Thread by @DavidHSteinberg

“I think it’s ready.”
*panic*

I had just turned in my latest draft of Slackers to my agent @JewerlRoss on Thursday, September 9, 1999, and I’m ready for more notes. Something like, “Can you make it funnier?” which was his main note on the last draft.

So when I get the call Monday morning telling me it’s ready to “go out to the town,” I’m *really* not ready for what’s about to happen. Sure, Jewerl had sent out my last spec just a few months back, but this script feels different.

First, it’s loosely based on my personal experiences trying to pull scams in college, but it’s also my first attempt at writing R-rated comedy. “American Pie” had just come out the month before and was a huge hit so Jewerl suggested I write something a little more “raunchy.”

But I’m also in far worse financial condition. I quit my job as a lawyer to go to film school & then I quit film school to write full time. But I’ve blown through my savings & desperate for 💰. So much so that I’ve been interviewing w temp agencies to do anything to pay the rent.

Monday, September 13, 1999
The script is going out on Tuesday because that’s what day spec scripts go out. So Jewerl spends Monday calling 50+ producers talking up the script. The plan is to get excitement at the producer level, then assign them studio “territories.”

It turns out Monday is also “slipping” day. After all, what good is it to say how great the script is if no one’s reads it to confirm the hype? So a handful of “fans” (from previous general meetings) get the script a day early.

That afternoon, the tracking boards catch wind of it. Tracking boards are internet groups of junior executives who share information on spec scripts. As soon as someone hears about a new script, they post the information on the board & pretty soon, the whole town knows about it.

My fiancé [now wife of 20 years] Keetgi, an executive at New Regency, starts seeing a listing for Slackers on all the tracking boards. Now everyone knows about this script and it’s literally their job to get a copy.

Mission accomplished: At this point, Jewerl doesn’t need to call anyone any more. They start calling him.

Tuesday, September 14, 1999
The script is supposed to go out at 9 a.m. For some reason, protocol dictates that companies send messengers to pick up the script from the agency instead of the other way around. But it doesn’t matter, because Jewerl’s not sending the script out.

I, of course, assume he has changed his mind because he wants another rewrite, or worse. Some producer must have convinced him I need to “raise the stakes” or improve the “ticking clock.” Basically, the jig is up, I’ve been found out for the fraud I am.

“The people we slipped it to love it.”
“Wait, really? Okay so that's great! Then why aren’t you sending it out?”
“Because now they’re going to want it even more.”

So all fifty producers get a phone call from Jewerl’s assistant telling them to recall their messengers, they can’t have it until Wednesday now.

And that’s when the calls start coming in. To me. “Hey, remember me? Can you get me a copy of the script? Your agent is being a jerk. I told him what a close personal relationship we have (based on our one meeting four months ago), but he won’t give it to me.”

Jewerl institutes radio silence for me. I’m no longer allowed to answer my [landline] phone and if Jewerl needs to talk to me he’ll call me on my fax line.

All day long my phone rings and producers are leaving messages on my answering machine asking for the script. And I’m just sitting there listening since I can’t leave my apartment in case the fax line rings.

The tracking boards are starting to report that the coverage is coming back positive from the few people who got the script early. Whether the script actually good or just people think they can sell it we’ll never know but this fact creates pandemonium in the tracking world.

My friends who are assistants promise their bosses they can get the script. Big producers call Jewerl themselves to demand the script when their junior executives’ phone calls are not returned.

There is a mysterious thing in this town called “buzz.” It’s hard to put your finger on exactly how and when it starts. But by Tuesday night, we are knee deep in it.

Wednesday, September 15, 1999
“This script is going to sell.”
“What? To who? For how much?”

After a basically sleepless night, I call Jewerl on my “secure channel.” By 10am the script is out to [physically picked up by] fifty-five producers and I’m instructed not to leave my apartment until I’m told to do so by him. We’re not trusting cell phones in a time like this.

Great. So now what do I do? Keetgi goes to work and is deluged with people calling her all day long. About the coverage. Rumors of offers. Who’s taking it in where.

Remember, at this point, no studio has seen the script, only producers. The script is simultaneously read all over town by everyone at lunch. They call Jewerl to ask for territories.

Five producers on the Sony lot vie to be the one attached to take it in to the studio. Three producers at Fox. Six at Disney. And so on.

Pissed producers still try to call me at home to get a smaller territory when all the major studios are carved up without them. I cringe at every message, thinking, “They like my script! Can’t we give them something?!”

Jewerl is busy parceling out territories. I spend the day pacing back and forth. I may lose my security deposit on the apartment for wearing out the rug, but I literally have nothing to do but wait for the phone to ring.

By the end of the day, big-time producers are reading the script themselves. Neal Moritz has it. Mike Medavoy from Phoenix Pictures is reading it that night on the bus to a test screening. It goes into the studios and overnight coverage is requested.

Jewerl calls me at the end of the day and says it’s going well. He thinks it’s going to sell. He’s not sure to whom, but he knows what this amount of buzz means. He wants me to draw up my wish list for a best-case scenario.

Keetgi and I spend all night thinking about it and we come up with the following: greenlight commitment. Is that a thing?

