It’s 4.30 a.m. on a cold morning in Glasgow, and I’m waiting for a taxi, with an over-stuffed suitcase. I’m off to LA to pitch for the first time and so I’m clutching my latest feature project, Ask the Universe, a contemporary Scottish romantic comedy with a fantasy twist. Think Local Hero meets It’s a Wonderful Life with some ‘cosmic ordering’ thrown in. It’s also distinctly anti- miserablist, a definite change from the gritty, male-dominated genre which has dominated Scottish film output for nearly four decades.
I’ve got 10 meetings, and 10 days, to make the film a reality. I swallow hard as the taxi approaches.
DAY ONE
Jet-lagged, I’m sitting opposite Anne Marie Gillen, of Gillen Group LLC, in a futuristic glass and steel skyscraper in downtown Beverly Hills. Anne Marie is an agent, fixer and producer who has been hired by my producer, J.C. Crissey of London Pictures Ltd. Her impressive web page tells us that she only champions one in a hundred scripts—and we have been ‘chosen’.
Anne Marie and J.C. have been busy packaging the project: slick script, bankable cast and a modest budget of $2.5m. There are only two problems. The first is the actors; they are still ‘reading’ the script, a process which can take years. The second is me. Even though my first award-winning feature, Blinded, had a cinematic release and played in competitions all over the world, I am not a Scorsese, Coppola or a Boyle. Worse still, I am a woman.
Nevertheless, the first pitch to a ‘hot’ young indie company is not nearly as painful as I thought. They happily agree to read the script.
DAY TWO
More successful pitching today with two further promises to read. There’s a genuine interest in the subject matter, and my pitching style has vastly improved since I was advised to take breathing gaps: a moment for me to take stock, and a chance for the person who is listening to ask questions.
The evening is spent strolling down Hollywood Boulevard. Large illuminated letters, almost as vast as the Hollywood sign, spell out SCIENTOLOGY. The last time I was here I was six months pregnant, and anxious that the gift of motherhood might wipe out my directing career. Indeed, after my son arrived I was encouraged to move to an office job. I resisted and struggled on; three years later I was hospitalised 36 weeks into my second pregnancy with pre-eclampsia brought on by an awards ceremony! The shock of winning a prize for the documentary I’d directed on Scots psychiatrist R.D. Laing sent my blood pressure through the roof. Pre-eclampsia is a life-threatening condition but, as a director, the stress hardly registered. The doctors were amazed; they said I had an ‘elastic’ system—just as well with seven more pitches to go!
DAY THREE
J.C. gets a call with very good news indeed, so good that even Anne Marie is impressed. A powerful US indie loves the script. They hope to meet towards the end of the week but it depends on a second reading. J.C is ecstatic. If they go for it the deal’s as good as done. A ‘yes’ could shortcut months, maybe years of hustling, and avoids the unthinkable possibility that the film might never get made.
DAY FOUR
Today a foreign sales agent meets us, appropriately, in a sophisticated Italian café in Santa Monica, along with his sharply-dressed assistant. They will read the script but also have a warning: without that A-list cast, the budget will be impossible to raise in this climate of recession, where TV channels are paying peanuts for broadcast rights.
We dash back to Beverly Hills for our next meeting, but get stuck in the notorious LA traffic: four lanes of Hummers blasting out air-con and petrol fumes, and all with a single occupant. We throw our car into the valet parking and arrive late for the meeting, something you never do in LA. One thing is for certain, however; background research on the people you are meeting is vital, as you are more likely to find a good fit for your project. This guy we are meeting has an impressive track record, and so we distract him from our tardiness with genuine flattery. He’s touched and very interested in the project.
J.C. checks his emails again. No news from the big indie. Tomorrow is the weekend and, even in Hollywood, business closes down. We must wait. Most of my time as a British filmmaker is spent waiting.
DAYS FIVE AND SIX
We distract ourselves with a visit to the Queen Mary cruise ship, docked forever at Long Beach. My heart swells with pride when I realise this eight-storey, art-deco masterpiece of precision engineering was Clydebuilt.
DAY SEVEN
Business resumes with a ping. The much-anticipated email pops into J.C.’s inbox. The one we’ve been waiting for; just three tiny words. Three tiny words that put the years of painstaking development, juggling kids, focus groups, script editors, rewrites, redrafts and performed readings into perspective… ‘It’s a pass’. They really liked it but it’s too small-scale for them. We had deliberately kept it small so we could finance in the UK. You can’t win, can you?
Even here I realise I don’t like Mondays.
It’s not the rejection that kills you, however, but the failure to get up again. J.C. is disappointed, Anne Marie is encouraging. There’s plenty of opportunity out there. We’re only just getting started.
DAY EIGHT
We throw ourselves back in with renewed vigour; three meetings, three pitches. All but one of the recipients seems receptive.
I take the opportunity to see a top LA agent about representation. He tells me the writers he represents work for around a million bucks per screenplay; less than that and it’s not worth his time. And, his directors are mostly male, commanding and charismatic. So, I think, even in America, land of the free, they have a hard time trusting the female of the species. The Centre for the study of Woman in Film and Television states that a modest nine per cent of directors in Hollywood are women, a statistic that’s hardly changed for a decade. I point to the Oscar success of Kathryn Bigelow’s Hurt Locker, Lisa Cholodenko’s The Kids Are All Right and Debra Granik’s Winter’s Bone. Maybe things are changing? He fixes me with his icy blue eyes and smiles coldly, then looks at his watch. As they say in Glasgow, nae chance.
DAY NINE
Tomorrow we fly back. With no more meetings scheduled and two cancelled, it’s game over. We did our best, but the bottom line is that we don’t have a deal. We do, however, have a handful of promises and possibilities.
DAY TEN
A last-minute call from Anne Marie. A company we’ve been desperate to meet can fit us in on the way to the airport. I meet the second of only two women I have pitched to. We click; she ‘gets’ the film. She works for an innovative company that is moving from sales into production, and they are looking for romance and comedy projects. Another possibility starts to bubble up, but this one feels different. I can feel myself start to believe again.
On a high, we drive to the airport to catch our flight home. My feeling is that, on the whole, we have been warmly received here, by intelligent, good people who gave us the time of day and asked interesting and searching questions. And most of all they gave us a chance, without pre-judging us.
On arriving at LAX I’m told my connecting flight to Glasgow is cancelled. Do I still want to travel to Heathrow? I’m a filmmaker; I take risks. I say yes. It’s only as we are about to land at Heathrow that I think about how stuck I am. The central philosophy of our film is that if you ask the universe for something you really want, the universe provides it. Secretly I ask the universe to help me get home. Then, a miraculous announcement; the Heathrow plane is being diverted to Glasgow, everyone will have to disembark there. J.C. and Wayne, who both live near London, don’t look too pleased.
As I see the glittering lights of Glasgow rising up to meet me through the window, I plan my next step. I’ll ask the universe is to help us close the deal. The rule is that what you ask for will happen just as long as you keep believing.
For more information on Eleanor and her work, visit http://vimeo.com/eleanoryule. We will be following the progress of Ask the Universe; visit www.moviescopemag.com for updates.
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