This just in: I’ve just been informed that someone claiming to be Michael Pitt has sent word (again) that he will not be doing any press for Delirious. According to this “Michael Pitt” he was going to do press until he saw the fake video podcast we made in which Kieran Culkin agrees to play a character named Michael Pitt in order to do a great press opportunity for Delirious by appearing on Letterman.

I know this alleged “Michael Pitt” is an impostor. His real name is probably Michael Pite, or Mitchell Tipp or Mickey Pittle. The real Michael Pitt is more than smart enough to know that any press opportunities for him to help promote Delirious ended 3 months ago. In fact we have a very gracious letter from his agent/lawyer/life coach, dated June 11, 2007, that clearly states the real Michael Pitt would not be doing any press for Delirious. So, watch out the fake “Michael Pitt.” We’re on to you.

And now some apologies are in order. Apparently the folks at Gestation (a fictitious company) have taken offense at the way they (fictitious people) have been portrayed in several of the blogs. I take complete responsibility for this indiscretion and do hereby offer my sincere regrets.

First to “Arnold.” I am truly sorry for making you nothing more than a half-formed idea. I don’t know what I was thinking. It was wretchedly cruel of me to imagine you into life so incompletely. I don’t even know if you are young or old, black or white, thin or fat. “Arnold”, my deepest apologies. You do not exist. What fate could be worse? You have no company called “Gestation.” You have no vintage pinball machines in your non-existent office for “flair.” Alas, you have no flair.

You do have a “wife” but I’m sorry to say she is not losing weight. Perhaps of more immediate concern is the fact that she doesn’t have a face. I never got around to giving her one. I’m sorry.

And now, to “George.” It’s time to fess up. You do exist. You’re based on a gay man I knew once whom I liked a lot. I figured making you straight and giving you a wife would be the most foolproof way to keep people from ever suspecting you were actually Jorge Mipple from 17724 El Camino Drive, LA, CA. I’m sorry to out you like this Jorge but the time of lies and deceit is over.

You were the only one who actually had a film company though it’s real name was Turd de Force, not ”Gestation.” It was to this company that I first submitted Delirious in September of 2004. I was so impressed with your company logo I saved it. I present it now as proof of your existence and as a further expression of my admiration of its originality.

All of my revelations about your “character” were formed during my visits to your Los Angeles office where we discussed the script. You had a monkey; a spidery little ringtail named Cheeko who was so smart he could roll his poopies up into tight little balls and hurl them at people in the room.

Perhaps it was the repeated exposure to this unrelenting simian abuse that prompted my less than flattering portrait of you in some of the blogs. This is a miserable excuse but sadly it is the only one I can think of.  I state here publicly and without duress, that except for your being a prick, everything else I wrote about you was made up.

Actually, it was my friend Jimmy who said you were a prick but he’s made up too and he should know better.

So, let’s recap. There is no “Gestation”. There is no “Arnold.” There is a “George” but he’s really Jorge. There is a monkey. As for Jimmy, that issue is still being discussed by Dr. Owen and myself. Nonetheless I would ask my readers to rigorously bear these truths in mind whenever these fake characters have the nerve to reappear.

I’m back. Sorry about the delay. A week ago Delirious left all theatres in NYC. The reality of its departure shall we say, affected me. 

I’ve lived with this film for 6 years. Now that it is gone I’m experiencing an acute sense of loss. I know the reason why. I put everything I had into this movie. If I hadn’t it would never have gotten made. There were hundreds of times throughout the journey where anyone would have given up; I almost did myself. But something kept me going. And now it has become clear to me the more you invest in something the greater the extremes that accompany it; the joys are almost overwhelming—the disappointments cut like a knife to the heart.

Delirious played a month in NYC and a week in LA.  Say la vee, baby. Say la vee.

