GQ BLOG: Kurt Sutter's Anarchy Diaries: 502 - Please Don't Say That...

So as I was working on my draft of episode 502, I flew out to NYC for the network "upfronts." These are traditionally a big dog and pony show where a network parades the talent in front of advertisers and affiliates. FX does a much hipper, scaled-down version at a bowling alley. As much as I struggle with crowds, it's always a fun night. I've been in this family for over ten years now and it's really cool watching the network grow and flourish. I'm really happy for Landgraf and his team. And that's not just me sucking up to my boss. I actually mean this. Hey, I don't like many people wearing suits, so let me enjoy this one.

It's also at this event where I begin the process of talking to TV reporters about the upcoming season. I have such a love-hate relationship with the TV media. I'm the dick who desperately wants to be noticed and interviewed while at the same time bemoaning the inconvenience and intrusiveness. (The only thing worse than false humility is false humanity.) I'm very aware of the value of the media and how they help keep the show alive, but I also hate the invasiveness of spoilers and the gossip component. The season doesn't premier for another six months and already I'm answering questions about how Season 5 will end. It always turns me around a bit.

It's in this process that I'm also reminded of my responsibility as the voice of the show. Meaning, that the things I say and do, because of my "created by" association with Sons, directly impact the show. I can no longer just "vent" with impunity.

Twitter is one thing. If some cunt wants to spin a story on a single, absurd 140 character tweet, that's their desperate prerogative.

But the blog, where I'm able to formulate ideas and present an argument—I now need to think twice before I vomit my bombastic subjectivism in this forum. As a result, I continue to struggle with topics and ideas for this blog and my own personal blog. That problem in itself suggests who I am as a person—clearly, I feel most alive and creatively stimulated when I'm in the state of self-righteous agitation.

I constantly self-edit these days. Just this week alone I kyboshed three ideas for this post. I started writing about my disdain of episodic reviews by cunt bloggers, but killed it because I realized it would look like sour grapes and ultimately create reviewer vengeance that could hurt the show. I started one about Charlie Collier's fluffy THR interview, but killed that because it made me look like an envious bitch (which is probably true). I started one about the flawed broadcast network development process, but killed that one because the truth is—I've never developed a show on a broadcast network, so it was all second-hand fact and bitter speculation.

Unfortunately, or perhaps fortunately, things I say about TV these days carries weight. Me qualifying with, "This is just my opinion," doesn't allow me the freedom from scrutinized feedback. People don't give a shit if it's just opinion, they'll spit it back at me and the rest of the entertainment community, as ungrateful fact. So for self-preservation, self-editing has become necessary. In the big picture, I'm not whining about any of this. I'm a guy in need of a little self-editing and clearly I still say and do shit that gets me in trouble. So, I'm not complaining about the scrutiny, I guess I'm just adjusting out loud.

I had a funny conversation with Glenn Howerton of It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia at the upfronts. We were bemoaning the lack of the balls in our business. And he was complimenting me on my ability to generally not give a fuck about whom I piss off. He said he expects all my blogs and tweets to be signed off with, "Goodbye, Hollywood..."

Anyway. 502. I finished it. I get notes today. I don't think it sucks. But I guess I'll have to wait until September for the thickly-bullshit-detrimental-invasive-episodic-cunt-bloggers to tell me if it's any good.
Goodbye Hollywood...

BIO:
 
Kurt barely graduated high school, had the lowest SAT's in his class and went to the only state college that would take him. A fucked-up home, childhood obesity, food/drug addiction, and relentless television watching all contributed to his absurd, insular world of violent fantasies and sexual dreams. He hardly reads books, he plays a fuckload of games, and his only marketable skill is his imagination. If he respects you, he'd gladly take a bullet for you. If he doesn't, he may very well be holding the gun.

Professionally, this shit is happening: He signed a three-year deal with FX and 20th Century to continue running Sons of Anarchy and develop new projects. He ventures into reality programming this year with a new documentary series set up at the Discovery Channel, called Kurt Sutter's Outlaw Empires. Along with his TV work, he has feature projects in development at MGM, Sony, and Warner Bros. His script, Southpaw, written as a starring vehicle for Eminem, has Antoine Fuqua attached to direct and will probably never get made.

The thing that makes Sutter remotely human and considerably happy is his family—his wife, Katey and their three kids, Sarah, Jackson and Esme'.

Kurt's latest passion is birds. No one has the courage to ask why.

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GQ BLOG: Kurt Sutter's Anarchy Diaries: 501 - The Beginning of a New Season

BECAUSE I'M TOO FUCKING LAZY TO DO AN ADDITIONAL BLOG, I'LL POST MY GQ ENTRIES HERE.

I always experience this odd disconnect when I come back to the show. It's an out of body experience—where it all feels familiar, yet it all feels very far away. I think the rhythm of my job gets moving so quickly and so intensely that when I slow down and unplug anything other than a chaotic pace feels off. So to "ease back into it" just feels fucking weird.

