SEASON 4 UPDATE... AND SOME CUNTLESS EMMY THOUGHTS

I've been very negligent in my blogging.  Damn you, Twitter.  Damn your instantaneous, thoughtless, mind-numbing byte consumption.  At first 140 characters seemed like nothing... now, anything more, seems like too much.  

It is officially that time of year when my job increases exponentially.  No longer am I just working with my writers, breaking story and writing -- I am breaking story and writing, while juggling pre-production, production and post-production.  Which for most showrunners is manageable, but for an arrogant, single-minded, control freak like myself, it is SO demanding.  And yet, with the exception of my family, there is nothing that brings me more joy, satisfaction and esteem.  I bitch, kvetch and whine while swimming in a pool of gratitude.  And frequently, blood.

So far, the new season feels very potent.  We're back in Charming, we're out of jail and we're making money.  With that upswing, comes all the complications that success and power bring.  Season four is all about the club.  The personalities, the history, the alliances, the conflicts -- the inside dynamics of an organized outlaw enterprise.  Ego, greed, violence and fear reign supreme.  I'm halfway through the cut of 401 and it's pretty fucking badass.

On the subject of ego, greed violence and fear... I was gonna do a whole post about the upcoming Emmys.  My thoughts, my rants, my predictions.  But I gotta tell you... I'm exhausted by my own self-righteousness.  Really.  I have so many fucking opinions that feel so weighty and so relevant to the future of mankind, that I realized I'm just a fucking delusional downer.  I know that sounds extreme and I don't regret anything I've said, but lately I've become very aware that my angry outbursts serve no purpose other than to relieve some small amount of pressure from my obsessive need to be understood.  And by understood, I mean loved, worshiped and adored.  I'm not a dick.  Okay, not all the time.  For the most part, I'm a fairly reasonable dude, but when I take a hit off of any fucking injustice pipe, man, I am fucking hooked on a feeling.  High on believing, that you're in love with me.  Ouga Chaka.  

So, I've decided for the good of the village, it's best if I drop out of all award conversation.  Past, present and future.  And all critic/review conversation as well.  You see, I cannot separate myself from my work.  I try, but it's impossible.  If you say you like me, I fucking love you.  I want to drop to my knees and gargle your genitals until they're gold-dusted milk duds (I have no idea what that means).  But if you even remotely suggest you dislike something about me, I want you, your parents, your children and your pets to die a miserable, slow, painful, sexually-humiliating death.

I guess the point of this entry, other than to say I think fans are gonna dig season four, is to say that I now understand the shortcomings of my bombastic rants.  Although outrageous and entertaining to some, they really serve no greater good.  I'll never effect change with the word "cunt".  I really enjoy saying it, but I'll never make anything better with clever vitriol.  And I really want to be a guy who makes things better.  It's too fucking easy and god-lazy to be a destroyer.  Being a father has made that very clear to me.  

Tune in for more SOA updates.  And I wish my show and all others, success in the upcoming horse race.  

Of course you can't hold me to any of this when the nominations come in.   Ouga Chaka. 

TENPERSENSUAL

This post began as a commentary on the dangers of bad agents and how they damage the careers of artists.  But after reviewing it, even with the many qualifications that it wasn't a blanket statement about all agents, it still read like an angry diatribe bent on total condemnation.  My fear is that it would have really enraged people and not been taken in the spirit of enlightenment for which it was intended.  As I've stated in previous posts, it's one thing if my rage-filled ego hurts me, it's not okay if it hurts others by association. 

So, instead, I offer an open love letter to agents and managers.  A sharing of intimate thoughts, fears and vulnerabilities.  A compassionate plea, exposing the needs and desires we artists crave from our representatives.  

I will qualify that this snarking is inspired by my experiences with agents as a showrunner.  I know what bad agents look like because I have a great point of contrast -- I am blessed that my agent, whom I've known for over 15 years, is everything an agent should be.  This is as much a thank you to Nicole Clemens and ICM as it is a "wake the fuck up, douchebags" to some choice others.

Dear Beloved Entrusted,
 
I love thee, let me count the ways --
 
I love how your suits get better with every new client.
I love your almost haircut.
I love your luxury car that you let get dirty because that shit's not really important to you.
I love your varying degrees of smile.
I love the amazing energy of your rhetoric.
I love your ability to pull relevant Hollywood facts out of thin air.
I love how you deliver misinformation with ease and
confidence.
I love how you promise me jobs that I know don't exist and then convince me that “I already have them.”
I love how you roll my call.
Mostly, I love how you make me feel special. 
And you do. Your call is the call I wait for. 

Please call me.
 
In the spirit of honesty, I’d like to share some of the things that challenge our special connection. I understand in any relationship, both parties have responsibility in each issue and I am certainly working on my part. I know as an artist, I am the damaged, drug-addicted, self-obsessed and highly erratic partner in this marriage. Or at least that’s what I’m told.  But here are a few things I’d like you to consider… when you have a free moment, which I know is never.
 
I don’t love when I get a one-line role on a show and you release a statement to the trades saying that I've landed a multi-episode arc on a series. All that does is disappoint everyone -- fans, the show, critics, the reporter who believed you. It may cause some immediate buzz and put some quick money in our/your pocket, but ultimately it only damages my
relationship with writers and producers.
 
I don't love when you oversell my skill set. I appreciate your confidence in me and I know it comes from a place of truly wanting success for me, but once again, it may put some immediate cash toward my/your mortgage, but it only hurts me in the long run. You see if I show up for a job and I'm
under-skilled or inexperienced, I'm the one who suffers the pain and humiliation of feeling like my father was right -- I am a failure. Please don't do that. I know this town is filled with talent who suck and yet continually work, but honestly, at the end of the day, there’s nothing satisfying in failing upwards.
 
I don't love when you put our relationship on a time clock.  It makes your love feel very conditional. I want to know that you trust in my talent and that you are in this for the long haul. It makes me sad that you don't return my calls after three of four failed auditions or pitch meetings. Art is not a trend and talent is not a phase. Subjecting them to the contingency of time makes me feel cheap and replaceable. It's like you have ten or twenty other artists just like me waiting to take my place. Which I know you don't, because what we have is special. So, I hand you my trust, I hang on your guidance, I give you a piece of me with every job.
 
I don’t love when you don’t take the time to really understand me as an artist. Know my passions, my injustices, my buttons. Know the things that make me tick. The things that I want to say, be and explore. That connection will focus our effort and can only create success. And just a heads up, a guest spot on “iCarly” will not satisfy my need to explore darker comedic characters.
 
I need you, baby. Without you, I am nothing but a nonunion afterthought. You need me. Without me, you are a high-end grocery store with no organic produce. Let’s work together. Let’s commit. Let’s push past the stereotype of meal ticket and parasite. Let’s set the world on fire and dance by the light of bubbling flesh. Be my rock and I’ll be your bitch.
 
You complete me.
 
Sincerely,
 
Client # 435

SUTTERINK YOUTUBE: FUN AT PROMOS, TOO MUCH COFFEE