Perhaps the central problem in these dealings is that Michael is reluctant—for reasons you’ll probably understand as well or better than me—to confront you with anything but a king-hell 12-star boomer. It’s the classic story of the Coach’s Son Trying to Make Good … but of course being merely “good” is not enough on that trip; you have to be super. Like Pete Maravich24 …or whatever his name is.
Which is neither here nor there in my case. I labor under the equally heavy onus of having no other source of income except my 10-year gig as a free-lance writer. Rolling Stone is currently paying me $500 a month as a “contributing editor,” but that adds up to $6000 a year—against my annual minimum needs of something just under $15K. And this will probably go up to $20K or so when I take on the additional burden of paying off these two houses and the 100 acres that go with them; the payments will start falling due in a month or so.
This should explain, more or less, why I can’t righteously lock in and spend the next three months on a 450-page screenplay for people I barely know, and with no prior understanding of any kind. Rafelson is hopelessly crazy; that’s clear. He’s a refugee from the Lionel Olay25 syndrome—the Big Sur doomed elegance/secret/hero trip—and although I admire that POV immensely, I have to remember that Lionel wound up paying his rent with street-acid. And he died of an aneurysm….
What all this is leading up to, I think, is a fairly critical question … to wit: What do we need before we can start talking seriously about putting The Rum Diary together on film? There is no doubt in my mind—and Michael agrees, I think—that we have a super-visual story to work with. The novel, itself, is a massively flawed masterpiece, but even on that level it is full of very physical behavior. The San Juan drink/drug/madness underground, as a backdrop to the American Dream destroying one of its main worshipers. On a purely visual level, we have mass violence in The Palms, street-brawls in old San Juan, idyllic carnality on stone-white beaches, a terrifying cock-fight scene far out in the central mountains … we have casinos, skin-diving, politics, fear, idealism, violence, madness, lust, flesh, brutality & twisted behavior….
Shit, it’s almost an AIP film26 up front. The setting and the basic story-line make the “American Dream” overtly seem like pure gravy—except that the American Dream gibberish is all that makes the film worth doing.
That’s more or less what I’m looking at here: The long chance of a film vs. the guaranteed (financial) success of several journalism projects. Frankly, I’d much prefer to stomp heavily into film—like a lot of other people, I guess, and the only difference between mine & a lot of other people’s stories, right now, is that I can actually make a living as a journalist/writer/etc….
This may end when the Las Vegas saga appears, because I doubt if 1971 America is ready for Gonzo Journalism … but that’s not a problem here. That one is coming out anyway, for good or ill, and I’ll deal with the reaction as it erupts….
What concerns us, right now, is some kind of valid format for proceeding with this Rum Diary thing. Obviously, you need enough to convince you that it’s a good film. I’m already sure of this, and I think Michael is too—although he doesn’t want to confront you with it until it’s already a guaranteed screamer. For instance he doesn’t want to submit the script until it’s refined and heavy enough to convince Orson Welles27 to play the part of Stone….
Which is fine. But like I said, I’m not independently wealthy—and it’s my story, so before we get into a 450 page script, I think we should at least consider some terms or possibilities inre: the financial possibilities. Perhaps just the normal, step-by-step shit, or maybe something different … although not quite so different that I have to write the whole goddamn thing before we talk about what it might or might not be worth.
My summer (of ’71) is extremely heavy with long-overdue projects. I have a long book, unconscionably overdue, for Random House, that has to be finished before I can take off for Saigon in September and spend 6 months covering “the Retreat & Disintegration of the U.S. Army” for Rolling Stone. This may or may not work out, but for now it’s scheduled. And also this summer—in addition to the Random House book—I have to finish this short saga on Las Vegas that also looks like a book.