Going back in time to examine the origin of the screenplay has been both therapeutic and traumatic. Here’s an entry from my notebook as I started the 2^nd Draft:

 Nov. 12, 2002
What does Les WANT? The film should set it up immediately and drive him forward toward it. Meeting Toby advances him significantly. How? 

The questions are good; it is the date that staggers me. So, let’s stick with the questions. Looking back I realize that the core of the film was formed in the 1^st Draft and never changed. I’m not talking about the details of the plot but the most basic arc of events. I had two main characters, Les and Toby, and an important third one; K’harma—the pop star Toby falls in love with. The 1^st Draft made it clear the structure of the film was built upon Les and Toby’s relationship and how it is forever altered by Toby’s growing love for K’harma. 

The notes I received from my first readers prompted this realization: I needed to specify what each of these three characters wanted. I needed to look more clearly at all their interactions and make them at the least believable; at the most inevitable. This is the essential purpose of the 2^nd Draft. You emerge from the thicket and you see a little more clearly what you’ve stumbled upon. You see what you’ve accomplished that works and now you gather everything together and shape it to best serve this new image of The Script. 

A final note on the 1^st Draft: It is not a loose collection of half-baked thoughts and ideas. It is not a sketch; a Treatment is a sketch. The 1^st Draft should be written and presented as the clearest, most precise form of the script up to that particular point and time. You can’t be expected to solve all the problems in the 1^st Draft but you should not print it out and have people read it until you have at least attempted to address all the problems you are able to identify.

RULE # 11: Everybody Loves Somebody Sometime.
Dean Martin was right. Apparently he just never told Jerry Lewis.  

This is such a simple rule but it is one I keep remembering to forget. When I reread the script before starting the 2^nd Draft I was astonished to see how relentlessly unlikable Les Galantine was. Even though in my heart I’d already formed a great affection for him, in the SCRIPT there wasn’t a single scene that justified it. I’d made him a stray dog alright; but one with rabies.

Once I saw that, the solution became excitingly clear: find the moments where Les opens up as a character. Find the places where he lets his guard down, even if only for a moment. Find the moments where we see behind the bitterness, the anger, the disappointment and glimpse the real human being hidden there. In one instance it was as simple as writing a character into an existing scene that actually liked Les.

I created Muffy Morris, an aging publicist who although her star has long faded she feels a great fondness for Les because he still treats her as if she’s important. In this scene Les takes some photos at the D-List benefit Muffy is hosting (Soap Stars Against Sexually Transmitted Disease) and gives them to her for free.

INT. BENEFIT BANQUET HALL — NIGHT

Just then, MUFFY MORRIS (53) the Event Publicist, rushes up.  She’s a small, fragile woman with clothes and manner from an earlier decade.  She is genuinely delighted to see Les.

LES: Hey, Muffy!  How’s the sexiest Publicist in New York?

MUFFY: Now, you behave, Les. You’re lucky; you’ve got the place to yourself. That’s the Benefit Chairman and those two are Genital Epidemiologists from Atlanta.  Very VIP.  OK?  Go to town.

LES: Tell you what, Muffy; I’ll just walk around, get a few shots and you can have ‘em.

MUFFY: Non, non, impossible!

LES: Wee, wee.  I’m breakin’ in my assistant, we’re chowin’ down; you take the shots and place ‘em wherever you want.

MUFFY: You’re the best, baby.  First class, all the way.

As she hugs him Les rolls his eyes to Toby in mock exasperation.

The importance of this lesson was monumental. I realized even my most difficult character needed to provide some path of connection to the audience. This didn’t mean sugar-coating Les or pulling out his fangs. It actually meant making him more human; giving him the truthful complexities of real human behavior. In fact, I knew this already. Here’s another entry from my notebook that was written long before I even started the 1st Draft. It comes after a night I spent with Chester, the paparazzo I was following.