A little insight into me.
You may have already picked up on this already, but I'm a guy who has problems with moderation. All or nothing. Binge and purge. Kill or be killed. Gray is not a color I wear well. I should be dead. I know that. I should not be successful. I know that too. My daily existence is a toss of the coin—one side, fear, the other side, gratitude. I flip that coin all fucking daylong. As a result, I navigate through the world with the excitement and determination of a child. That's why I'm an artist. I'd die without an outlet for expression. Unfortunately, more often than not, that childlike energy is the maturity level I bring to many circumstances. More on this as we get to know each other better. This is Gentlemen's Quarterly, so I'm not gonna let you fuck me on the first date.

 
Now, back to the show.
So I just turned in the first draft of the season five premiere of Sons of Anarchy, entitled, Sovereign. The studio and network cancelled the notes call because they had none. That's a message that's music to a showrunner's ears. No notes, is good notes. I will say that both Fox 21 and FX are very respectful of my process and have placed a lot of trust in my ability to deliver this show. Most of my notes are really questions. Not so much, "Don't do that!" but "Why are you doing that?" It's about making sure we're all on the same page. I've said this before, but it's true, I value their input. John Landgraf, the president of FX, is a very story-savvy dude. His notes are usually well thought out and more often than not, help the episode. Sometimes my sense of the violent and the absurd will cross the line. I tell the story of a feature script of mine, Delivering Gen, to illustrate this point. In that script a baby's life is in mortal jeopardy like twenty fucking times. Literally, I almost kill an infant every other page. When we went wide with the script, there were several Parental Advocacy Groups who took exception and pointed that out. I was clueless. Not just to the level of near infanticide, but to the fact that was even a bad thing. Being a father has changed that perspective. Clearly, I'm a guy who needs someone with a better grip of reality looking over his shoulder. My writers and the network provide that service. Considering the level of violence in my show, you can only imagine the shit we didn't do.

So now I'm about six weeks into the season and I'm finally finding the groove. We've broken the first four episodes. Drafts of 503 and 504 are being written and I begin my draft of 502 today. It's like the workload almost has to reach a certain pace for me to recognize my position. 

I'm just a Thurber character.
Although it always feels different every season, my wife informs me that I experience the same thing every year. I'm lost and then suddenly when I'm overburdened, I'm found. I have to believe her. Katey knows me better than I know myself. She refers to me as her "Twisted Walter Mitty." I'm often a million miles away, lost in a daydream, where terrible things are happening to innocent people. 

One time, during a car ride where I was supposed to be paying attention to something important Katey was telling me, she realized I had "gone away." She asked me where I was and what I was thinking about. I deflected and feigned interest in whatever the fuck she was talking about. She called bullshit and after some prodding I told her where my mind had taken me:
I was in the basement of an old house in Jersey, where an obese, mentally challenged teen was vaginally raping the corpse of his dead mother with a forearm he just chewed off his nearly-dead, thin older brother. It wasn't the story as much as my emotional connection to the characters that unnerved her. Katey no longer asks me where I am. She just says, "Let me know when you're back." 

I'm back.

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DOUCHEBAGGERY IS THE GREATEST HUMBLER

Recently, Chuck Zito's lawsuit against FX was dismissed.  We proved that there was absolutely no connection between SOA and the show that Chuck pitched four years prior. 

My blog rant against Zito back in season two came at a time of heightened job stress and intense scrutiny.  It was a vicious, arrogant response (I took down the blog, my reasons here).  I can list all the pathetic reasons why I wrote it, but that doesn't matter.  The fact is I said some incredibly inflammatory and hurtful shit about a guy I never met or even talked to.  When I sat in the deposition for the case and watched Chuck's reaction to my testimony, I realized that this was a guy who sincerely thought he was wronged.  He wasn't some dick trying to squeeze Fox or fuck me over.  He truly believed he was owed recompense.  I knew legally he had no case, but personally, I came out that depo feeling really shitty about myself. 

I knew Chuck would have the option to appeal, so I had my lawyer arrange a lunch before that process began.  What I wanted to say to Chuck couldn't happen with litigation pending.  Chuck agreed.  He actually showed up to lunch wearing an SOA cut (it was the one I gave Charlie Sheen.  Chuck and Charlie are friends).  When I saw the cut I knew it was either a really good thing or a really bad thing.  It was good.  He wore it to let me know that he was a huge fan of the show.  With the eminent threat of death removed I was able to sit down with Chuck and apologize for the blog.  Man to man.  He was gracious and accepted.  Turns out we have a lot of mutual friends in and around the outlaw world.  He knows most of the guys in the 81 who I ride with and use as advisers.  We shared a meal, he told me some amazing stories and we buried the hatchet.  As I suspected, he's a very sweet guy.

I also told Chuck that it would be great to get him on Sons.  I'd love for him to play a bad ass Nomad from NYC.  Add a little Sinatra bling to the table.  Details are still being worked out, but I think that's going to happen.  I'll keep you posted.

The main point of this entry, as is all my blogs, is to document this journey.  I'm sure I'll continue to say and do shit that almost gets me fired or killed; that's just part of my cuntish charm.  But I'm also a guy who cleans up his shit.  I have to.  I'd drown in fecal swells.