And so much for that. I only mention these things to line out the problems that might or might not interfere with my getting full-bore into the Rum Diary project—until we can figure out what it might be worth, all around. If only to assign it a place in the general priority-schedule. If the fucker was worth a million dollars to me, for instance, I’d definitely be tempted to clear the decks and hump it along with a focus bordering on total craziness…. But if it’s basically a friendly “On Spec” project, well … I’d still like to do it, but the bulk of my energies would have to go into projects for paying my way in this rotten world. Once again, for good or ill … Shit …I was almost ready to start apologizing for what might seem like a greedy/grasping trip, here… but it suddenly occurred to me that you fuckers are zooming around in Lear Jets & that sort of thing. Which is right, of course, but I get the feeling these days that maybe I should have a Lear Jet, too.
Why not?
Indeed. And that’s the main reason I’m sending this letter—with this hazy chunk of samples—instead of a final-carved, super-refined 450 word script. Not that I wouldn’t want to, but I simply don’t have a loose & lazy summer at my disposal. And beyond that, if some evil amoral waterhead like Rafelson can fly around this doomed nation in a Lear Jet, I think it’s only fitting that I have an elegant Jet Commander at my disposal….
What should happen at this point, I think, is that you should read over the enclosed gibberish and see if it strikes any sparks. The 22-page Memo is full of references to the 370 page novel manuscript, but I think there’s enough in it to let you see where the story is aiming. And the yellow pages—a rough draft of what I think should be the opening scene—is only included to give you some idea about how it might be done. The next step, as I see it, would be to write some interpretation.
What I need is some kind of definite framework to work with. I could send the novel ms., but I would only do that with the warning that it’s nearly 10 years old … and in truth I think the only value it has, now, is that it’s full of the kind of odd details and valid, on-scene mental/emotional shots that will make the film true. You can’t fake the sense of terror, for instance, that comes with being stomped in a palm grove—for no legal reason—by a Clutch gaggle of Puerto Rican cops … or the crazy midnight vibrations of a San Juan jail. This stuff is already in the novel, and it would be hard to get again. Very hard. And definitely painful for whoever had to get it.
Anyway, the novel exists, if anybody wants to read it. But the story Mike & I have talked about is quite a bit different from the tale that’s told in the novel. Maybe a good thing for you to do, at this point, is to read thru all this crap and then talk to Mike … and then maybe the three of us should get together and hash the thing out. Because if the possibility of turning this thing into a film lies with what I can put on paper before we talk about it … well … I doubt if we’ll get started anytime soon.
The problem is not in putting it on paper, but the time factor: It will take me at least two months of steady work to write the film properly, and a lot of that writing would have to be done more or less on location in Puerto Rico. Because obviously these scenes are going to have to change a bit, visually, to fit what the camera will see. And that’s fine. Except that I haven’t been to San Juan in a few years, and I know it’s changed drastically. So any valid script would have to be written on the scene as it exists today.
One good thing, for instance, is that the San Juan Star actually exists. It was just bought (from Cowles [Communications]) by the Newhouse chain, I think…. Cowles bought it from the lunatic who began it around 1960 … and we have the original Managing Editor (now the Book Editor of LOOK)28 to work with us on newsroom details and that sort of thing. In terms of shooting, the physical problems wouldn’t be
any worse than a set in California.
As far as I’m concerned, we’re about 70% home when we start. The rudiments of the story-line already exist on paper, in the form of the novel. The only completely new factor is the character of the protagonist—which Mike & I have already solved, more or less to our own satisfaction, but which will inevitably change as the story takes shape on film.
I’m absolutely convinced it should be done. And if I were independently wealthy, I’d go ahead & do it on my own.
But I’m not. I have no money at all. None. So what we do with this thing now depends mainly on BBS. The next logical step would be (or at least seem to be) for you & I and Mike to go over to the patio in the Beverly Hills Hotel and talk heavily & crazily for three straight days …or, if that hotel makes you nervous, we can go out to the Carioca in East LA and hassle it there.
Whatever’s right. As far as I’m concerned we have the fucker about two-thirds under control. All we have to do now is settle the filthy realities. Which should definitely be done soon … Because of my own priority problem (see above) and the definite possibility that if we get this thing going seriously, I might have to re-schedule a few of my own realities.
