Bruce Wagner - Dead Stars

“Wow.”

“The doctors told him it’s going to look, smell & feel very much like Alzheimer’s. I mean, in the end. Whenever that is, also something no one seems to know.”

“Gee, you know I’d rather write a script about that .”

“Yours is not to reason why.”

“Michael… I know you just got back. I know you did a lot of writing over there, and that you’re jetlagged. But I just wanted to tell you the story. Can I tell you this story they want me to adapt? It’s a very weird story. I mean it’s compelling , but… I guess I just need to talk it out. Maybe you’ll have a take on it.”

“Sure.”

“Are you sure it’s OK? I don’t want to burden you. We can do it another time—”

“No! Now’s perfect.”

“I’m really going to condense this, OK?”

“Condense away.”

“This is really kind of you, Michael. I really appreciate—”

“Bud! You’re killin me!”

“OK. The whole thing’s based on this newspaper article. Fifteen, maybe 20 years ago. Takes place in South Carolina, the Blue Ridge Mountains. These two 16 year-olds are hiking. Boyfriend-girlfriend. Pretty rough rapids there — remember Deliverance ? They shot Deliverance around there too. And the rapids? Long story short: the girl slips and falls, they both fall trying to cross the river, he gets spit out, whatever, but she goes down. And what happens is, she — her body— gets stuck in this… whirlpool , feet first.”

“And the water keeps her like that, right? I’ve heard of stuff like this. It keeps her vertical.”

“Yeah, it’s like a washing machine. She’s 8 feet under, whatever, and they can see the body but they just can’t get to it. And her father comes and camps by the river. They make a few attempts to get her out — the men from town, and these are experienced men — but they can’t do it, some of them almost die trying. So they have to call it off. The father goes nuts.”

“Because he can’t bury his little girl.”

“Right.”

“It’s Antigone .”

“Exactly! And the river’s protected, so they can’t dam it up. But the dad goes to the senator who happens to be Strom Thurmond. Thurmond lost his daughter not too long before in a car accident, so he’s got a sympathetic ear. And Thurmond says, Do whatever it takes. So they dam it up but the dam doesn’t work either. And more of these guys come close to drowning. So finally, they just say, The river will give her up. No — they say, ‘the river always gives up its dead.’”

“Jesus.”

“Biggie made some notes about what he wants—”

“What are they?”

“—for the adaptation. First of all, he wants the whole thing to take place in one of these huge caves. So it’s actually a river that runs under ground .”

“Interesting.”

“But this is the weirdest: instead of father & daughter, he wants it to be mother & son.”

“I can guess which side of the river Mom’s on.”

This is where he needed Michael’s input so Bud kept quiet. Michael began to subtly rock in his chair, eyes slowly opening & shutting, lost in thought. After a few minutes of that, he got up from the table, ordered another latte and a chocolate croissant, and sat back down with the same intensely focused demeanor — as if having placed himself in a twilight state where creative solutions might be accessed. He was definitely engaged in some sort of process , and Bud only hoped it was one that might benefit him.

They didn’t give him 2 million a script for nothing.

Bud saw that the latte was ready, and fetched it. He set it down in front of his old friend, waited a few respectful moments then said, “So what do you think? I mean how the fuck do you make a movie out of that? Because from everything I know, everything I’ve heard and seen , Brando Brainard & Ooh Baby Baby aren’t really in the business of making dark little indies .”

“ No they are not. You’ve got that right. You know, I talked to Brando — I think it may have been the day after you went over to the house and met Biggie. Brando said he came home from work and asked Biggie how your meeting went. Biggie didn’t remember you being there. Brando said that his brother doesn’t even really remember anymore the story of the girl in the river, either — he just remembers the broad strokes. Brando thinks Biggie’s fixated on the story in that autistic way. I do think that most of the time, details elude him. I mean, unless Biggie brings up the page on his screen, he only remembers the broad strokes: mother, son, river.”

“What does it all mean, Michael?”

Bud felt like he was on the pier, talking to a psychic.

“What it means is, you’ve got to make it work. Make it work for you . Because if it doesn’t work for you, it sure as hell ain’t gunna work for Brando . Now, that doesn’t mean you don’t take Brando’s input , because you should. As much as possible. Because that’s what will allow you to form an idea of what he wants. He won’t tell you directly —producers never do. It’s something he won’t be able to articulate. Plus, I think he may be a little leery of encroaching on his brother, not that Biggie would even be aware, but I have a feeling Brando’s a little superstitious. Biggie’s the golden calf, the so-called idiot savant (unfortunately beginning to skew more toward idiot ) and Brando’s probably a bit reluctant to fuck with that. On some deep, brotherly level. But as long as the story is approached with respect , especially at the beginning of the process— which is clearly what you’re already doing — as long as Brando can see that the material was approached with respect , you’ll be fine. Make mother, son, river your mantra, then you’re free. Sky’s the limit.”

He was flummoxed. There was some awkwardness there as well, because Bud felt like he was walking that fine, perilous line between asking for guidance and outright begging for help.

“Free… free to do what , exactly?”

Maybe it’s for the best that he’s jetlagged. He probably wouldn’t have met with me if he wasn’t. Maybe he’ll come up with some kind of fix, out of sheer exhaustion.

Michael smiled to himself before taking a ragged bite from his croissant. Bud was starving. He hadn’t eaten much in the last few days; he was saving food as a reward for when he found a solution to his approach to the script. He resisted the impulse to reach over & tear off a hunk of Michael’s bread.

“A comedy,” said Michael.

“A comedy?”

“Comedies are in Brando’s wheelhouse. [ OMG. They’re still using the word! A nice omen ] They’re pretty much the only thing Brando responds to.”

“You’re saying I should write a comedy?”

“Yup.”

“But how do I walk away from this? And how do I get him to agree to let me substitute something else ?”

“No, no, no. You write a comedy from the river story.”

“The drowned girl — I mean, the drowned mom ?”

“You got it. Are you following me?”

Bud was trying; he had to.

“A comedy?”

“Why not?” said Michael. He looked like one of those wild, exultant tzaddiks from rabbinical lore. “Why not?”

He fixed Bud with a secret fraternity smile, happy that he saw, or pretended to, the light.

“Jesus, Michael, it’s brilliant. But how ? How do I make a comedy out of something like that?”