First Published on Hidden Hollywood News, January 2014
It’s a common mistake. All of us make it from time to time. You aren’t reading this unless you have dreams of entertainment success. You don’t dream big about making it in this business without getting inspiration from a landmark movie or TV show. Alone in a dark room, it can feel like a filmmaker is speaking directly to you on a human level. It’s a universal connection shared by millions, but that somehow feels personal. From that moment on, all you can think about is creating something that connects so strongly with a viewer. What they do inspires you to tailor your life around making this dream real.
The mistake all of us make when it comes to this is a strange belief that just because a filmmaker inspired us, they have some responsibility for making our dream come true. The fantasy is that your life will change after a chance meeting with your favorite director of all-time. Let me know if this sounds familiar…
INT. ELEVATOR – DAY
A hurried ASSISTANT scrambles in as the doors slide shut. Spills a little coffee on the floor. He watches it splash on the tennis shoes of a man standing inside.
Looks up to reveal….
STEVEN SPIELBERG, 67, Jewish Santa Claus/the man who taught an entire generation to dream.
ASSISTANT
Oh my God, I’m so sorry…(pauses) It’s you…You’re the reason I’m here. I love all of your movies. In fact, I’ve got the perfect project….
An uplifting John Williams score swells over the dialogue as the Assistant pitches the project.
We don’t hear the idea, but Spielberg is COMPLETELY INTO IT in spite of the coffee soaking in his sneaks…
CUT TO:
STEVEN SPIELBERG
You know I’ve been looking for a project just like that. How would you like to write my next picture?
Spielberg hands the Assistant a dollar sign bag of gold coins.
ASSISTANT
Thank you so much. You made my dreams come true, Steve.
STEVEN SPIELBERG
It’s the least I could do. Thank you for years of support.
OK. Had enough yet?
The reality is that if you’re in the room with your hero, or find him standing in line next to you at Starbucks, or walking through the lot at Universal, or working on a set, or after a special Q&A event, the last thing you want to do is pitch him. It seems like the most direct and accessible path to glory, but, in reality, the reaction is more like Kirk Douglas screaming at the general in PATHS OF GLORY. I bring this up now because of the numerous panel events that some admirable filmmakers attend in the lead up to the Oscars. Yes, this is when the best of the best impart their wisdom and bask in the admiration while being a little terrified by the reaction they’re receiving. But most people are there to hear the guests. Every time I go to one of these events it seems like someone in the audience starts with a question that actually turns out to be a 3 minute pitch of their idea. Don’t be that guy. What is the decorum for approaching a famous person you admire?
Let me draw this out from personal experience. As you may have guessed from my dream scenario featuring the man who brought us everything from Indiana Jones to Tiny Toons, Steven Spielberg is a filmmaker/human being whom I greatly admire. If you’ve read my previous posts, you will see a recurring theme. I love Steven Spielberg. So you should know that I have thrice crossed paths with the man, the myth, the legend. How did I react?
The first time I saw him, I was heading into work at CAA. He was standing in the breezeway near the main entrance to the building. I was about 6 weeks into the gig and thought talking to him would be a major faux pas. Plus, he was on his Blackberry. He seemed pretty focused on whatever he was reading. In this instance, I was satisfied brushing past greatness. After the initial shock of seeing my hero wore off, I began to regret not saying something to him. Part of me fantasized about a scene similar to what I listed earlier. Ultimately, I told myself if I ever saw him again, I would at least say ‘hello’.
Three months later, my chance came. I was coming up the escalators at 2000 Avenue of the Stars. The way the light hits the floors outside those front doors made him seem almost angelic. He was thumbing a Blackberry, but I was a little more sure of myself this time. “Good morning,” I said with my most cheerful Midwestern tone. I dropped those words in passing. Seconds past. No response. In fact, he wasn’t even giving the slightest indication that he’d heard me. I was now ten feet away, still walking, thinking my hero was about to ignore me completely. Then, something pulled him away from this digital conversation he was having and back to the room. That’s when he looked up from his Blackberry…
“…Good morning. How are you?” His tone was anything but annoyed. Somehow, he exceeded my morning cheer. His delay seemed to come from the shock that a random kid told him good morning. He gave me that shamed look people get when they feel like they’re supposed to know you because you obviously know them. And he smiled at me. I smiled back. “I’m fine. Thanks.” And I turned my head, completely relieved that my hero was the warm, friendly personality I’d built up in my imagination.