Excelsior …
Hunter S. Thompson
TO JANN WENNER, ROLLING STONE:
Rolling Stone had won 1970’s prestigious National Magazine Award for Specialized Journalism for its coverage of the Altamont debacle and for David Felton’s June 25, 1970, piece on Charles Manson (cowritten with British music journalist David Dalton). The Columbia University judges lauded the magazine for “challenging the shared values of its readers.”
June, 1971
Woody Creek, CO
Jann …
Right after I hung up last night I realized you said the award was for “unstapled” journalism—but the word I got was unstable. Which made me wonder why you seemed so pleased. Or maybe I just felt guilty—one of those Freudian misunderstandings. Since I was working on the Las Vegas piece at the time, it figured. “Unstable,” indeed! Those swine. Next year we should demand a Gonzo category—or maybe RS should give it. Of course. “The First Annual Rolling Stone Award for the Year’s Finest Example of Pure Gonzo Journalism.” First Prize: a gallon of raw ether. Second: a Pepper-Fogger, donated by the ELA Sheriff’s Dept. Third: A free trip to the 1972 Mint 400 in Las Vegas to anybody with the balls to go out there and apply for Rolling Stone press credentials.
And so much for that. I’ll talk to Silberman & see what he says. He told me once that he “trusts my instincts.” But he was probably lying. Anyway, I’ll want 20% off the top of any merger I can effect … or a giant-size A/C bullet suitcase, whichever proves out to be the greater value.
As for juggling contracts inre: the American Dream/Battle of Aspen book, I think it would be a mistake all around for me (or you) to propose that right now. Silberman has treated me with an almost preternatural decency thus far, and I don’t want to screw him until he gives me a good excuse. (Yeah … “screw” is the wrong word, I know—but I think that’s how he’d see it.) And I doubt if it would help your relationship with him, either.
The best way to deal with it, I think, is to see if we can work out some mutually pleasant agreement inre: the Vietnam book. And if that works, maybe we could use it as a sort of pattern. …I think a RS/RH hookup would be a good thing, especially for RS. The trick is to convince Silberman that it would be good for RH. Maybe you and Alan can figure that one out.
If so, let me know & I’ll try to help. Silberman still owes me a huge favor for the murder of my snake on Random House turf.
OK for now. The Vegas piece should be all in by the time you get this. My only fear is that that fucking idiot Felton will ruin it, like he did the Salazar piece.
Ciao,
Hunter
TO JANN WENNER, ROLLING STONE:
June, 1971
Woody Creek, CO
Jann,
Sorry we didn’t have more time to talk last nite—but come out again & give me some warning. (Not via Western Union.)
Anyway, I think we’re putting together a very unlikely & potentially powerful Karass out here—& considering the people involved, the initial stages are bound to be difficult. Especially when we all get stoned, early on. Selah …
Which is really just a standard occupational hazard these days (strange irony, though, that your social/computer date should have ended up with Bob Rafelson—maybe you should examine that).
Meanwhile, I think we managed to touch most of the main bases—perhaps in spite of ourselves—& after a few hours of idle thought, I can’t see how that “contributing editor” gig could be anything but a good shot. (In that context, you have to recall my prior associations & consequent trauma….) I’ll check with Lynn & Silberman for possible hang-ups & then get back to you …but in general I like the idea & in my own mind, it’s a thing I’d like to do. It seems to fit that idea of a Karass—which is a concept I think we should push—maybe even as a newer & more sophisticated version of Freak Power. Because—in my mind, at least—they’re 2 verbal means to the same end.
But the power of a word like Karass lies mainly in not pushing it. There’s a massive political potential in that concept—if we handle it right & gently … & with the idea that it might provide a decisive rally-concept for 1972 Presidential Politics.
It seems to me that McCloskey’s29 trip is actually the first shot in what suddenly looks like a real fight for survival. That cheap bastard must be beaten in ’72—& to do that I think we have to get him on the defensive at once, & keep him there…in other words, to shape the challenge & make sure he sees it coming, so he has to focus on re-election, instead of War with China….
Which is what he’d prefer to do anyway. He’s a stone politics-junkie, a total campaigner. Which means he’ll have to be stomped on his own turf, on his own terms … which makes him a natural set-up for the time (& Nixon) honored Green Bay Packers strategy of breaking the enemy by “running at his strength” instead of his weakness—thus knocking him off balance at the start.
