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a Screenmancer exclusive
and came back with the following nickname for:
THE FOURTH ANNUAL
AUSTIN FILM FESTIVAL’S
HEART OF FILM
SCREENWRITERS CONFERENCE
(which took place Oct 2-7, 1997)
by the Man, Mark Ebner, whose dubious opinions are reflected here (uhm, not ours)
Consider the rich history of maleness setting the scene for the 4th Annual Austin Fest. No, not Richard Linklater and his school of slack, nor Robert Rodriguez from down San Antonio way. While those two dated darlings were still in diapers, there was already a burgeoning screenwriter community in Austin known as "The Mad Dogs." This Rat Pack of journalists-turned-screenwriters included Al Reinert (Apollo 13), Dan Jenkins (Semi-Tough), Bud Schrake (Tom Horn), Peter Gent (North Dallas Forty), and Larry King (The Best Little Whorehouse In Texas). While Texan Terence Malick hid out in the hills thinking "high art," and Tobe Hooper plotted his career in the slasher genre, that gang of five held high court. Hell, they even had their own Shirley MacLaine (lamented ex-Governor Ann Richards) and Sammy Davis Jr. (balladeer, Jerry Jeff Walker) sipping whiskey with the best of them.
So, it was small surprise that, of the 70 some odd distinguished panelists participating in the Austin Fest panel discussions and conferences, only ten were women. Fortunately, Polly Platt, representing Carsey-Warner’s film division -- who wrote Pretty Baby and produced such excellent films as Bottle Rocket and Say Anything -- supplied enough pussy power to even the score.
The spunky, pert, Platt believes that most insecure screenwriters are too "self-involved, too obsessed with penis size" to actually get laid, yet, her and Christopher McQuarrie (Academy Award winning writer, The Usual Suspects) are found flirting at every panel discussion, every meal they share...
At festival headquarters, the Western/Victorian-style Driskill Hotel, I corner Al Reinert (writer, Apollo 13) for a history lesson. "If you came from a small town," explains Reinert, "Austin is where you went. Writers were a big deal here from the Fifties through the early Seventies. Then the music scene started coming along." When I tell him that I came to Austin because I’d heard that Christopher McQuarrie actually gets laid there, Reinert laughs. Loud. "Everybody gets laid in Austin," he enthuses. "That’s the whole reason why you come here and stay here. Everybody makes more money in Dallas or Houston, but you don’t get laid there."
Okay, banging the writer might not be the best way to advance your career in Hollywood, but screenwriters must be able to wrangle tail, given the tales they spin. In the ‘hood they call it "game." Carl Gottleib (Jaws I - 3D) flatly states that writers in Hollywood don’t get laid as much as, say, directors, because "they do not have direct control of jobs." Reinert claims he hasn’t been a movie writer long enough to know for sure. He laments, "I’ve been a writer for twenty years, and I think writers in general had more sexual cache then than now. I got laid more in the Seventies." But, in the Seventies, Reinert was a magazine journalist.
Good morning. In a hallway of the hotel, right around the corner from the Women In Film booth, I run into Andrew Marlowe and his new bride, screenwriter, Terri. They first met in Austin a couple of years back at this fest, so this trip serves as not only an ego feeding ground for the hot, young Air Force One scribe, but a homecoming honeymoon for both. Freshly f*cked, Marlowe is set on f*cking with hopeful writers in the "Suspense Panel" coming up a few minutes away at the Omni Hotel. "I’m thinking about showing up a little late," jokes Marlowe. Bah-dum-dum. This first packed panel, featuring Marlowe, Gottlieb, and Austin homeboy, Tobe Hooper, actually turns out to be good for a few early morning laughs. Gottleib sums up the panelists and their genres. "I’m ‘man against nature,’ Marlowe is ‘man against man,’ and Hooper is ‘man against life.’" Marlowe interjects that the current trend for faceless, nameless writers is "man against machine," and...
At a BBQ joint, we find that since his divorce in ‘81, Gottleib went through a period of "sport f*cking." AIDS killed that for him and his colleagues in ‘85, creating a hotbed of angry writers left standing to create cinema stories for the Nineties. And therein lies a possible answer as to why movies suck today -- as opposed to the excellent character, story driven films of the Seventies. Getting laid leads to creative storytelling in America.