Feb. 12, 2001
Luca Luca Fashion Show at Bryant Park. As I waited to get in Donald Trump oozed by with someone’s pre-teen daughter on his arm. Suddenly I was grabbed roughly from behind by Chester pretending to be a bouncer about to throw me out. He’s utterly on at these things and he takes delight in having me there with him. We do have a good time together. I enjoy seeing him. He is extremely protective and supportive of me and in these moments genuinely likeable and endearing.

Now, this question: what does Les want? I confess I used to yawn at these kinds of questions, feeling, “What the hell, I’m a writer—I’m just going to write.” I still yawn at these questions but now I know why; they are very, very difficult to answer. Now I answer them. You should too. Contrary to local superstition this doesn’t make your writing more boring or analytical. In fact, your main characters may not even be able to verbalize themselves what they want. But, you as the writer should know it as clearly as you know the name of Paris Hilton’s dog.

After thinking for some time I determined this: Les wants Acceptance. Of course the level and intensity of this want are what made writing his character exciting. I decided Les wants Acceptance so much he’s willing to kill for it. Now that kept me going.

The 2^nd Draft showed me a similar need for dimension in Toby, the young homeless kid Les becomes close to. My original idea was that Toby stumbles into Stardom through luck and his instinctive good nature. But the trap here was that this made him too passive. He essentially just stood around waiting for things to happen to him. To keep his character alive I had to make him more active. In other words, what did Toby really want and what did he do to get it? I decided that Toby really wanted to be a Star.

Now, I still valued my original idea that he was not some self-centered jerk aggressively schmoozing his way into Fame. But this decision enabled me to make him more active. By adding a element of complexity to his character he began to emerge as a quiet manipulator who could turn things to his own advantage simply with a smile. He wasn’t just a good-looking innocent. Now he was working it; just doing it in his own way.

RULE # 12: It Ain’t What You Say, It’s What You Do.
A simple action can say more about a character than a 15 page confession. Audiences are watching as well as listening. Visual information is actually a form of dialogue between the filmmaker and the audience.

This discovery with Toby’s character prompted two changes in the 2^nd Draft. One was giving Toby the natural ability to fix things. He takes great pleasure in it. It also ingratiates him to the people he thinks can help him. Here is a scene the morning after Les first allows Toby to crash in his apartment.

INT. LES’ APT. — CONTINUOUS

Les staggers out of his bedroom and stares in surprise at Toby, cheerfully exercising on a wobbly stationary bike.

TOBY: Hey, man.  I fixed your bike.  The chain fell off.

Les notices only then his whole place has been cleaned up.

LES: Why’s it so hot in here!?

TOBY: Oh, I fixed your radiator.  The valve was painted shut.  And I grabbed a shower; I hope you don’t mind.  I unclogged your tub.  It’s drainin’ good now.

LES: What the fuck are you talkin’ about?!

TOBY: What?!

LES: You think I’m gonna pay you for this shit?!

The other change was more specific to Toby’s rising stardom; he steals some of Les’ lines. Like many “small” people who feel utterly insignificant Les goes around spouting his own personal Philosophies about the world. Most of them are meaningless retreads he tries to take credit for. But, I wanted to give him one or two that had at least a crumb of truth to them. One night when he and Toby are drinking beer together Les comes out with this pearl:

LES: You know what I’ve learned? A friend is just somebody sittin’ around waitin’ for a chance to start talking about themselves.

First of all Les doesn’t have a single friend in the world. Second, Toby has just been trying to tell Les about his own troubled past when Les interrupts him with this; effectively proving his own theory. And lastly, yeah—doesn’t it feel that way with some people? You’re trying to open up to them, tell them how you really feel and all they do is jump in the moment you stop and say, “Yeah, yeah, but what happened to me was…”

But, no matter how mundane Les’ observation, I felt it showed some originality. I’ve never heard anyone say it before. I like the fact that Les came up with this on his own. Toby likes it too. He likes it so much in fact that he steals the line and uses it to “improvise” when he lands a starring role on a reality TV show. The director of the show loves it too and applauds Toby’s brilliance in front of everyone. Here’s another interesting note I discovered in my notebook: 

 FEB. 2, 2003
Arranged a meeting with Buscemi and Michael Pitt at a coffee shop in Brooklyn. I was a few minutes late. I walked in and there were Steve and Michael already seated, talking intensely. Pitt wore a brown corduroy jacket, which was ripped through to the lining around the waist as if he’d been attacked by a wild dog. It was thrilling to see my actors together right in front of me. I do want to talk to Michael though about the character more. I want to make sure he recognizes the necessity of showing both sides of Toby; the homeless kid as well as the young man working to become a star.

