Rebels on the Backlot

by Sharon Waxman

  “Waxman went to work for the Reuters news agency in Jerusalem and covered the first Palestinian intifada in 1988 and 1989.”

  Before joining the Times, she returned to the Middle East on several occasions in order to write about the post-9/11 world and the East-West culture conflict; an acclaimed series, along with other feature stories, emerged from these visits.

  Waxman has become a leading voice among Hollywood correspondents, “known for her tough, skeptical view of Hollywood and her thorough, scrupulously researched stories” (Pittsburgh Post-Gazette). Her coverage of the industry extends to frequent appearances as a television commentator.

  She lives in Southern California with her husband and three children.

  For more information visit www.sharonwaxman.com.

  Visit www.AuthorTracker.com for exclusive information on your favorite HarperCollins authors.

  About the book

  Outtakes from Rebels

  George Clooney’s

  Three Kings Letters

  George Clooney wrote a series of letters related to the making of Three Kings. Here is the full text of those letters.

  Letter to Three Kings director David O. Russell,

  c. March 1998

  David,

  I was on the set of Batman and Robin when I first saw a tape of Flirting with Disaster. (I remember thinking how similar the two were.)

  When I heard you were developing a film at Warner Bros., I called Lorenzo [di Bonaventura] and said I wanted in. I hadn’t read the script.

  Now I have. O.K. So I know basically what’s going on. Tom Cruise! Makes sense to me. And if his dance card is full, I don’t know who you have next on your list, I know I’m not on it. (And with films like Batman and Robin I don’t blame you.)

  But I couldn’t sleep at night if I let a project this good go away without making one attempt.

  I just finished a film [Out of Sight] with Steven Soderbergh and Scott Frank. It kicks ass. That doesn’t necessarily mean that I kick ass. What I know is that I could screen it for you. Even toss in some Goobers.

  You’ll get who you want for this. I just didn’t want an agent or a studio trying to sell you on me. I can screw this up all by myself.

  Anyway, I thought I’d take a shot.

  George

  “I couldn’t sleep at night if I let a project this good go away without making one attempt.”

  Letter to Warner Bros. cochairman Terry Semel

  regarding Three Kings, September 1998

  Kempinski Hotel Atlantic, Hamburg

  Dear Terry,

  I know we’re all put in an awkward position on this one.

  If the decision only involved my safety then I would say let’s do it.

  However, I’m not the head of a company, nor do I have a responsibility to hundreds of employees.

  On top of the film being controversial, it is also not an easy moneymaker. The only thing it really could be is an exceptionally fine movie. Oscar caliber. But if we soften the story points, then we’ll end up with a watered down version of this script. Giving us still a controversial film, with even less chance of making money.

  In other words, in my opinion, if we were to do this film, we’d have to do it all the way. For monetary reasons and for artistic reasons.

  “This is not a terrorist film, it’s a war film.”

  You’re right when you say that this is fiction. But the Gulf War was not. The takeover of the Shiites was real. The cruelties on both sides did happen and are documented. This is not a terrorist film, it’s a war film. If it’s too soon to make it, then let’s wait rather than homogenizing this script. I’d love to give it a shot as is. I’d like to do it here at WB, because this is my home. If that means waiting, I will. But if that’s not a viable solution, then give David back his script and let him make it somewhere else.

  I understand your situation and I don’t disagree with the dangers. And I will defer to whatever decision you make. The only thing I request is that you don’t ask me to do a screenplay that has been edited to keep from angering a group of people that may be dangerous. But it’s your call and I’ll back your decision.

  Thanks,

  George

  Letter to David O. Russell before the shooting

  of Three Kings, October 1998

  David,

  Just wanted to send you a quick note.

  First, to say how excited I am about this project.

  I know it’s a year of work for you. It shows.

  I also wanted you to know I’ll do the best I can to work with your process.

  It’s not how I work.

  That doesn’t mean it’s wrong, it’s just new to me.

  So I’ll give you all I got.

  You won’t win on all of’em because I’m also doing the show [E.R.]. And you’re going to have to understand. If there’s something I can’t do, you can bet it’s because I’m working.

  Now there’s something you can do for me. Get me the script. I need time to work on it. To break it down. It’s the most important thing you can do to help my performance. The sooner I get it the better I’ll be.

  I know you’re getting worked from every angle but see what you can do.

  Thanks,

  George

  (TV’s Dr. Ross)

  I’ll do the best I can to work with your process.

  Letter to David O. Russell during Three Kings shoot,

  c. December 1998

  David,

  When we started this film, you said you were going to break me of habits. And at every step of the way, from my voice to my gestures to my interpretation to my slurring words, you have made it your mission to change me of my bad habits.

  Now it’s my turn. Since I’ve logged around six thousand work days on a set and you’ve had in the neighborhood of 110 days, I’m going to give you a few pointers.

  You said to me that you do a film every three years and that you don’t have a TV show to fall back on. For the record, neither do I. You told me how I overacted on the show by pretending that the boy was far heavier than he was. You’ve chastised the crew in full vocal glory: yelling at props, yelling at the camera car driver, telling Tom that a shot he set up “sucks.” You have created the most havoc-ridden, anxiety-ridden, angry set that I have ever witnessed.