But, as Hollywood comes full circle, with coming-of-age and family dramas (Myth Of Fingerprints, etc.) filling the Fall slate, we see down-home films being created by those far from our native shores. Ang Lee directing The Ice Storm? Gottleib has a theory: "With very few exceptions, you can’t direct actors who are speaking in a tongue other than your native tongue. You’ll never hear the inflection." Of the few exceptions, Gottleib mentions Fellini, and Andrew Marlowe chimes in with Sergio Leone. McQuarrie orders a burger.
The conversation turns to writing and procrastination. Gottleib sets a typical scene: "The room is the right temperature, the coffee is hot, fresh paper, no interruptions... Ready to write." He pauses. "Perhaps the room is to warm..." McQuarrie views writing as "the best way to keep your office clean." As for writers who rely on stimulants (including coffee) to work, Gottleib’s advice is, "Be sure you’re doing what you want to be doing when you take the speed." "If you’re not writing within the first twenty five-minutes of contraband consumption, as McQuarrie suggested, you’ll wind up cleaning your office." McQuarrie’s last experience with a "triple-mocha-cappuccino" as "like crack." It kept him up until four in the morning.
For some odd reason, talk of traveling on holidays comes up. While McQuarrie warns against even attempting to travel the day before a major holiday, Marlowe shares Harrison Ford’s Christmas solution as related around the craft service table on the set of Air Force One. As the crew lamented limited opportunities to visit loved ones during down time, Ford strolled up and stopped the conversation, interjecting, "Well, you know, I have my own plane." Gottleib one-ups Marlowe with this cast of characters at Robin Williams’ fortieth birthday party in Sonoma: Steven Spielberg, Kate Capshaw and John Travolta. Travolta had winged in his private Lear Jet to murmurs of approval by all present. Next topic -- Scientology, with a fast segue to Roman Polanski, and the impending US return of the enfant terrible.
Porno titles for mainstream films comes up next. McQuarrie saw a poster in San Francisco touting The Usual Anal Suspects, and Gottleib once caught creative advertising for some genital-laden gem called "Crack A Tour East Of The Splits." "Air Force Buns" and "Hair Force One" are predicted for Marlowe’s picture, and, well, the entire table tailspins as McQuarrie, dipping into the homo-erotic, rattles off "To Sir, With Glove," "Mice Pirates," "Flirting With His Ass, Sir" and "Leaving Las Anus." Boys will be boys. Check, please...
At a filmmakers reception held on the mezzanine of the Paramount Theater later that afternoon, I corner legendary writer Buck Henry (The Graduate, To Die For) by the beef carving station. While free food and warm weather is what most attracts him to festivals near south border cities, he’d settle for a Polish actress right about now. Like Platt, Henry doesn’t think writers get laid. At all. "A lot of them are misfits," he says, before he scurrying off in search of a beverage. The silk-shirted Patrick Sheane Duncan (Courage Under Fire, Mr. Holland’s Opus) belies Henry’s contention as he’s spotted with a now-famous screenwriter groupie from Minnesota named Patty, trailing him like a salivating puppy dog in heat. Word is she shacked up with Shane Black at the first Austin Fest, and Duncan’s been taking the action man’s sloppy seconds since.
Sipping a Shiner Bock (the unofficial beer of the festival), McQuarrie reflects on the history of our designated writer groupie, Patty. "She came, literally came, out on the patio for Shane Black," is the way he described her publicly displayed spontaneous orgasm. The consensus is that Patty is "definitely do-able," until she steps up, introduces herself, and with a sneer warns, "Don’t believe anything they say about me." With that, she spins on her heels, and struts off for some more Duncan dunkin’.
Day one of the Austin Fest officially concluded with a wonderful "salon" event called "Coffee and Clips," at which screenwriters showed their favorite scenes from their favorite movies, then discussed them. This comfortable, intimate affair offered insight that most film schools fail to offer in a true love of cinema context.
From his easy chair, McQuarrie shared: "As much as I sit here and I make fun of studio executives, and I make fun of the hierarchy of stupidity that you have to go through -- the author betrays himself if he starts writing for stupid people. Films are bad because they are made for stupid people." He drives his point home by reflecting on how, when he worked as a security guard at an urban movie house, his job was to watch the audience. What he found by listening to their comments like, "This is garbage! This is bullshit!," was that "You never fool the audience without their consent. The audience as a whole, as a collective, is always smarter than you. As a collective, they’ve all seen more movies than you. They know what they’re being fed."