Thursday, September 16, 1999
“You got an offer but I turned them down.”
“What?!?”

After sleepless night number 3, I am really freaking out. I literally haven’t left my apartment in two days. I’ve been passing the time calling my parents, letting them in on the experience vicariously.

I feel positive. But I’ll feel a lot better if there is an actual offer on the table. The fax line rings!

“Artisan made you an offer, but I turned them down.”
“What?!? How much?”
“A hundred twenty-five against two fifty.”
“What?!?”
“They said the offer expires at noon. They’re just trying to force your hand. I told them to forget it.”
“Jewerl, do you know what you’re doing?”
“Yes.”

And he hangs up. Jewerl’s Thursday is much like mine. He doesn’t leave his office, even for lunch, and I don’t leave my apartment. The only difference is that he fields three hundred phone calls, whereas I field none.

Noon comes and goes and so does my only offer. Then, around three o’clock, the phone rings on the fax machine. “Morgan Creek made you an offer, but I turned them down. Can’t talk. Bye.” And, before I can even say a word, he hangs up. Again.

I would later learn that Morgan Creek was *going* to make an offer, but wanted Jewerl to get me on the phone. Jewerl refused, saying that putting his client on the phone would cause undue pressure on me and that I pay him to make these decisions for me.

They wound up hanging up on him after exchanging profanities, so technically, they never did make an offer.

At four o’clock, my friend at DreamWorks tells me that Jeffrey Katzenberg brought up my script in their morning meeting. Amy Pascal is reading it that night for Sony. Harvey Weinstein is faxed a copy to New York [yikes!]. And De Luca at New Line has it for overnight read as well.

Studios are asking Jewerl to wait until the morning until they can make competing offers. But we don’t technically have any offers at the moment. Artisan is gone and Morgan Creek had hung up on Jewerl. I should be optimistic. But the truth is, I’m scared.

Then Destination comes in, late in the day. The new mini-studio formed by the former MPCA execs who made “Dumb and Dumber” and “Kingpin,” Destination is an upstart company looking to buy their first spec script. They make an offer and Jewerl calls me, frantic.

“Destination’s making you an offer. What do you want, money or the greenlight?”
“Well, you know this is a hard decision--”
“Money or the greenlight! I need to know now!”
“Greenlight.”
And he hangs up.

I would later find out that Jewerl turned down the Destination offer. He said he felt confident a major studio would come in with a higher bid. But Destination won’t take no for an answer.

After Jewerl turns them down, they call a different agent at the agency and try to negotiate the deal with him, saying that Jewerl is being unreasonable and isn’t looking out for his client’s interests.

Jewerl storms into the other agent’s office and shouts, “You’re not closing my @*$%# deal!” The other agent backs down and tells Destination they have to deal directly with Jewerl.

Jewerl calls me and tells me to go get dinner, we are done for the night. I ask about the Destination offer, and he says he turned them down. We’re waiting until the morning for a better offer. So, I call some friends and make plans to get myself a stiff drink. Or five.

Unbeknownst to me at the time, however, Destination still isn’t giving up. It’s 7pm and the Destination business affairs people have gone home (these are the numbers folks who authorize the bids),

but the executive is still there and he wants to buy my script. At 7:15 he calls Jewerl back (without the business affairs people on the line) and ups the offer.

So I’m literally out the door when from the hallway I hear the phone ring. On the fax line. I race inside and grab the phone.

“Don’t go anywhere!” And he hangs up.

So I stand there, next to the fax machine and wait. And wait. And wait.

There’s that cliché about how waiting for something “seemed like an eternity.” Well clichés are clichés for a reason. Because they’re true.

Ring. Half a ring, really. I pick it up, lightning quick.
“What happened?!?”
“We closed your deal.”
“We did? With who?”
“Destination.”
A long beat. I know that the answer to the next question will literally change my life.

It’s actually a little difficult to ask.

“What’d we get?”
Then, Jewerl pauses. Moments like these demand drama.

“Seven hundred thousand dollars.”

An Hour Later
I don’t know everything that happened in the last hour. I remember calling my parents and my mom crying. I remember someone (it must have been Keetgi) calling all my friends and organizing an impromptu get together. But the rest is kind of a blur.

All I know is that I’m at Chaya Beverly Hills surrounded by twenty friends.

Jewerl pulls out a document from his suit jacket. It’s my deal memo. There, in writing are the terms of my deal. $700,000 guaranteed… and a greenlight commitment.

Nine Months Later
Nine months later I was on the set watching Slackers being filmed. Devon Sawa, Jaime King, and Jason Schwartzman had been cast in the lead roles. Fashion photographer Dewey Nicks was brought on to direct.

There were dozens and dozens of people running around, from make-up artists to gaffers to grips. And in the center of it all was me. Former lawyer. Former film school student. Professional screenwriter. On the set of my own movie.

Postscript
Not everything goes the way you plan it. Destination ultimately went out of business and Sony picked up the movie out of bankruptcy. It premiered on SuperBowl weekend in 2002 and did a total domestic box office of $4.8M. But as we like to say, "It’s a cult hit”!

Oh, and, by the way, literally the day after the script sold, I got a call from one of the temp agencies. They said they had finally found me a great temp position and asked if I could start on Monday.