overs and writing can be hard work, too. But the potential for fun is greater in editing than in any other job I know, especially if you are, at heart, a storyteller. Telling stories is all about making choices, like answering the question "Who is telling this story?"
True, you aren't present at the creation of the sounds and sights you edit—but that's the only drawback to this job.
See for yourself. Last week, Twentieth Century Fox released the DVD version of Planet of the Apes. Included in it? A whole section of takes that you can edit yourself!
Why write when you can play?
Michael Cassutt clings to his day job as a writer, with scripts in the works for MTV, Nickleodeon and FBC, and the paperback edition of his novel, Red Moon, forthcoming from Tor in January 2002.