I felt satisfied after that. I told myself that if our paths never crossed again, at least I exchanged pleasantries with the man. That’s a validation of a dream, right? I figured that the next time I saw him would be under more professional circumstances and I would have an opportunity to reveal how much I appreciated his work and what it meant to me.
Three and a half years later, I was working at a party at Bad Robot. Since JJ Abrams was hosting the event and I was working with the event staff, my job was to follow JJ for production purposes. The rumors were that Spielberg had been invited, but no one knew if he was coming. Not only did he come to the party, the guy held court. I found myself in the unique position of standing five feet from these two titans as guests came to pay their tribute. I stood there for an hour, working up the courage to say something beyond “hello”.
It actually gave me enough time to draft a short speech about seeing SAVING PRIVATE RYAN when I was 14 and deciding that was the moment I wanted to be a filmmaker and how it’s brought me to this point in my life and that I just wanted to thank him for all of the great films. Not surprisingly, everyone else seemed to have the same idea. I stood by…waiting for my opening.
And then it came. At one point, he was looking to unload an hors d’oeuvres cup that was designed to hold espresso, but loaded with lobster bisque. Rather than letting the catering staff do their job, I seized the moment. “I’ll take that, sir.” He put the cup in my left hand, I reached out with my right and shook his hand. That’s when I launched into the speech. But the words I’d been rehearsing didn’t come out as eloquently as planned. “...I was 14 years old and SAVING PRIVATE RYAN was out—My dad and I thought it was the best movie we’d ever seen—and that’s when I decided I wanted to do this with my life.” Now, I was referring to making movies, but to Steven Spielberg, the surveillance kit in my ear indicated that I was working security at an event. He likely wondered how he inspired me to become a security guard. He thanked me with an almost grandfatherly enthusiasm, but he didn’t turn away. I still had his attention, so I continued, “You inspire me. I want to be like you. How do I be like you?” He told me that I need to start small like he did and just make any film I can. I thanked him for the advice and asked what I hoped would yield the piece of advice that would change my life forever. “What’s your number one piece of advice for a young filmmaker?” “Story is everything. If you don’t have a great story, you have nothing.” I thanked him and parted ways. Even though I already knew that, it was pretty cool to get the answer from the oracle himself.
That was my moment. I had any number of projects that I could have pitched him, but it would have been poor form on my part. Spielberg was a special exception because he meant so much to me. Even then, I didn’t take up more than 30 seconds of his time and I knew when to move on. For any other famous person whose work I admire, I simply shake their hand and thank them for a specific project I loved. When I met JJ Abrams on the same night, I told him I really enjoyed the throwback nature of SUPER 8. When I met James L. Brooks, I thanked him for MARY TYLER MOORE and THE SIMPSONS. When I met Jack Black, I simply shook his hand and told him, “I love you work, man. Keep ’em comin‘.” Now, these were logical moments where the people were by themselves and generally unoccupied. Most importantly, I did not reference the extent of how well I knew their work, just that I appreciated it. Everyone loves a compliment. They especially love it when it isn’t a Trojan horse for a story pitch that will suck up their time until they find a polite way of escaping from you. No one hates hearing that they’re good at their chosen profession. Be polite. Speak your piece. Move on.
If it’s meant to be, you will one day find yourself in their office formally pitching an idea. Save the speech about how much you loved a particular film or performance for the moment you’re discussing a future project. Even then, do not gush so much that it takes them away from the task at hand. And when that moment comes, you can say, “I once shook your hand at EVENT X in YEAR Y.” Then, you can smile and nod as they pretend to remember meeting you. My point is that you cannot force the moment on them. Just because they inspired a dream in you doesn’t mean they’re the ones to make it come true. Be cool. They don’t need to hear everything you love about them. Chances are they won’t have the time and more than likely, this will weird them out. A chance meeting won’t make you besties for life.
Now, if they’re conducting business or spending time with their family, it’s best to keep your distance altogether (unless one of them is choking and you know the Heimlich). I know you want to say hello and you don’t know if this chance will come again, but I’m certain that more harm than good will come to you by bothering them in this situation. For me, if you have to say something to a famous hero, just let them know you think they’re great and, unless they want to engage you further, leave it at that. That’s how I handle it at least. Unless Bruce Springsteen walks in the room, then all bets are off.
This article first ran on HIDDEN HOLLYWOOD NEWS on January 24, 2014
Patrick McConville 