Brushstroking, McQuarrie subtly offered hope for the largely disconnected from Hollywood audience. Hope, in knowing that, for at least when they get back to their word processors, nobody owns their words but them. Then, he sat back to marvel at Seven writer, Andrew Kevin Walker’s selected scene from Midnight Cowboy -- a film blessedly far removed from, say Forest Gump -- a movie that typifies the time we are living in. A time where, as McQuarrie -- who’s the first to admit that he’s a "festival whore [who] likes to show off" -- puts it, "fame and money are regarded as cultural achievements."
Day 2 begins with a gathering billed as "The Producers Breakfast." As ersatz scrambled eggs were served at the ungodly hour of 7 am, it fast became apparent that any producers at the festival were either sleeping-in, or ordering room service. Way outside LA city limits writers resorted to table-hop-"pitching" other writers gamely trying to look interested.
Pat Duncan taught an early morning Master Class in Screenwriting. I caught up with the Vietnam veteran writer afterwards...
Duncan: Writers rarely get respect or recognition for what they do, and constantly I write a film and it gets made, and the critics like it, and attribute everything to the director. Then they blame the screenplay for something wrong with the movie... the director even gets two credits for one job. Nobody else gets two credits for one job, you know? ...What I just want is the proper recognition from people like Premiere Magazine and so forth. They rarely profile writers.
ME: Well, I’ve tried every angle, including "Do writers really get laid?"
Duncan: And there’s no interest.
ME: To Austin specific... This is a cool festival, and I see you’re a veteran.
Duncan: I come here for the same reason I go to Sundance. I get inspired by these people. You have writers here who are writing because they have to. They have to tell their stories. You go to Sundance, there’s filmmakers who made their movies just ‘cause they had to. They have no idea who’s gonna buy it, they have no idea who’s gonna see it -- they just had to make this movie.
ME: Well, every agent in Hollywood will show up at Sundance, or even Telluride --
Duncan: -- They didn’t go at first. This is what, the fourth year of this thing? At Sundance it wasn’t until 1989 when Sex, Lies, and Videotape came around... Sundance had been around for a few years before that... I could spend my life going to film festivals. There must be 40 or 50 film festivals.
ME: Well, if you were like Buck Henry and enjoyed warm weather and free food as much as him, you would be spending your life at them... Independent films are getting made, but nobody is seeing them, I’m afraid.
Duncan: There’s a glut on the market.
ME: They can’t break that Multiplex mentality.
Duncan: First you have to get a distributor. Imagine you’re a distributor who distributes art films. The first year I went to Sundance they had 39 films. That was every independent film that had been made in the country, and half of them were pretty awful. Now, it’s something like in the hundreds. Nobody is writing a novel any more. Every kid who saw Clerks, or Sex Lies and Videotape, or a Tarantino film, is making a movie. So, they might have 800 films, and if you’re a distributor, the first thing you say is, "Hey, it’s a good film, but there’s so many good films. How do I sell this?"
ME: Ultimately, if the studios get behind their presumed boutique films --
Duncan: -- They have more films than they know what to do with now!
ME: But with the studio product that’s coming out, it’s clear that there are no good films really.
Duncan: No, no, come on! You’re comparing apples and oranges here. Specialty films have a limited audience. Some cross over, very few do. The Full Monty is crossing over, Slingblade crossed over -- but very few do. It’s a different audience. Then you have your big studio films like Con Air that people want to go to. It’s a popcorn movie. They just want to forget themselves for an hour and a half. I’m the oldest of twelve. We’re a blue collar, white trash, migrant worker family -- you know, that kind of thing. My brothers and sisters work in a factory. They make bubble gum and clocks. They want to go to a movie and forget their lives for an hour and a half. Remember, Con Air was made for the teenager who will never go to an art film.
ME: They enjoyed 84 Charlie Mopic [written and directed by Duncan] didn’t they?
Duncan: No they didn’t. They didn’t come out of the theater singing a song. There’s no relief in that film. They don’t want to go to deep. They want a good romance, or a good laugh. They want Dumber And Dumber. That’s fine, you know? We should be glad that there’s a small audience for the art films. It’s just that there’s too damn many of them. Some of these companies have more films than they can put out. It’s a tough marketplace, it’s really tough to break through. And even when you get a distributor, getting an audience is a really hard thing. It’s hard for the studios, it’s hard for the art film.