 Apparently I didn’t take my own advice. FLASH FORWARD: Two years later, I was shooting a scene with Michael and Gina Gershon who plays his manager Dana; an ambitious woman genuinely in love with Toby. Michael was reluctant to commit to really kissing Gina, justifying his resistance by saying, “I’m still in love with K’harma.” This was throwing Gina off because she understandably felt without Toby’s reciprocal interest her advances on him made her look like she just had a thing for young boys.

I explained to Michael that even if Toby was still in love with K’harma, he could not let Dana know it. This was a woman who was not only steering him to Stardom but also giving him a place to stay since he’d run away from Les. Toby could not put all that in jeopardy by making Dana think he wasn’t attracted to her. “In fact,” I pointed out, “It’s very similar to the way Toby steals Les’ lines in order to get ahead.” 

Michael stared at me in confusion. “When does he do that?”

As alarmed as I was by his question, in hindsight I realized it was actually good Michael didn’t know he was stealing Les’ lines. It enabled him to play those moments completely innocent—just like all the best plagiarists. Still, I was a little astonished. Which leads to this rule:

RULE #13: Actors
Enough said. No, not enough said. If I ever get through this examination of the screenplay I’ll write about my fascination with these strange and mysterious creatures.

The 2^nd Draft also brought about the crystallization of K’harma’s character. I had many choices with her as the young, self-obsessed pop diva. The easiest path was satire and ridicule, which I guess was why I took this path in the 1^st Draft. Which of course lead to a character that was essentially a caricature and un-engaging on any emotional level.

K’harma too suffered from not being active enough. I said, “If she’s a pop star what would make her the most believable?” Actually singing a song; performing it in front of an audience. So, I made a decision about the level of actual talent she had and wrote not only a scene where she sings but also the lyrics and music for the song. It is called “Take Your Love And Shove It,” and it is one of my proudest accomplishments. It needed to be believable as a pop song but also just stupid enough to work with the film’s comedy. I’ve been told I succeeded on both levels. You can decide for yourself here.

The 1^st Draft took six months to write. The 2^nd Draft took about two. Again, I printed the script out, checked it for typos and sent it out to another group of readers. I got some more good notes but based on the strong reaction started sending it out to financiers. In the meantime I began a 3^rd Draft, cutting scenes, sharpening scenes, distilling the script even more. About halfway through I had to stop because I got the news that Scarlett Johansson had read the script (through my producer Bob Salerno) and was interested in playing K’harma. In February of 2004 I flew out to LA to meet her.

To my amazement Scarlett was completely normal. She also had some very astute ideas for K’harma. She said her favorite scene was when Toby tells Les about his troubles with his mother and reveals the truth about how he got the scar on his face. Scarlett said she wished there was a scene like that for K’harma. I agreed. It was a great note.

I instantly began thinking about the scene. It should enable her to reveal something to Toby she’s never revealed to anyone. It should be hard for her. The scene should struggle forward, not simply lay itself out. It should have the same conflict the scene with Toby and Les had. I was thinking so hard about writing the scene I barely heard Scarlett say she wanted to do the part. This entry from my notebook the day after should provide a glimpse into my state of mind.

FEB. 6, 2004.
Meeting with my agents Brett and Kandace at William Morris. Scarlett’s involvement seems to have motivated them. Much talk about how to proceed.

