Me: hey dad
Dad: hey pal.
Me: i finally have that fox searchlight phone call today at 6:30
Dad: good luck with that dolly.
Me: advice = know when to talk and when not to, anything else?
Dad: go thru website and have good knowledge of what they have out and what they have coming. and the problems and opportunities of marketing those movies. who they are for and how they are positioned.
one of the things that they do very well is wait for something to catch on with a small, but important audience and then leverage that into wider awareness and interest. instead of being a studio that carpet bombs, they fight from the hills, like guerillas.
Me: oo thats good, i will surf the web today
I was well prepped, and the interview went smoothly. They said they would be in touch. I waited and waited until I finally got a phone call welcoming me as a 2009 summer intern in the publicity department. I was super jazzed. My dad responded via email with a “looks promising.”
On my first day of the internship I woke up early to figure out an outfit. Jeans with a shirt and T.J.Maxx blazer seemed best. I didn’t have any fancy shoes, so Converse would have to suffice. I studied myself in the mirror. My dyed-blond hair was pulled back in a way that hid my eyebrow piercing. I thought I looked fine. I figured it was okay to skip the shower and allow extra time for coffee and breakfast.
To mark the occasion, my dad said he would drive us into the city. Usually I would be relegated to the DeCamp 66, a New Jersey to Midtown express bus where talking or any sort of movement was frowned upon. Instead of sitting among strangers on a heavily air-conditioned bus, I would be able to prep for the day with my dad.
I could tell he was on edge the second we got in the car. I asked him what his day looked like. He said, “Nope, we are going to talk about you.” He told me that my outfit needed work. He then asked if I had showered. I responded defensively: “No, I showered last night. Jeez.” He thought on this for a second and told me, “You are neither smart enough nor pretty enough to not shower every day.”
I was taken aback. I had never given a lot of thought to how I looked before because it hadn’t seemed to matter. Apparently, it mattered now. He informed me that I was about to act as his representative in New York’s small media fishbowl, and the least I could do was put in a modicum of effort.
My dad lit a cigarette and blew a long stream of smoke out the window as he weaved between cars. “Let’s talk about Fox Searchlight.” He quizzed me on who was the president of the company. My face instantly turned red and I told him quietly I didn’t know. “I know the head of my department, though,” I interjected. Diana Loomis, senior vice president of Fox Searchlight Publicity: I had done a cursory Google search as per his advice. My dad launched into background on the president and what he knew about the company, before telling me he was disappointed in the substandard job I had done in preparing myself, both physically and mentally, for this job.
He went down the laundry list of things I should know to do before an interview, first day of work, or professional meeting: “Bring a notebook. Do two to three hours of research before the meeting. Arrive early. Offer to pay the check. Know their background and have questions prepared, and, above all, do your fucking homework.”
My face flushed again; I felt so stupid and small. I didn’t respond but instead let his reprimand sit there in the car with us. He eventually plugged in his iPod and let the music blare. The tension remained throughout the ride.
We parked the car at a garage on Eighth Avenue near his office. As we walked onto the street he put his arm around me and told me he loved me. That was the thing about his flashes of anger or disappointment: They always ended in a hug.
From the outside, the News Corp. Building on Sixth Avenue was deeply intimidating. I wondered, as I made my way through the lobby, if I had remembered to bring my ID. After checking in at the security desk I was told to take a seat. A smartly dressed woman with a blond bob came down to retrieve me. Her name was Sarah, an intern like me. Realizing I looked about five years younger than she did, I now understood my dad’s concern about the lack of shower.
Sarah ran me through our duties, and I smiled pleasantly as I took in the information. It was our job to go through the five New York papers every day to see who was talking about Fox Searchlight’s movies. They called each hit like this a press break. If we missed even one, it would be an embarrassing oversight for the publicity department.
After a couple of hours of reading the dailies, I was introduced to my actual supervisor, Cary, Diana Loomis’s assistant. Cary wore sunglasses atop her head, four-inch heels on her feet, and had a Starbucks iced coffee, half-finished, perpetually located in her right hand. She eyed me up and down and said, “Okay, great. Sarah can show you the ropes.” Clearly she had tired of the revolving door of interns. Sarah told me that she was the senior publicity intern and admitted that she was gunning for an actual J-O-B. I nodded. I told her that I just wanted to get some experience and see if publicity was for me. No threat here.
After a run to get lunch for the team (all salads), Sarah said she would introduce me around the office. It was mostly people looking up momentarily from their respective computers, but finally we knocked on a closed door and a man with a beard and warm eyes invited us in. James Finn, vice president of national publicity, invited me to take a seat, after which he asked about school and which movies of theirs I’d seen. It was comfortable and easygoing and I felt I aced the conversation. At the very end of our chat, he walked me out, smiled, and said, “Tell your dad I said hello.”