ME: How does all this translate to when you take to a podium at a festival like this, wanting to encourage hopeful screenwriters?
Duncan: I tell them how hard it is, and then I encourage them, because we need as many voices as we can get out there.
ME: It gets back to "Why do you write anyway?"
Duncan: I tell them to write for free. If you won’t write for free, don’t go to Hollywood. I love good writing, and there’s not enough of it. I want more of it, so I encourage it.
ME: Are you married?
Duncan: No, I have an ex-wife. It was a very amiable divorce. She does all my typing, all my editing, and so on, and I give her half my income. Forever.
ME: Really?
Duncan: Yeah, because she came out here to chase this stupid dream with me. You know, we were married for 17 years, together for 26, and I wouldn’t be here if she hadn’t helped.
ME: When I asked Polly Platt if screenwriters get laid, she said, "No, they’re too self obsessed," and Buck Henry regards his colleagues as "misfits." I’ve always thought that there are a cabal of screenwriters who are getting it constantly, and there’s a gang of women who are yearning to be with the guys with the stories. Am I wrong?
Duncan: Writers, when they write, work alone. There’s a good many unsociable animals who are writers because they can be. They don’t have to meet a lot of people. But then if you’re a successful writer in Hollywood, generally your social skills are pretty good because you have to take a lot of meetings. If you’re a successful writer in Hollywood you have very little time to write. You have a lot of meetings, a lot of scripts to read. I think the more successful you are, the better your social skills are -- and if you’re really successful, you can be a misfit and get away with it. Hollywood is one of those places where they’ll tolerate anything as long as you’re making money for someone. So, I guess you can be a misfit. But there’s a lot of misfit directors, and tell me that you haven’t met a misfit actor.
Well, I guess that was another "nay" on whether or not writers get laid. Anyway...
At the Dialogue Panel, the audience is wowed by the witticisms of Andrew Kevin Walker and McQuarrie -- Mamet scholars both; and Polly Platt and Ted Tally (Silence Of The Lambs). McQuarrie teases the audience about (without revealing the title of) a movie he’s trying to direct that was budgeted at $180 million by Warner Brothers, and on the subject at hand...
McQuarrie: I have been asked to rewrite dialogue on occasion. In every script, the dialogue, has not been the biggest problem. I can make it snappy, and put in a lot of profanity, but the story is still gonna have this gaping hole in the middle that they refuse to address. I was recently asked to rewrite a film that was literally ten days away from production, and, in my opinion, it was in need of a page one rewrite. And not only that, it was a remake of a really good movie. So, I said, "You know what you do? Over the next ten days, colorize the original film."
McQuarrie, then bottom-lines it for the crowd:
"The thing that I’ve learned in the film business is, you have to know what you want. You have to know exactly what it is you want, and you have to ask for it, because nobody will give it to you. And then you can only negotiate it. Sometimes it doesn’t turn out the way you want it, but to keep your sanity -- either sell a script and walk away, or direct it. Whenever I hear a writer say, "Oh, they didn’t make the movie I wrote," I say, "Yeah, well, they didn’t spend the money you made either."
That afternoon, Festival attendees were treated to a BBQ at the Governor’s Mansion. Had Ann Richards still been in office, joints would have been smoked in the open, but with Junior George Bush presiding, it was a pretty staid affair, notwithstanding the lurking presence of Oliver Stone and Dennis Hopper.
A running joke circulating was that - in the festival program notes - director, Jonathan Kaufer’s semi-finalist festival entry, Bad Manners, was listed with just a blurb reading "Directed by a Jew." Kaufer, the heir-apparent to Woody Allen, probably started that rumor. We sit for a chat....
Kaufer: 15 years ago, I wrote, directed, and saw Soup For One [his first feature starring Saul Rubinek]. I was a triple-threat, I guess. The studio specifically forbade me to attend festivals with the film because the studio head did not want it to get the aura of an art film. That was my studio experience....
ME: Where’ve you been since?
Kaufer: I was bi-coastal... In NYC I wrote several scripts, starred in a feature film called Always, by Henry Jaglom... I moved to London, did a couple of TV pilots, worked on Dream On. I had projects at studios that went under -- Orion, Vestron, etc.. A lot of frustrating, near-miss experiences.