“Good,” Brett said, “Let’s talk about how to proceed. We need to keep the profile of the film high now because Scarlett is a client.”

“I’m a client,” I said, feigning offense, which was real so it prompted friendly laughter all around. The good news is that Scarlett has already called WM and told them she wanted to do the film.  

Salerno took me to a party at the Chateau Marmont that Michael Stipe was throwing for Naomi Watts in celebration of her Oscar nomination. The party was in a suite with a huge terrace overlooking Sunset Blvd. In the inky haze millions of lights flickered all the way to the horizon, each one someone’s silent, relentless dream of fame and stardom.

Met Naomi briefly. She was gracious but distracted, like a moth that had recently flown into a light of blinding intensity and was seeking it again. Went on a search for the bathroom. Opened a door to discover Cameron Diaz and Justin Timberlake standing in the semi-darkness of a bedroom. They jumped, rushed past me and fled out the front door like terrified birds.  Scarlett showed up. We greeted each other like old friends although we’d only met yesterday. She again stated her excitement about being in the film. She leaves tomorrow for Mexico. John Travolta is flying her, her mother, Barbra Streisand, Nick Cage, Julia Roberts, Pres. Clinton, Muhammad Ali, Elvis and Vanilla Ice to his private resort for his 50th birthday.

Right now you may be asking, “Tom’s got Scarlett Johansson, he’s got the 3^rd Draft of his script almost done—what the hell happened?”  Ah. Indeed–what happened. 

Alright. So now you’ve got your 1st Draft. Give yourself some credit. In fact, give yourself a lot of credit. I may have been exaggerating about the 42 million other screenwriters out there but I’ll tell you this much, at least 41 million have never finished a script and never will. Take yourself out to dinner. And if you’re feeling really good about yourself get someone else to pay for it.

Now, print the script out. Get it in your hands. Sit down with a pencil and simply proofread it. Most people reading a script will already make a decision about one infested with typos. They’ll say, “If this writer didn’t care enough to clean up their script then why should I care enough to read it?” And yuo’ve lost themm.

While you’re checking for typos if something stands out that can be changed simply and easily, do it. Then print the draft out again and make copies of it. Join the pages together. Never give a wad of loose pages to somebody. It’s a pain in the ass for the reader and it makes you and the script look unfocused.

Now you’re ready for that delightfully horrific experience of having people read what you wrote.

RULE # 7:  Choose your first readers carefully.
Chrissie Hynde said it first; “It’s a thin line between love and hate.” Actually, Somerset Maugham said it first in his 1941 novel The Razor’s Edge (thanks to Roy Bodner for this correction). Chrissie may be the better singer though.

This is why I tend to avoid family members when sending out my 1st Drafts. Maybe you have a wonderful, sharing relationship with your brother, sister, father or mother. Me, I don’t trust it. I find it much more beneficial to solicit feedback from people who have nothing at stake with me and aren’t still blaming me for setting fire to the couch.

Here’s why; the first impressions and reactions you get to your newborn and fragile creation carry tremendous power. If they’re coming from people who are jealous, resentful or in some tangled knot of competition with you they can be very destructive. Sometimes these people are knowingly destructive; sometimes they do it unconsciously. Either way, their interest is not in helping you.

Be self-assertive in seeking the best advisors. Give the script to people who really know you; who really value you. I know I sound like Chevy Chase in Caddyshack: “Be the ball, Danny. Be…be…be the ball.” But this is important. So much of what we allow ourselves to experience is based on guilt, obligation and fear of rejection. So frequently we keep returning to the same dried up well with some people, hoping against hope that maybe this time we’ll get that one little drop of water that will finally quench our thirst.

Well, fuck it. Go where the lights are green. I gave the 1st draft of Delirious to Steve Buscemi, my wife Jane, Marshall Brickman (screenwriter Annie Hall, Manhattan), Michael Caton-Jones (director This Boy’s Life, Rob Roy, Scandal), my producer and my manager. Some of them knew me well; some of them were only acquaintances. But I knew they would only be coming from one place–what they truly felt about the script.

