Ten Favorite Films of the 1930s (019)

I realize you didn’t ask, but I figured I’d tell you. This should give you an idea of the films that have influenced me as a writer. The list factors in nostalgia. There might be films with superior creative merit left off the list, but these are some of the films that meant the most to me. I reserve the right to change my list at anytime. Eventually I will try to come up with a list for every decade and maybe even go back to the ‘20s.

In order to narrow down the list, I installed the rule that directors are only allowed to appear on the list once. Also, even though different people directed Marx Brothers films, I could only use one. By the way, Groucho and I share the same birthday (the day, not the year).


Here is the list in chronological order with the director included:

1. M (1931) - Fritz Lang
2. City Lights (1931) - Charlie Chaplin
3. The Thin Man (1934) - W.S. Van Dyke
4. A Night At The Opera (1935) – Sam Wood
5. The 39 Steps (1935) - Alfred Hitchcock
6. My Man Godfrey (1936) - Gregory La Clava
7. Bringing Up Baby (1938) - Howard Hawks
8. Holiday (1938) - George Cukor
9. Ninotchka (1939) - Ernst Lubitsch
10. The Rules of The Game (1939) - Jean Renoir

What am I forgetting?

It Happened One Night (1934) is a close runner up, but I could only choose one George Cukor film and it had to be Holiday.

I'm suddenly feeling compelled to condemn the frivolity of top ten lists. I will resist.

Rejected ! (018)

I was recently rejected from an Adler Weiner focus group. As a writer, I am rejected on a daily basis. I have multiple scripts floating around in the film world, so every day that my scripts aren't sold is a day I am rejected. I should be used to it by now, but I'm not going lie, getting rejected by Adler Weiner kind of hurt.


I had my heart set on that cushy hour long focus group. The job would have paid a whopping $100. That would have been the highest hourly wage I ever made. The criteria was simple: Own a Hyundai Elantra or any of the other ten cars from their list. I passed that test and was immediately put through to the official phone interview. My interviewer was very excited as I answered each and every question promptly and correctly. She even offered the occasional overly-impressed, "VERY GOOD," like one might say upon discovering their toddler completed a puzzle recommendation for older children. I have to admit, the questions weren’t very difficult. Samples: How old are you? What is your profession? What are your hobbies? Apparently a writer that plays basketball and drives a Hyundai Elantra was exactly what Adler Weiner was looking for. WriterGuy and Adler Weiner seemed to be a match made in heaven. I even made a workplace appropriate joke about Los Angeles and electric cars that resulted in belly laughs on both ends of the telephone.

Then came the final question. My interviewer asked that I take the following and rank them in order of importance when buying a new car:

Price, MPG, User Recommendations, Safety, Quality, Style.

I assumed my answer wouldn't really matter considering how close we had become over the past ten minutes. Still, I might as well take a moment to give Adler Weiner the thoughtful answer they deserved. I ranked them like this:

Quality, Safety, Price, MPG, User Recommendations, Style

Ms. Adler Weiner quickly responded, "Mmmm. I see. Well, you're not right for this but thanks for your time." CLICK.

What?! What did I do? What did I say? What could the right answer have been? I was totally going to put "MPG" before "Price" but I switched it at the last minute. That must have been my error. I was filled with rage and confusion. I had opened up to my interviewer. I told her about myself and my economic status. By ranking what I look for in a car, I told her what I value. I even told her a joke. She strung me along, making me feel like she was genuinely interested in me. Then she hung up with a feeble apology and no explanation. I felt cheap, used and a little dirty.

You know what, even if I knew the correct answer, I wouldn't have changed my ranking. I stand by my belief in quality over style. If Adler Weiner doesn't want my unprofessional opinion for auto industry market research, then they don't deserve it. Ok, that's a lie. I would have changed my answer for $25, nevermind $100. I rue the day you came into my life Adler Weiner! ... whomever you are.

Writers Audition Too (017)

The writing schedule for the PT script is officially defunct. Wednesday was meant to be the deadline for the 2nd draft. Unfortunately, I only have a first draft of the first act complete. It isn’t for lack of writing. In fact, WriterGal and I have been very busy of late. In my previous entry, I mentioned that we would be meeting with a company as a writing team. That meeting led to a very busy (albeit unpaid) week of writing.