He’s back. Kaufer fell in love with and married Pia Zadora with whom he recently had a baby, Jordan Maxwell. His baby in Austin is a movie that I delighted in seeing for the second time at this festival...
Bad Manners is based on the play, Ghost In The Machine, written by David Gilman (who also adapted it for the screen). Starring David Strathairn, Bonnie Bedelia, Saul Rubinek, and indie darling Caroleen Feeney, it’s a taut psychological drama with a lot of dark comedic overtones about four people together over a weekend in a house, dealing with themes of betrayal and trust. And truth. The deep questions - handled beautifully by the stellar cast, and deftly by Kaufer’s steady helmsman hand - asked are, "How do you know whether what you’re seeing can be accepted at face value?," and "Who do you trust, who do you not trust?" In short, Bad Manners is an art house knock-off of The Usual Suspects. Kidding. This fine film has been awakening audiences and critics as a surprise sleeper hit at festivals from Hamburg, Germany to Mill Valley, California.
Leva’s film, a finalist entry at the Austin Fest, took a prize at Breckenridge, and was well-received at Santa Barbara. Leva has found a distribution loophole towards getting his ensemble comedy romance about five friends wrestling with what happens when life didn’t turn out like they planned seen. And it’s not "four-walling" (the risky practice of renting out your own little movie house). He found a major theater he wanted his film to open in, and called the guy who books for the chain. Getting penny ante distribution offers on the festival circuit, he said "f*ck it," and went directly to the exhibitors, winding up booking Mann and UA houses in LA -- with Denver, Dallas, and New York lined up.
Another Jew, Steven Schwartz, wrote the Austin Fest sneak preview, Critical Care -- a darkly comic drama about what’s wrong with the medical system. He scored a major coup by landing Sidney Lumet to direct this potential sleeper.
ME: How the f*ck did you do it? How did you wind up writing for Sidney Lumet?
Schwartz: I didn’t write for Sidney Lumet. I wrote for me and got it to Sidney Lumet. After four attempts, I finally got it to Sidney. He read it, he loved it, committed to do it -- and it only took 3 more years to get the money from Live Entertainment. Everybody worked for a fraction of their usual fees.
Speaking of fees, high paid writer, Buck Henry, is spotted, again wandering around looking for free food, and I finally catch up with Seven scribe, Andrew Kevin Walker...
Walker: I moved to NYC [from Philadelphia] to get into the film industry. I knew I had to go the New York route because I couldn’t afford a car. I started out PA-ing on films, and I worked on some low budget scripts for free. You know, PA-ing is like a 16 hour day... That’s why I started working at Tower Records. I got a 40 hour work week, where I could actually start to do some writing... I knew that I needed to get an agent, and I thought that Seven ought to be read by an agent. I also knew that agents would not look at anything unless I came recommended by someone. So, I saw this movie Bad Influence with David Koepp’s name on it. He was listed. I called LA, got his number -- actually, I eventually got his assistant at Universal -- then I just asked him to read my script. And he did.
ME: Are you digging the festival?
Walker: The clips and coffee thing was cool. It reminded me of the real way to learn how to write movies.
ME: The Breaking Into Hollywood Panel you just came off... How did you feel about that?
Walker: I feel very good about these panels, because when I was in college -- well, I am now in the position to answer questions that I always wanted to ask when I was in college.
ME: Is it true about screenwriters being the last to get laid in Hollywood?
Walker: More people like directors. I have a girlfriend right now, and I met her through business, but you spend more time meeting people when you’re actually working at a job where you meet people -- instead of sitting alone for all the time you do as a writer.
McQuarrie and I squeeze in next to Pen Densham (director, Moll Flanders) and roll out to the remote Barton Springs Cineplex for the U-Turn premiere. Densham waxes about a Houdini project he’s got going for television, and for the first time during the festival, McQuarrie reveals his immediate plan, his passion. He has secretly been developing Alexander The Great, and actually commissioned (out of his own pocket) another writer to tackle the script. He wants to direct the epic, and has the story down -- ready to spin it beat by beat (music cues included) for anyone willing to take a chance on him first time out as director.
The hope is that Warner Brothers - so far impressed with the script written by Seattle playwright/Alexander scholar, Peter Buchman - will be the studio to drop the necessary coin. Roger Deakins will direct photography, and Matthew McConaughey is being pursued to star, with a cast rounded out by the reunited rogue actors Gabriel Byrne and Benicio Del Toro.