Getting this objectivity from people is crucial because listening to criticism requires laying yourself open to new thoughts and ideas. Despite your initial expectation that the 1st Draft will be utterly perfect you’ll quickly see what it is–a 1st Draft. As such it needs, and is expected to get, an infusion of new ideas to move it further into clarity. If you feel people’s suggestions, for whatever reason, are accompanied by a desire to hurt you or see you fail then you can never fully be open to them. You will always be protective and wary.

Not good–for you or the script.

Even in the best circumstances your response to the initial wave of criticism requires an almost impossible balancing act. You need to be open. But you also need to be alert. You need to know very, very clearly what YOU think about what you’ve written. You need to know very clearly what you’re trying to do. Because sometimes, while you’re being open, someone will drive an opinion right into your face. They might even get angry with you for not agreeing with them. If you’re unsure about what you’re doing you might even be tempted to accept this person’s opinion simply because they’re so emphatic about it.

Don’t. Accept it only if you feel that it is true. So what’s the difference between being alert and simply being defensive? It all comes down to how you hear what is being said to you.

RULE # 8: The Golden Rule of Criticism.
People take an perverse delight in tearing things to pieces. We all know how good it feels to say, “What a fuckin’ piece of shit!” We know how easy and pleasurable it is to sneer, “I didn’t like it. This was stupid. That didn’t work. What the fuck were you thinking? Why don’t you get a real job?”

Most people think this is how you criticize. Rarely do we take the same pleasure in saying what we do like. Try it; you’ll see how hard it is. Here’s something harder; try talking about the things you like FIRST. It’s crazy how we just want to rush in and stomp on the things that we feel were less than successful. But just imagine if someone gave you criticism that paid equal attention to what worked as to what didn’t. Wouldn’t that make you listen a little more closely? Wouldn’t it make you a little more open? Wouldn’t it give you a little more respect for the words being spoken?

My Rule of Criticism is this: Put as much energy into describing the things you like as you do the things you don’t like.

This method is infinitely more effective. It requires real engagement from the critic; they can’t just stand half in the doorway and flick razor blades at you. This is the best kind of criticism you can get. Once you understand this you can start giving it yourself. And if you come across someone who doesn’t understand this you can calmly explain it to them. See that? You can use this Rule even in the way you criticize someone’s ability to criticize. And if they still act like jerks then go ahead and slap the shit out of them.

I’m not talking about feeding someone dainty bowls of phony sugarsap just so they won’t get upset and start crying and swearing they’ll never sleep with you again. I’m talking about identifying what works and appreciating it. That’s all.

Use this rule. Teach and encourage others to use it. It works; I’ve seen it a million times. It is a way of working. It is a way of life. Why am I wasting so much time on this? Because:

RULE # 9: Your growth as a writer mirrors your growth as a human being.
This may seem like, surreally true to you. Or it may seem like ethereal cereal to you. But I know this; Life throws everybody curveballs.

I don’t care if your parents were June and Ward Cleaver, every one of us has dense, deep knots of fear, anger, resentment and disappointment inside that clog us up and affect everything we do. Those knots need to be looked at and carefully untangled.

RULE # 10:  Your neuroses don’t make you interesting.
They make you boring. The clearer you are; the more unfettered, then the freer you will be. You want nothing holding you back.

I actually had someone come up to me once and ask, “A lot of my favorite writers were junkies or alcoholics. I’m thinking I should start shooting up because maybe it’ll like make me a better writer. What do you recommend?”

What do I recommend? I recommend you start a dog walking service, fuckwad.