We’d had meetings about our pilot(SP1) before, but those were very specific, having to do with that particular project. This meeting was to be more of a “meet and greet.” The company we met with has some projects in development and they are looking for writers for those projects. Our pilot impressed them enough to want to meet us and see if we were possibly right for one of their projects.

The offices of this production company are in a historic, art deco building in the heart of Hollywood, a block away from the famous Capitol Records building. The lobby alone may have been a bit intimidating if we had time to stop and take it in. We were on the verge of being late, so we signed in and sprinted to the elevator. In the offices, the receptionist offered us water, which we accepted. Moments later, the director of development greeted us and brought us into an open office space featuring picture windows that looked down on all of Hollywood.

Our interview as a writing team went as well as can be expected. The director of development praised the pilot that we wrote and asked a bit more about our process. Having never actually sat down and written a script together, I think we did a pretty good job convincing her that we are a well oiled writing machine. She told us about a couple of projects they had and were looking to find writers for. Two in particular she thought might be up our alley. She pitched us these projects and asked if we would be interested in giving our “take” on the projects. We said we certainly would.

Our "take” may sound simple, but it is in fact, our “audition” for the writing job. This company isn’t going to pay a writing team without a reputation, (just like a film isn’t going to cast an unknown actress) unless we can prove to them that they will get their money’s worth. So, our "take” translated to a detailed treatment of the film we would write if given the opportunity. We spent all of last week coming up with our concept for the film and turning it into a concise and entertaining ten-page document. We submitted that document on Friday and hope to hear back soon. This week we will do the same thing for the second project.

Writing as a team presented some challenges. I’ve been writing alone for a long time now and I have a way of doing things that isn’t always conducive to collaboration. We hit certain roadblocks in the process that made me seriously question whether or not we would be able to pull it off. Thankfully, we addressed our problems as they arose and powered through our frustrations. In the end, I found that a writing partner made me work harder and faster. I was forced to defend my decisions and I was able to more quickly let go of my bad ideas. WriterGal and I are happy with the results and are looking forward to the next project.

Writing Team (016)

I’ve always wanted to have a writing partner. Setting out to write a new script is daunting, so the idea of having someone else doing half the work is appealing. I want that partner to bounce ideas off, to tweak dialog with and to push me forward when I think I’ve hit a wall. And in the end, if the script sucks, at least I would have someone else to blame.


Seriously though, I think I would make a good writing partner. I’d give equal to what I take, I’d be willing to compromise and I would not be afraid to take a stand. A writing team is a relationship. I’ve always been a relationship guy (three relationships totaling ten years), so I’m surprised that it has taken me this long to find a writing partner.

I wasn’t looking for a writing partner. In fact, I didn’t realize I had a writing partner until my manager scheduled an interview for my writing partner and me. You see, I wrote a TV pilot based on my girlfriend’s one-woman show. This TV pilot impressed a development executive at a production company. This executive has a project that requires a strong female voice and she likes our project enough for an interview. Suddenly, my girlfriend (henceforth known as WriterGal) and I are going out for an interview as a writing team.

This development has left me both excited and nervous. Is it really wise to add the stresses of a work relationship to the stresses of a romantic relationship? Many people warn against mixing business with pleasure. Others, however, find comfort in working with the person they love. My inclination is that the experience will be both trying and rewarding. I might need to exercise my patience to a new extreme, but if we can transfer our compatibility as a couple to our work, then we will be in pretty good shape. Our shared sense of humor, coupled with WriterGal's training as a comedian and my training as a screenwriter, could potentially yield some highly satisfactory results.

Writer Being Manny (015)

Some people believe that success in any business requires starting from the bottom and working your way up. The path might be unpredictable, but eventually you get where you want to go. You learn on the job, where you develop and refine your skills. Sometimes you discover that what you really want is different than what you planned, but ultimately just as fulfilling.