  And here’s the joke of all jokes. I still don’t think you’re a bad guy or a bad director. I think you are a horrible communicator. You don’t always know what you want, but you know what you don’t want. O.K. Make that clear. We’ll all help you get there. In order for this to be a creative process you have to allow others to have input. Or start making animated films and do all the voices yourself.

  “You have created the most havoc-ridden, anxiety-ridden, angry set that I have ever witnessed.”

  You ask me to trust you. Based on what? I took this dive with you, head first. I told you I’d work your way—which has been the most difficult process I’ve ever seen. And the one and only thing that I insisted on was a completed or near completed script. Which you promised me I would get. Instead you did just the opposite, rewriting long monologues the night before. The only thing hindering my performance is the inability to feel confident with the material.

  You asked what Soderbergh (sic) did to “break me of my bad habits.” I told you he gave me a great script and room to investigate. And when I got out of line he suggested better alternatives.

  I’m not fighting you every step of the way because I’m unwilling to take a risk or try something new. I’m fighting you because you don’t know what you want. Or at least are unable to communicate it. And that leaves me very uneasy.

  Let’s be clear on one thing. You didn’t get Clint Eastwood or Mel Gibson or Nick (sic) Cage. You got me. Be glad. Because they would have walked long ago. You use me when you need me—working the budget, the film processing, even to keep them from pulling the plug. But when it’s time for my input the answer is no. Every time. The irony is, I don’t have to take it. I d
o because I believe very strongly in this film. And I believe you can make it great.

  You have no understanding of how difficult it is to do broad new dialogue, long speeches, while trying to concentrate on every hand gesture and tonal change. It’s like patting your head and rubbing your stomach nonstop for four months. The result of which is not a full performance.

  “I’m fighting you because you don’t know what you want. Or at least are unable to communicate it. And that leaves me very uneasy.”

  You have an angry, frustrated set. You humiliate the script supervisor who’s doing a miraculous job, and after I tell you why she was hurt you just say “She’s not going to make it.” No apology (sic). An extra has an epileptic seizure in the middle of your set. I’m on the ground with him and you go back to see replays of takes. This is your set. Even if you’re not interested, fake it. You set the tone. Otherwise people on this set feel like tools that you use to get an end product. A product that will open and close and go to video. It may be received well, it may even be a hit. And three years later you’ll start the process all over again. And what do you say to those people when you wrap this film, “Thanks for taking all of my shit, but we might have made a great film?”

  You do this once every three years. The rest of us do it every day of our lives. And the set is our home. Our family. The confusion that you bring and the subsequent anger and blame that you display—because we don’t understand what you want—makes this family and this home the worst I have ever experienced.

  So I’m now asking you to do what you ask me to do every day. Read this. Understand what I’m saying. Don’t be defensive, so that some part of this letter seeps into your psyche. I’ve listened to you. I’ve worked very hard at pulling down barriers so I could give you the performance that you want. Understand that I not only want what’s best for the film, but also what’s best for everyone involved. And you will be shocked at how much better and how much harder this crew will work for you.

  First, you have to communicate better. If you change your mind, which you always do, you must have the patience to let the crew catch up—new props, wardrobe changes, lighting changes, and so on.

  “An extra has an epileptic seizure in the middle of your set. I’m on the ground with him and you go back to see replays of takes.”

  Give yourself more freedom. Delegate some control to department heads and trust that they will do what you want.

  Open the door to a creative process. Allow the performers to be included. Not just listening and looking for ways to dismiss it.

  I know you don’t think it, but my ass is just as far out on the line as yours. So let’s go back, and let’s make a good film, a film that we can all walk away from with pride and something more than a videocassette that sits on our shelves collecting dust.

  So I’m holding out my hand and offering you an olive branch. And to take it, all you have to do is reach.

  George

  “If you change your mind, which you always do, you must have the patience to let the crew catch up.”

  Letters courtesy of George Clooney

  Read On

  The Nudist Buddhist

  Borderline-Abusive Love-In

  The following article was largely researched in the summer of 2003, during the writing and research of Rebels on the Backlot, as David O. Russell filmed his follow-up to Three Kings, titled I Huckabees.

  David O. Russell had developed something of a reputation. The screenwriter and director of Flirting with Disaster and Three Kings had become known for smart, wildly original movies, and for attracting top actors despite relatively modest budgets. But he was also known for alienating some of those actors while shooting (most notoriously when he and George Clooney ended up in a fistfight on the set of Three Kings). For his next movie, I Huckabees, Mr. Russell was determined to chart a happier course. This seemed fitting, since one of the movie’s themes would be the very possibility of human happiness. Billed as an “existential comedy,” Huckabees, which had its debut at the Toronto International Film Festival, may be one of the oddest Hollywood releases in recent memory: a jumbled, antic exploration of existential and Buddhist philosophy that also involves tree-hugging, African immigrants, and Shania Twain.