If your overwhelming need is to be liked you will face great difficulties as a writer. If your writing is driven ONLY by your anger or your desire to prove something to someone–a parent, a brother, a sister, an ex-lover–you will face great difficulties. In either case you won’t be able to listen to yourself or to other people. Your work will remain one-dimensional. No matter what anyone tells you in Entertainment Weekly the greatest art springs from the joy of creation. I’m not saying it is all pink snowflakes and golden dewdrops. Pain and sorrow are crucial inspirations. Look at Van Gogh. But it is the level you allow yourself to feel these things, coupled with your genuine joy of creating that will lead you to the richest expression. This, and this alone, will make you interesting.

I was incredibly fortunate with my first group of readers. I didn’t take all their ideas but everyone gave me something I could use. Jane’s suggestions were in amazingly clear broad strokes. Marshall Brickman gave me some great details about sharpening Toby’s character and making him more active. Michael Caton-Jones turned me on to the idea of finding places to abruptly change the film’s style and rhythm.

As I mentioned in an earlier blog Buscemi did not respond right away. Despite my confidence in the script this greatly alarmed me. I’d written it for him. I thought he’d go crazy for it. After several weeks I called him and indeed he was not entirely taken in by the script. In my effort to make Les as realistic as possible I’d left out some of his humanity.

This was a great note from Steve. While he didn’t agree to play the part, he didn’t pull out either. In fact, his note showed me his toe was still in the water. And better, it inspired me to plunge back into the screenplay, eager to plant this seed.

Next: the 2^nd Draft and beyond.

This just in from Gestation: Nothing. For over a week; no emails, no phone calls–no nothing. I checked the weekly flyspeck of an ad in today’s NY Times to see if the film was still playing. It was; at one theater with only two evening showings. So I filled a sock with 6 years of blood, sweat and tears and tied a knot in it. It was pretty heavy. When I swung it against the wall I was pleased to see it knocked a hole right through the plaster.

The noise woke my friend Jimmy who’s been crashing on the couch for the past 2 weeks. Jimmy and I go way back. He’s filmmaker too but I’ll be honest, his tastes are little extreme even for me. His last film was a 17-hour single shot of three French girls trying to recite the Koran in Chinese backwards. It won the Golden Palm at Cannes. What I love about Jimmy though is his fierce passion for film.  He actually told me once he thinks film is an “art form“.

Jimmy’s been a good listener all through this difficult period. I have to be careful what I tell him though because he gets all worked up and sometimes he bugs me with the unrealistic “intensity” of his advice. Jimmy came with me when I went to see Dr. Owen this morning. He liked the weighted sock I’d made so I let him carry it. On the way we stopped by Gestation’s offices on West 54^th street.

Traci, the receptionist knew me so she let us in though I must say her smile was less than receptive. The door to Arnold’s office was closed but at Jimmy’s urging we slipped in.  Arnold was standing with George, his head of distribution. They had their backs to us, immersed in rapt conversation over a new, framed photo hanging on the wall. Jimmy and I stepped quietly closer and peered over their shoulders.The photo was of Arnold and his wife standing with Hugh Hefner who was giving the camera two big thumbs up.

“Sweet shot, Arnie,” George murmured.

“Thanks,” Arnold nodded proudly. “Look at me with Hef. What a great guy. And he loved Delirious. Can you believe it?”

George shrugged. “Nice frame. What’d it set you back?”

“Eight hundred bucks. I charged it to the film.”

“Makes sense,” George replied. “Shelley looks good. She losing weight?”

“Working on it.”

“Too bad you couldn’t have gone solo, eh?”

Arnold just grunted in agreement. At that moment Jimmy swung my weighted sock as hard as he could and smashed the photo to smithereens. Both execs dropped into frozen cringes under the shower of splintered glass.

“Hey, guys,” Jimmy said. “We just thought we’d drop by and say hello.”

Arnold quickly reached for the phone. Before I could stop him Jimmy swung the sock again and sent the phone flying across the room.“Oh, now you’re going to pick up the phone?” he asked with a grin of comical mock hysteria.

Arnold whirled on me. “Who is this guy?! Why’d you bring him in here?!”