For the most part, I agree with this philosophy and I believe it can be applied to my field. There are many writers who get their start as a writer’s assistant (WA). I have more than one friend that went from getting coffee to pitching story ideas to writing their own episode of a TV show. In many ways, it appears to be the perfect job to ensure I reach my goals. On the other hand, WA days are long, leaving little time to work on my own material. At the end of the day, there would be no guarantee that the job would lead to career advancement. Even if it did, I might find myself writing for a television show that I hate. When that show gets cancelled three years down the line I could be back at square one.

I still believe that my greatest asset is good material. The more good writing samples I have, the better chance I have of writing before thirty. I’ve only been pondering the pros and cons of being a WA because writing full time without getting paid has resulted in a severe lack of monetary funds. I’ve already passively started looking for WA jobs. They are coveted and not easy to come by. Despite my reservations, if I am offered a WA job, I will take it.

Until then, out of fear of not making next months rent, I am forced to take whatever job presents itself, even if it has nothing to do with writing and even if it means falling behind in my writing schedule. I call these non-writing jobs, “Rent Jobs.”

I have a love/hate relationship with “Rent Jobs.” I absolutely depend on them to survive but I despise them for delaying my larger goals. I’ve had all sorts of “Rent Jobs” in the past few years. Some of the jobs have been film related. I’ve worked as an office PA and as a set PA. I’ve worked in the art department, the props department, the lighting department, and even the wardrobe department. I’ve shot behind the scenes material for independent films, I’ve shot and edited wedding videos, and I have been the personal assistant to a film director.

Other jobs have been completely unrelated to the film business. I’ve catered weddings, I’ve stuffed goody bags for an alcohol promotion party, and I’ve worked a security detail at a cemetery with go-go dancers. I helped load buses during The Kid’s Choice Awards, I’ve worked as a “facilitator” at pharmaceutical trade shows, and I’ve driven around town hanging up posters for a skateboarding exhibition. I’ve moved things, cleaned things, built things and dismantled things. Though most of these jobs pay terribly and completely disregard my college education, I am extremely grateful to all my employers for helping me keep from getting evicted.

This past week I started a new “Rent Job.” I am a nanny for a 7-year-old boy in my neighborhood. My actor friend makes a living as a nanny (he prefers the term Manny) and he was nice enough to pass some extra work my way. As far as “Rent Jobs” go, this one isn’t so bad. I actually have more in common with a 7-year-old than I’d like to admit. I’m also learning a lot about childcare. For instance, young children don’t really understand sarcasm. They just think you are being a dick, which I suppose I was. Childcare lesson #1: Don’t be a dick.


I’ve also learned that children don’t want to do anything that Harry Potter doesn’t do. Luckily, I am aware of Harry Potter’s likes and dislikes. For instance, Harry Potter likes taking his shoes off when he gets in the house and Harry Potter likes washing his hands before eating lunch. Harry Potter dislikes kicking his Manny in the shin and Harry Potter dislikes using a Super Soaker in the living room. Childcare lesson #2: Ask yourself, WWHPD?

I am even learning to be less competitive. We play all sorts of games, but I am especially competitive when it comes to feats of dexterity. (By the way, “Feats of Dexterity” is in competition with “Stone Fruit Season” to become my band name, if I ever start a band.) Seriously though, from finger football to “Whack a Mole,” I am a sore loser. This is one of the things a 7-year-old and I have in common. We both dislike playing games we are not good at. I don’t want to play Star Wars on the Wii and he doesn’t want to have a three point shooting contest on a ten-foot hoop. Childcare lesson #3: Let them win… once in a while.

I’m sure my job as a Manny won’t be my last random “Rent Job.” Then again, if I can find a way to keep up with my writing schedule while working as a nanny, it could be a perfect solution for the time being. If I could write all morning, and take care of a kid after school for a few hours, it could be adequate to pay rent. But is the extra writing time achieved by working as a nanny really more beneficial than the connections and experience of working as a WA?

What I would really like is to sell a screenplay or be commissioned to write a script so I can stop worrying about “Rent Jobs.” I go to Doylestown, Pennsylvania for a wedding next week. When I return I have an introductory meeting with a film company looking to develop a new project. Hopefully I can convince them that my writing talent is exactly what they need for their film. If not, maybe they will have a young child that needs a babysitter.

