Roger Should Have Said Yes

ROGER SHOULD HAVE SAID YES At a film conference in Beverly Hills on one occasion I did manage to get in a few words to a top female mogul at Twentieth Century Fox, Sherry Lansing. I quickly pitched her the gist of my screenplay. She listened politely and accepted my resume. Much to my surprise, a few days later I got a call from her office asking me to drop off a copy of my script. I have never accomplished any feat as fast as I did getting her a copy of that scenario. I did not see her but left it with her secretary. About three weeks later, I got a call to go to Twentieth Century Fox and talk with a young man in their story department whom I shall call Roger. I got to the studio and was so full of apprehension that I almost broke out in shingles. I finally found Roger, who called his particular piece of heaven a small cubicle in a large room of many cubicles. He welcomed me with a big smile, had me sit and proceeded to tell me how much he liked my screenplay. My heart was beating so loudly I could hear it in my ears. Then just when I thought Roger was going to lift me out of my doldrums into a new life, he said with a great smile, “Jack, in spite of my loving The Devil Sent You To El Paso, I’m going to have to pass. But you’re a splendid writer. Be sure to drop by your next script for us to read. Really, I’d love to read it.” What did I do? I went home and began immediately writing a new script. This one was called Piece of Cake. I dropped it off at the studio for Roger. He replied about a month later. I went to Twentieth Century Fox and much to my surprise, he was no longer in a cubicle. He was in a small office. When we talked, he was friendly as a pup and repeated almost to the word what he had told me on my first visit—right down to the part where he asks me to drop off my next fantastic script. Foolish me. What did I do? I went home and began writing Pasadena, which I dutifully took to the studio a couple of months later. When I next found Roger, he was in a nice office and had a secretary. He looked as successful as I looked unsuccessful. He again repeated his spiel to me. Yes, I went home and wrote yet another screenplay—Bad Trip. I really thought he would go for this one. When I went out to the studio, much to my surprise I found Roger in a very spiffy office with a very personable assistant. Both couldn’t have been nicer to me. Almost by rote, I followed his monologue of telling me exactly what he had told me the other times. A regular glutton for punishment, I went home and wrote Cleo, which I was absolutely sure would make him say yes. This time I had to go through two gatekeepers to get to him. Same song, fifth verse. I stopped him midway in his recitation and asked him how was it I got poorer each time I came out to see him and he got richer. He smiled at me as though I had not a scintilla of a brain and said proudly, “I always say no.” I replied, “Excuse me?” He replied as though he were talking to an orangutan and said, “I never accept anything. That way I never can be at fault for costing the studio money. They think I am doing a bang-up job. I could have socked him but I took my manuscript and left. A couple of years later I noticed in the trades that Roger was now one of the big wigs at the studio—vice president or something like that. So, is that how one gains success in Hollywood? Saying no? Thankfully I managed to find an agent and he secured me work as a script doctor. This is where I spent my Hollywood years up to my retirement—working on other people’s projects. I did well in that area but my screenplays withered on the vine, so to speak. I have decided to take them out of obscurity, publish them and let you the reader decide if Roger should have said yes.