I was beginning to wonder that myself. “He’s a friend,” I managed to say finally, fearing even this revealed too much.

Jimmy swung the sock at George making him jump back so fast he knocked Arnold into one of the 20 vintage pinball machines he’d crammed into his office for flair. “You call yourselves distributors?” Jimmy snarled. “You couldn’t distribute condoms in an airport bathroom. I saw your ad for Delirious in today’s NY Times. It only took a fuckin’ microscope to find it!!”

“Now, that’s not true, Jimmy,” I stated, trying to ease the tension. “We used a magnifying glass and you know it.”

Arnold took the opportunity to slip behind the safety of his desk. “Tom, we’ve told you many times; the Numbers don’t justify any further expense.”

“I know, Arnold,” I replied, nervously watching Jimmy stalking George out of the corner of my eye. “But, I have to say I’m a little confused. If you expected the film to open with a big weekend like it was a studio film then why didn’t you advertise like it was a studio film?”

We all jumped as Jimmy swung my sock and sent a museum quality lamp crashing to the floor.  “What advertise?!” he cried.  ”They printed up a couple of posters which nobody saw, they took out a mouse turd of an ad in the Times and then sat back and waited for a miracle. You know what the miracle was? That anybody even went to the movie at all!”

His words spurred George into predictable outrage. “We don’t have to explain anything to you!” he blurted. “We spent what we could. The fact is the film had no legs.”

“And you’ve got no balls,” Jimmy shot back. “But you’re still a prick.”

See, this is what I was saying about Jimmy. He goes too far. I put my hand on his shoulder in firm rebuke. “Now, Jimmy,” I warned, “Let’s calm down here. OK? It doesn’t help when you get inflammatory.”

“No, it really doesn’t,” George sulked. “It’s counter-productive,” Arnold added, still behind his desk.

“OK,” Jimmy smiled. “Let’s say we throw you that bone. Let’s say the film didn’t perform and you couldn’t afford to buy advertising to help it. Last week Delirious got a great review from Roger Ebert. You didn’t have to spend a dime for it. You got it for FREE. Everybody knows a rave from Ebert is a huge boost for ANY film. Any other distributor would have used that review to attack the market. But what do you do? You say the review means nothing and then use the Numbers to attack the film!”

Jimmy whirled my sock and smashed the glass in on the most vintage of the vintage pinball machines. “You didn’t even put Ebert’s review on the Delirious website until a week after it came out! And then not until I made Tom call you about it!”

“He’s lucky we even distributed the film at all!” George blurted.

He was right. Before Jimmy could do any more damage I yanked my weighted sock out of his hands. But, to my horror he walked up to George and slapped him across the face. The crack of the impact echoed as loud as a shot. George stood in stiff, trembling silence, tears welling in his eyes. His cheek turned bright, splotchy red. I felt sorry for him. Jimmy had really hit him hard. Jimmy must have felt bad about it too because he suddenly stepped over and gave Arnold a slap, taking care to make his just as hard as George’s.

“You mice,” he said. “You mollusks. No matter what you say about Numbers the fact is Tom made his movie. And he’s proud of every fucking frame of it. He fought to get it made and he fought to get it released. What did you fight for? What do you own? Nothing but Numbers. You can count them when you’re sitting on the toilet, dozing in the stench of your own moral ineptitude. Because the best thing–the ONLY thing–you can say about your Numbers is this: they justified your colossal act of cowardice.”

Both men were crying openly now. I wanted to go up to them and hug them. But Jimmy wasn’t done.

“You’re nothing but a couple of taco farts!” he said.

“Jimmy!” I shouted. “That’s enough!”

But Jimmy wouldn’t stop. “You snail turds!” he rushed on. “You skidmarks, you rectal itches! You penile dribbles. You zipper salesmen. You pubic hairs. You toejam pickers! You dandruff flakes. You chicken molesters! You butt sniffers, you genital warts! You mothballs. You termites. You gutless, dickbrained