That simple comment stopped me in my tracks. It made me feel like a fraud in a cheap blazer. It also made me wonder if all interns had a connection to someone of influence. Who did Sarah know? Perhaps I was naïve, thinking these opportunities were given based on merit.
The rest of the internship went a lot like that first day. Publicity didn’t come naturally to me, but I arrived early and was never the first one to leave. A couple of times, I called in sick because I was nursing a hangover, but nothing that made anyone raise their eyebrows. It was clear that Cary preferred Sarah. She looked like the other women who worked there, and she knew how to anticipate their needs. And while all interns are annoying, she somehow managed to not be. I studied Sarah closely, trying out things I could mimic to be more like her, more successful. But I often found myself straddling the line between smart and clueless.
Near the end of my tenure, I was asked to take part in a publicity stunt for the movie 500 Days of Summer, a rom-com meets dramedy starring Zooey Deschanel and Joseph Gordon-Levitt. I was tasked with handing out 250 iced coffees to hustling New Yorkers walking by Madison Square Park. Sarah took the other 250 and quickly made a head start. I plastered a grin on my face and said loudly, “Do you like coffee? Free coffee?” Most people averted their eyes and pushed past me. A couple of humans took the bait and let me prattle on about the movie (which I loved), and they told me they would check it out. Something shifted as I engaged people and talked with them about a movie I liked and cared about. It somehow became easier. If I believed in the product, it didn’t feel like work.
Sarah eventually got hired for a full-time gig, and I gained experience working in the publicity department of a major studio. It turns out pushing movies is a hustle, and at the end of my tenure I knew I wanted to be a part of making movies, not selling them.
Right after I left the internship my dad forwarded this note from James Finn:
Will hold you to that dinner. Erin is a star, and keep in touch—I’ll do the same.
His kind words failed to make their intended impact. Instead I found myself once again swimming in self-doubt. Was I a star? Or was he just saying that because he was talking to my father, the New York Times media reporter?
When it came to my career, I now knew that David Carr’s f
ar-reaching shadow would follow me into any avenues he might open up for me. It was the price of admission for my dad helping me in this industry. His industry.
Now the question was not if I could get in the door, but once there, how long could I stay? No amount of connections or witty emails would help keep me employed in these highly sought-after jobs if I was, in fact, mediocre. I needed to find a way to be that star, to embody those words. I had survived my first internship without having made any real mark. I would have to change that.
Me: not sure where to go/what to do.
Dad: you will end up a much larger, global person. not just another brooklyn kid with a tattoo, which is great. but that kind of stuff is hard won.
Me: i am capable right?
Dad: in terms of whether you have it or not, I have a secret suspicion that you are going to end up doing SPECTACULAR things
Me: I sure hope so.
Dad: but you have to share that suspicion. However deep inside you and be willing to do whatever you have to do to make that happen. What will set you apart is not talent but will and a certain kind of humility a willingness to let the world show you things that you play back as you grow as an artist.
Talent is cheap.
Me: ok i will ponder these things. I am a carr.
Dad: that should matter quite a bit, actually not the name but the guts of what that name means.
9
Something New
“Find myself thinking about you a lot. Wondering what kind of adventures you’re living, learning you are doing, tasks you are on.”
At twenty-two, I was fresh out of college and stuck right at the intersection between girlhood and adulthood. Feeling wary about the trend toward the latter, I embarked on a solo move to London for my first real “job.”
VICE is a media organization that originated in Canada in the early nineties as a popular counterculture magazine, covering music and parties and publishing a whole lot about drugs. There was a coolness that VICE had that tapped into the zeitgeist of youth. Looking to monetize off of this, the company started adding lieutenants to their roster who knew how to make short-form videos that could get millions of views. When I graduated from school, it was absolutely the place you wanted to work in media; still is.
My dad shot off an email to Shane Smith, one of the VICE partners, whom he had met and developed a sort of professional and personal regard for, and introduced me, and I took over the reins from there. New York was not the right spot, Shane said—too busy. No, I was going to have to cut my teeth for the company in Europe. Shane and his subordinates put forth London or Berlin. Having clumsily navigated a semester abroad in the Czech Republic with little skill in the language department, I thought that London and its English speakers made the most sense.
Now, what to pack? I took inventory of my bedroom on the second floor of our colonial house in suburban New Jersey. A collection of riot grrl zines took up space on the table next to my bed while Buffy the Vampire Slayer memorabilia lined the walls. The room felt dated and stale. Like it belonged to a different girl. I wouldn’t be taking any of that with me. I threw in some jeans, makeup, and framed photos alongside some books, including The Night of the Gun.
I didn’t feel excited at all as I prepared to leave for London. Instead, I felt desperate, crazy, and exhausted. I was coming off a rough summer in which alcohol had become too much of a focal point in my life. I was worried about failing in a city and country where I knew no one. On top of that I didn’t have a place to live over there, and I had very little money to get by on until I figured it out. I knew I should be grateful for such an incredible opportunity, but all I could feel was anxious.
