What Just Happened? by Art Linson

rolling. Even Mamet was looking at me peculiarly as if to say, ‘What exactly do
you
do for a living?’
    I took the hint.
    â€˜Well, Tom, Dave here has this good idea for a movie.’
    Tom, who was a mellow, diminutive sort, gave me a glance of ‘thanks for the help.’ Everyone’s patience was shaky. Introductory small talk at pitch meetings, especially when the parties are complete strangers, always disintegrates into a gooey, treacly mess. Tom put his fingertips together and placed them near his lips.
    â€˜So, c’n you tell me a little bit of what’s it about?’
    â€˜Indeed, I can.’ David starts in speaking at a rapid pace. ‘There’s this extremely wealthy and refined bookish man living in New York who is married and very much in love with a beautiful, young fashion model, who has an assignment to go on a photo shoot in the wilds of Alaska. The photographer, a dashing young up-and-comer, who will be doing the shoot knows the girl. She invites her husband to go—a get-outta-the-house sort of thing. We soon learn that there is some competition between the two men for the girl. In fact, the photographer has an agenda to maybe do away with our bookish gentleman, marry the model, and inherit the wealth. And our girl may be in on it. Before he gets a chance, however, the two men, while sightseeing for locations in a small plane, violently crash in the middle of no—’
    â€˜Could I stop you there for a second.’ Tom jumps in with an uneasy look on his face. David was just revving up.
    â€˜Am I going too fast?’
    â€˜No … it’s not that …’
    â€˜Is the setup clear?’
    â€˜I’m following you all right …’
    â€˜Perhaps I should start over.’
    â€˜No, not necessary.’
    â€˜Well, what’s the problem?’
    â€˜I just wonder if the smart fellow has to have so much money?’
    â€˜Huh?’
    â€˜You know, I’m worried.’
    â€˜You’re worried?’
    â€˜I’m concerned, that’s all.’
    Mamet shoots me a ‘Where do we go from here?’ glare.
    â€˜But they’re trying to get his money,’ I chime in, hoping David will stay in his seat.
    â€˜I know.’
    â€˜If he has no money, then there’s no sense in trying to get it, that’s the plot,’ I said, almost begging.
    â€˜Okay then, let me ask
you
, David, do
you
really think an audience can root for a guy who has money?’
    David waits for several seconds as if he were just asked to explain the concept of time in the universe.
    â€˜Yes.’
    For some reason this detour threw David and everyone else in the room into the wrong spin. The rhythm of the pitch had been inexorably altered. David’s spirit had darkened. Where were we? Should he start over? What were the rules? Finally, Tom took charge.
    â€˜All right then … let’s continue.’
    â€˜Um, well, then they run into a bear,’ David said quietly, ‘… and then they kill the bear.’ It was all that he could muster.
    After a long, clumsy pause, we all stood up. Tom thanked us and said he would get back to us as soon as possible. In Jacobson’s defense, one of the job descriptions of a film executive, I suppose, is to be mindful of what the audience wants. Unfortunately, no one except Jerry Bruckheimer seems to know what that is.
    In the hallway I couldn’t help but notice the poster of
The Poseidon Adventure
as we made our brisk walk through the building. The ad line at the top read, ‘Hell, Upside Down,’ while a giant crashing tidal wave was about to drown a cast of thousands.
    â€˜What just happened?’ David asked.
    â€˜I think it went well.’
    â€˜What’s it like when it goes bad?’
    â€˜They tell you
no
in the room.’
    Remnants of six freshly baked chocolate chip cookies, an Ivy at the Shore specialty, were scattered next to the bill. Jerry looked