  The shoot, Mr. Russell decided, wouldn’t be a typical Hollywood affair. It would be an intimate, personal experience for a handful of actors otherwise accustomed to populating magazine covers and award ceremonies. Both the movie and the set would be extensions of Mr. Russell’s own uncensored, often unpredictable personality, and an opportunity for him to explore profound spiritual questions that have preoccupied him for years. (Indeed, the original idea for the movie was based on Buddhist theories Mr. Russell first learned in college from Robert Thurman, Uma Thurman’s father.) “The whole thing is an existential meditation,” Mr. Russell explained in one of several interviews through the making of the film. But the experience turned out to be no blissed-out meditation session. To get the performances he was after, Mr. Russell did all he could to raise the level of tension on set, unapologetically goading, shocking, and teasing his actors. Sometimes these techniques prompted reactions that were less than photogenic. And in perhaps the most un-Hollywood move of all, Mr. Russell allowed a reporter to watch.

  April 2003: The Headlock

  From the beginning, Mr. Russell knew exactly what he wanted to create with I Huckabees. The trouble was, few others were able to grasp what that was. Many who read the script said they could not understand it, and several studios—Sony, Paramount, Warner Bros., Fox, all led by people who say they are fans of Mr. Russell’s—turned it down. (Later, some of the actors who went on to star in the film said that the script had never made sense to them; they simply trusted Mr. Russell’s vision.) But now the seasoned producer Scott Rudin has joined the project, the mini-studio Fox Searchlight has signed on, and a British financier named Michael Kuhn has agreed to finance it for $18 million. So the movie is, at last, in preproduction.

  Better yet, some of the biggest actors are involved. Jude Law and Gwyneth Paltrow have signed on to play eager-to-succeed employees at a department store chain called Huckabees. Mark Wahlberg will play a firefighter traumatized by 9/11, while Jason Schwartzman will be a frustrated young environmental activist. Each of these characters suffers from some form of spiritual malaise and will hire Dustin Hoffman and Lily Tomlin, a pair of “existential detectives,” to investigate. Isabelle Huppert will play the detectives’ glamorous French nemesis, a mysterious force for chaos who equates life with pain and suffering.

  Except that the cast is falling apart. Gwyneth Paltrow drops out because, Mr. Russell says, she still hasn’t dealt with the death of her father. Nicole Kidman expresses interest, but can’t get out of The Stepford Wives. Jennifer Aniston becomes and then unbecomes a possibility. Naomi Watts, Mr. Russell’s original choice, frees herself from scheduling problems and after some brief drama—she and Ms. Kidman are close friends—is finally cast.

  And then Jude Law quits (the explanation Mr. Russell hears is that he needs to make a big-budget movie because of an impending divorce settlement; Mr. Law’s representatives deny that money was a factor). Mr. Russell is devastated: instead of doing his movie, Mr. Law has decided to take a role offered by Christopher Nolan (Memento).

  At a Hollywood party, Mr. Russell, a lean, muscular forty-six-year-old with dark, lanky hair, runs into Mr. Nolan and—in full view of the party guests—puts him in a headlock. Wrapping his arm around Mr. Nolan’s neck, Mr. Russell demands that his fellow director show artistic solidarity and give up his star in order to save Huckabees. (In the meantime, Mr. Russell has met with Jim Carrey as a possible replacement.) The next day Mr. Law calls Mr. Russell from a boat while crossing the Atlantic and discusses his Huckabees role at length, never mentioning Mr. Nolan or his project. The headlock story makes the rounds in Hollywood.

  July 9, 2003: Almost Naked Lunch

  Filming has begun, and on a suburban street in the Woodland Hills section of the
San Fernando Valley the Huckabees operation has taken over a simple split-level house with rounded shrubs in the front. A tent has been set up in the front yard for video monitors and director’s chairs.

  But Mr. Russell is almost never in the usual director’s position behind the monitor. Giddy and childlike, he rolls on the ground, dances, does push-ups, and shouts at the actors with a megaphone. “I never want it to end,” he whispers. Mr. Russell starts the day wearing a suit, but it’s slowly coming off: first the jacket, then the shirt. Also, he keeps rubbing his body up against the women and men on the set—actors, friends, and visitors.

  Perhaps Mr. Russell is trying to free his actors to be as outrageous or ridiculous as he is. The script will require the actors to risk embarrassing themselves thoroughly: Isabelle Huppert is to perform a sex scene while covered in mud, Mark Wahlberg must repeatedly punch himself in the face, Jude Law will vomit into his own hands, and Naomi Watts will essentially be driven crazy by her own physical beauty.

  The scene at hand is a climactic moment in Mr. Law’s character’s breakdown, requiring the actor to cry and tear at his clothes. After several takes in which Mr. Law says the lines he has memorized, Mr. Russell is now yelling at him with new lines, even as the camera rolls. Mr. Law, exhausted, finally ad-libs a string of expletives, shrieking and beating his fists into the grass. “I am lost in the wilderness!” he cries. In character (or maybe not), Mr. Hoffman and Ms. Tomlin look on in pained sympathy.