That revelation spins into a comparative discussion of Alexander The Great and Oliver Stone’s megalomania. Within minutes, we are subjected to Stone’s film noir on acid, U-Turn -- to which Stone gave an introduction practically begging the audience to approach it with an open mind. "Please approach this film as a thriller, and I hope you can’t figure it out -- especially figure it out ahead of time," said the director, pleading, "Approach it... not thinking about me and my past films.
Advice to Stone: If you’re going to make a film noir, make it short. And how are we supposed to not reflect on you or your other films, when the bulk of the "arty" stuff in this one seemed like leftover footage from The Doors? "Don’t think?" I’m still trying to figure out what the one, under the dashboard black and white shot of Sean Penn meant. There was no explanation for that whatsoever. And why did Jennifer Lopez transform from a half-Native American into a Puerto Rican chola who seemed poised to bust out a Selena number at any given moment? Hey. U-Turn could have used more musical elements, spare the leftover cues from Once Upon a Time in America courtesy of Ennio Morricone. What a travesty...
Later that night, dinner conversation degenerated into a graphic discussion of anal sex hosted by ex- Kid In The Hall, Scott Thompson...
Much later, at Austin’s most famous nightclub, Antone’s, a robed Asian woman named Annie approached and touched McQuarrie and Marlowe on the shoulder -- summoning them to Oliver Stone’s private room overlooking the dance floor, where McQuarrie and Stone congressed amicably on their dueling Alexander The Great Projects.
The rest of the fest was about trying to catch up on some of the 80 films screening at the festival. My picks for "best of the fest" were Jonathan Kaufer’s Bad Manners; Paul Chart’s American Perfekt -- an unusual road trip movie starring Chart’s unusual wife, Amanda Plummer; and a hilarious, compelling Texas-made documentary from director S.R. Bindler called Hands On A Hard Body.
The Austin Film Festival bestowed its most prestigious award, "The Distinguished Screenwriter’s Award," to Buck Henry. Henry was recognized for his "unprecedented and superlative body of work," commented Marsha Milam, AFF’s gorgeous co-founder. "Mr. Henry requested that we not recognize him with an award, but his work is too important to heed that modest request," she explained.
The Distinguished Screenwriting Award was given to Horton Foote and Bill Wittliff, and The Feature Film winner was "Colin Fitz", directed by Robert Bella and written by Tom Morrissey. The Short Film winner was "The Clearing," directed and written by Kat Smith, and The Student Short Film winner was "Mad Boy, I’ll Blow Your Blues Away," directed by Adam Collis and written by Russell DeGrazier.
The 1997 Bronze Awards for screenwriting went to Christina Eichman, for "Royal Suckage," in the Adult Category, and Kathryn McCullough took the prize for "Santa Hood" in the Family Category.
The Austin Film Festival’s Screenwriter’s Conference is in its fourth year and has been recognized by industry development executives as somewhat of a hot source for acquiring scripts. There were 1500 registrants this year from all over the nation, and the 3200 script submissions set an all time record.
The AFF is decidedly the most fun of all for this festival veteran. Festival Directors, Marsha Milam and Barbara Morgan do the best they can with their mostly volunteer staff, but will "Hollywood" ever flock to an Austin Festival that champions screenwriters, rather than posturing behind the rock ‘n roll element of South By Southwest? The Austin Fest has heart, so, naturally it’s a tough sell to the cold-blooded Hollywood suits.
Agents in Austin for the first week of October were to be found shopping, or in the bars along 6th Street -- not, at the panels or screenings. "Agents don’t come because we can’t pay for them," laments Barbara Morgan. "Sure, they’ll got to Telluride or Sundance, but why not just get their companies to pay their way here?"
Studio presence was also sparse at the festival. "Their job is done for them," explains Austin veteran Christopher McQuarrie of the absence of producers. He means, "They find out who won what competition, and buy blind." Well, blind is as blind does, because the last studio film born out of the Austin Fest was Excess Baggage. Is that the best the studios can do during these Forest Gumpian times? Apparently so. Why? Because they don’t even try.
And speaking of "trying"... Did any of these ballsy screenwriters manage to get laid over the long weekend? Nobody’s telling, but we’ll be sure to hear all about it at Austin Fest, ‘98. Can’t wait.
Editor's note: we heard some people actually wrote and spent their time productively in Austin... but conclusive evidence isn't in yet.
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