It’s straight [Packers coach] Vince Lombardi wisdom, but Nixon has learned it so well that he’d never recognize it coming at him from us—from any kind of Freak Power, druggy/radical ethos—because nowhere in his own mind or in the minds of the people he hires (Pat Buchanan, Ray Price, etc.) to think strategically for him is there any room for the idea that some ragtag coalition of dopey liberals & freaks could possibly understand the brutal simplicity (& political application) of Lombardi’s “run at their strength” ethic. When I had my historic “pro football debate” with Nixon in N.H. in early ’68, I got the powerful impression that Vince Lombardi was the only man in America that he viscerally respected. Lombardi was a winner, with a deceptively simple strategy: “Run first at their strength—Beat them there & the rest is simple.”
Which works—in politics as well as pro football. In ’68 Nixon beat HH not by emphasizing their differences—like Goldwater challenging Johnson in ’64—but by smiling overtime to pick up wavering Humphrey votes—and especially on the issue that a brand-new un-encumbered Republican president would be able (politically) to end the war in Vietnam—while (Pres.) Humphrey would be too locked into the LBJ trip & thus unable to make any radical changes in the National War Policy.
In other words, Nixon confronted the Democrats not with a different program for Vietnam, but with the mystic necessity of clearing the decks & installing a whole new (Republican) machinery—an administration completely free, he said, of that web of doomed obligations that would inevitably hamstring a (Demo) Castle-keep like Hubert Humphrey.
Which proved to be absolute bullshit—which hardly matters now, because the point we want to see & focus on here is that Nixon beat Humphrey on what should & could have been Hubert’s strongest argument—to end the war in Vietnam at once, because LBJ fucked up. Nixon’s bargaining strength—according to the perpetually lame & grasping wisdom of people like NY Times guru James Reston—was that any
GOP president could afford to admit that the U.S. was wrong in Vietnam—while no Democratic regime could possibly run the risk of repudiating 10 years of Demo (LBJ-JFK) strategy.
Thus Nixon pre-empted what could have been Humphrey’s main argument. It was a straight Lombardi-style “game plan,” & it worked. Nixon actually won the election by claiming that only he could end the war.
TO JIM SILBERMAN, RANDOM HOUSE:
It’s even more remarkable that—by his own admission—Thompson wasn’t on drugs while working on Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas.
June 15, 1971
Woody Creek, CO
Dear Jim …
Thanks immensely for the check. It came, unfortunately, in the same mail with a notice from Carte Blanche that I was Cut Off. I’ve cursed Wenner for making this nightmare possible by his penny-wise, pound-foolish fiscal concepts, but for now I’m into fighting with the goddamn computer. What your check does, however, is give me the leverage to bargain with the swine; I can at least offer to send them a check immediately, provided I’m reinstated. (This didn’t work with American Express; once that computer nixed me, I stayed nixed.)
Anyway, we’ll see on this one. But in any case I definitely appreciate the check. The only thing that vaguely alarmed me about your letter was your statement, to wit: “You know it was absolutely clear to me reading Las Vegas I that you were not on drugs….” This is true, but what alarms me is that Vegas I was a very conscious attempt to simulate drug freakout—which is always difficult, but in reading it over I still find it depressingly close to the truth I was trying to re-create. To this end—and right after your letter came—I ate a bunch of mescaline and went to a violent, super-jangled car race last weekend with Lucian Truscott from The Village Voice, and I was relieved to find that we—along with about 10 other people—experienced the same kind of bemused confusion with the reality we had to deal with that Raoul Duke & his attorney had to cope with in Vegas. We were completely involved with what was happening—but our involvement was not so much on a different level as from a different POV [point of view] than the people in the grandstand around us. A man behind us was more excited; a man in front of us was alarmed at the behavior of a truck-load of freaks who seemed more scrambled than we were—but our overall approach to the race and the scene was consistently Strange, in the same sense that I tried to make that Vegas thing consistently strange.
Fear and Loathing in America Page 56