You’ve Got To Be Kidneying Me (014)

I am pleased to inform you that a reader recently praised Write Before Thirty, calling it “totally raw and humble.” Drawing attention to this compliment surely negates it, but I find it to be an appropriate description of today’s entry. You see, this blog is about to get more raw (rawer?) than it has ever been as I transcribe one of the most humbling experiences of my life.

Reader discretion advised.

According to my original schedule, I am supposed to have 90 pages of my PT script completed by this evening. That’s not going to happen. There are many factors that can get in the way of a writer reaching his deadline. Writer’s block is a big reason, but a funk was not my problem this week. The need to take on a paid, non-writing job, is another factor, but that wasn’t the issue either. During the past week my writing has taken a backseat to my backseat. Yes, there’s a reason I am writing this while lying down in bed and that reason is not laziness. Ok fine, there are two reasons why I am writing this from bed and one of those reasons is not laziness.

Confused? Let me start from the beginning. I went to bed on Monday night feeling pretty grand. I had a perfectly adequate writing day and was looking forward to waking up early for another productive morning. Well, the night had a different set of plans. I dreamt that I was fighting in a war and some guy that I formerly suspected of having a thing for my girlfriend had poisoned me. The poison was taking effect and my organs were failing. It was painful. When I woke up from the dream, the pain did not go away. I was fevering and I was aching all over, especially in my lower back. Of course, I immediately assumed that I had H1N1, but after speaking with my girlfriend’s dad (who happens to have an MD at the end of his name) I decided it was just a virus. Look, I’m not exactly the toughest cookie. You probably know that because I say things like “toughest cookie.” Well, I tried to get in front of the computer and do some work but it wasn’t happening. When I get sick, I don’t write. I whine and complain and I do a lot of moaning. So that is what I did on Tuesday.

Hoping that the virus would be a 24hr bug, I still planned to get a good deal of work accomplished when I woke up on Wednesday. There are a couple of things you never want to see when you wake up in the morning. A severed horse head tucked under the sheets is one of those things. The other is blood in your urine. Have you ever had the pleasure of seeing blood in your urine? This was my first time, but there is certainly something in the human body that instinctively sounds an alarm when it sees something very wrong. For instance, when I broke and dislocated my left index finger, I immediately knew that my finger was not meant to rest at a 90-degree angle in that direction, so my instincts took over and forced my finger back into the socket. Well, when I saw blood where blood was not supposed to be, I instinctively went back to bed and pretended it never happened. I later asked my girlfriend if it would "hypothetically" be weird if I were "hypothetically" pissing blood. Well, she instinctively called Dr. Dad and Dr. Dad instinctively told me to get my ass to the ER.

I spent 8 hours in the ER on Wednesday. 3 hours in the morning to get a kidney infection diagnosis from a lousy doctor, then 5 hours in the evening to get the same diagnosis from a better doctor, this time with a CAT scan. Last year I was diagnosed with hyperparathyroidism, a benign tumor on one of my parathyroid glands, resulting in elevated calcium levels. This calcium can accumulate in the kidneys and cause stones. I had the diseased parathyroid removed but dormant kidney stones could plausibly still be moving around and causing a blockage. A CAT scan would show if I had stones.

Along with death by drowning and clowns, kidney stones is one of my greatest fears. Multiple people I know have had kidney stones and their accounts couldn’t have been more chilling. I was told, though I’m pretty sure the guy couldn’t prove it, that passing a kidney stone is more painful than giving birth. Another friend put it, in all seriousness, “You know, I’ve never been shot, but I can’t imagine it would hurt any worse.” The CAT scan showed that I did not have kidney stones. Disaster avoided. I was given antibiotics and told to follow up with an urologist.

The ER recommended a urologist but he wasn’t covered under my insurance, so I went to the best place to get a recommendation… the young producer. For some reason the young producer is able to recommend any kind of medical specialist or specialized lawyer in the LA area at the drop of a hat. It took less than three seconds for the young producer to recommend a good urologist. At the time I was still in so much discomfort that I didn’t laugh when I heard the doctor's name, which happened to be a synonym for testicle.