My dad took me to the airport. Part of me wondered if it was to make sure I got on the plane. I sobbed quietly as I said goodbye to him. He grabbed my arms, shook me a little, and repeated loudly, “You’ve got this. You’ve got this.” He waited as I went through security. I could tell even from a distance that he had grown misty.
I didn’t have a cellphone that would work abroad or a place to stay. The thought of this terrified me, but it excited something in him. I was about to go on an adventure. He sent me this email while I was in the sky flying over the Atlantic.
To: Erin Lee Carr
From: David Carr
Date: 07/30/2010
Subject: safe and sound?
Honey. we are so, so xcited for you.
please understand that you carry with you not only our love and support, but our admiration and pride in your decision to bring your ambitions roaring into the world.
your willingness to step out into the unknown and work, at a very young age, to launch an amazing professional life is congruent with who we are, but different in kind. we bring a sense of adventure to life, but often within a very small geographical footprint. you, on the other hand, are working on becoming a citizen of the world. you take our ambitions with you, our ambitions for you and for our family.
I’m sure at some point, probably sooner rather than later, you will look into the mirror and say, “what in the hell have I gotten myself into?” you did not choose the easier, softer road, but one that will ask much and give much in return. oddly enough, you will become something new by remembering who you are. You are a Carr, and that is a complicated, wondrous inheritance. That means you are tough, you are smart, you are someone others want to be around. But it also means that mistakes of hubris, excess, and indulgence will stalk you. Be vigilant to those threats, making good decisions, not every once in a while, but as a matter of course. You are a long ways from home and the consequences and rewards for your decisions will fall to you alone.
That said, please know that I am with you. I don’t just want to know about the good stuff. I want to know everything. And we are not a world away, but a short flight, a quick call, a vid chat across manageable time zones.
I don’t worry about you professionally. The nickel I put on you is one that you needed to get started, but I have every confidence in your industriousness, willingness and substantial skill. You are an earner, a worker among workers.
As your father, I think its okay to say that you have some work ahead of you in your personal life. The willingness to come to rest with the self, with who you are and your own company is something that you will have to master. No one else can fill the hole in Erin. Only Erin can do that. Love and be good to that person in the mirror and you will love and be good to the people around you.
It is, as they say, time to put away childish things. Or as I sometimes say, put on the big boy pants. So much can come so quickly from this and if you act as if you are in the midst of building your future, the world will unfold in wondrous ways and bury you in promises you never dreamed of. Be equal to the path you have chosen.
I can’t even begin to think of all the fun you will have, the friends you will make, and the places you will go. I am deeply proud of who you are and what you are becoming. God has given you and I much—it’s a long walk from the basement of my parent’s home for this little family—and it makes me deeply happy that the adventure has taken this turn. Enjoy every second of it.
With love and admiration, Fahja
I arrived in England, crusty and tearful. Not the greatest start to my big, new life. I made my way via a £75 cab ride to Hampstead Heath. One of my dad’s friends, in a streak of mercy, had agreed to let me crash for a couple of weeks while I navigated the housing market in London. His name was Bruce, and he was smart, funny as hell, and loved his dog Jet more than pretty much anything in the world. While we bonded over numerous pints at the local pub with Jet by our sides, I started to feel optimistic. Maybe this would work out. I could be the kid from Minnesota (by way of Jersey) that moved to London and became instantly more charming. Right?
That was always the case with me and alcohol. The booze made everything glow and my troubles fade away. But
the feeling was temporary, and it usually ended with me puking all over the room I was staying in (which I actually did the first night I stayed at Bruce’s—he never ratted me out).
Eventually, I found a flat in Hackney with an Italian roommate. It took 40 percent of my nebulous income, but it was safe and a twenty-minute bike ride from the VICE office.
My first day went a lot like that first day at Fox Searchlight, but with smarter fashion choices and a more expensive haircut. I stepped up my game and wore better clothes and, yes, this time I showered. People said hello, but most were too deeply engrossed in their work to pay me any mind. When I stole glances at their computer screens, I could see that they were mostly staring at iChat bubbles. At VICE, I was the only paid intern amid four of the unpaid variety, which did not enhance my popularity. The company did not make it their custom to pay interns, but a special exception was made for me after I told them I couldn’t intern for free as I was not a trustfundarian (what they liked to call the young ones). They agreed to bend the rules, paying me pretty much as little as possible.
As far as the actual work went, I was given few to no tasks. The job seemed like an exercise in how quietly I could sit and not bother anyone. At night I wasn’t sleeping, and during the day I wasn’t being useful, and both things put me deeply on edge. Anxiety was the only thing that kept my eyes from closing in the late hours. Was I about to blow this?
Dad: this part will be the hardest in your path. you have no credentials, no portfolio, no real allies. this is where you will succeed by mettle and grit. eat some shit, bump into things, and strive, strive, strive strive. all without being annoying. tough duty.
All That You Leave Behind Page 5