I sweated through two sets of sheets the night before going to see Dr. Testes. I’m pretty sure the sweats had to do with my fever breaking, but it may have also had something to do with dreading my visit to the urologist. I had heard some stories involving scopes and other contraptions and I wasn’t looking forward to the experience. Dr. Testes works out of a very large urology practice in an affluent part of town. The staff of receptionists, crammed side by side in their wood paneled fortress, answering phones and passing out paperwork was like a modern day version of the crowded but efficient switchboard operator rooms of the early days of telephones. I don’t know why, but I found this strangely comforting. I was also put at ease by no less than nine diplomas on the wall of Dr. Testes’ office. If you have five or more diplomas on your wall, I will trust whatever the hell you tell me. Dr. Testes and I were starting off on the right foot.

Dr. Testes said we would start with a urine sample. If I were still pissing blood he’d have to take a look at my bladder. That sounded like a fine idea, until he explained that he would have to take a look at my bladder through the tip of my willy. Fortunately, I was no longer pissing blood. Unfortunately, the exam did not end there. Certain moments in life you are sure to remember forever. For me, those include my first kiss, the day I met the love of my life, and then this past Thursday, the day I lost my anal virginity. It all happened so fast. Dr. Testes warmed me up with a little “head to the left and cough” foreplay before asking me to bend over the exam table. I only caught a glimpse of the tube of lubrication before I realized Dr. Testes was massaging my prostate. He was in and out in less than ten seconds. I smiled sheepishly as Dr. Testes handed me a couple of tissues and walked to the door. The following awkward exchange ensued:

Me: Are you leaving?
Dr. Testes: The technician will be right in to do an ultrasound of your kidneys and rectum.
Me: Oh. I see
Dr. Testes: You can pull up your pants now.
Me: I have to pee.
Dr. Testes: Use the small sink
Me: Seriously?
Dr. Testes: Yes.
Me: Thank you.
Dr. Testes: It's a urology office. That's why it's there.

I urinated in a sink for the first time since college. The technician then arrived, wheeling in the ultrasound machine. I was instructed to drop my trousers, lie down on the table, and face the wall in the fetal position. We made the prerequisite small talk before the technician unveiled his apparatus. I think his apparatus is best describes as looking like a large electric toothbrush.

The procedure took significantly longer than the finger technique. I assume it is necessary to get images from a number of different angles because there was a good deal of navigation going on. My memory of the event is cloudy, but I did discover my uncontrollable, pain-induced swear word. Hopefully the technician thought I was Australian and therefore using it as a term of endearment. When it was over, the technician politely cleaned me up and asked me to sit up so he could do an ultrasound of my kidneys. This was a much more relaxing experience and I wondered why we didn’t start there. As I pulled up my pants, I asked the technician if it was customary to tip. He laughed and went along his way. Typical.

I sat down with Dr. Testes and my girlfriend to receive the proper diagnosis: Prostatitis. That means I have a prostate infection. Such a tiny organ has been causing all these problems and preventing me from writing. Dr. Testes assured me that this type of thing is rather common, almost like getting a sinus infection. The treatment is thirty days of antibiotics with no sex for at least a week. I guess my girlfriend looked disappointed when he said this, so he reassured her, “Dear, you can do whatever you want.” I can’t believe he said that. You’d think he’d have my back after he... had my back. Oh, I also need to be on Flomax for a couple of weeks and I should probably be sitting on a donut. That’s right, a butt pillow, like the ones old people use when they get hemorrhoids. I don’t even know where to buy something like that. Maybe I can just use my girlfriend’s neck pillow.

People have always been telling me that I act older than my age. I guess this week I proved them right. A friend of mine (who has been through some similar medical experiences) lamented, “We’re the gazelles at the back of the pack.” I didn’t understand at first, but he went on to explain that we are genetically inferior and therefore the lions have an easier time snatching us up and devouring us. Encouraging.

Raw and humble or just plain embarrassing? I’m not really sure, but it has played at least a small factor in my struggle to reach my writing goals, so I am compelled to blog about it. Let’s hope that the antibiotics kick in and I’m back to full days of writing in the weeks to come. In the meantime, I'll be drinking plenty of water, watching movies, and complaining about painful urination.

The Study (013)

I may have given the impression that I have a proper office. That's not the case. I have a home office, or what one might refer to as "the study." I share this small study with my girlfriend.

My Office


My View