As I noted in this post yesterday, that boisterous, opinionated fellow ‘Producer Scott’ who we’ve been hearing from the last few weeks is actually a movie producer named Max Millimeter. I’ve brought him on as a consultant for “The Quest” project, but he surprised me recently with an offer to do an occasional guest column for the blog. I was surprised for two reasons. First, I had no idea he even knew what Go Into The Story actually was [he thought I was hosting a “blob”]. Second while most of us have been busy the last two decades speeding onto the Information Superhighway, Max has been happy to live that part of his life in the off-ramp: He’s the only person I know who still uses dial-up, has a 28.8bps modem, and owns an ancient Compaq computer which he proudly calls “Methuselah.”

No matter because yesterday I found myself at Max’s Laurel Canyon home recording the first of what I suspect will be frequent contributions to The Business of Screenwriting series. Here is the transcript of that conversation:

Scott: Okay, so you ready?

Max: With that digital job.

Scott: Not this again.

Max: If it just had the doohiggies spinning around, I’d…

Scott: Look, it worked last time, okay? You want to give advice to screenwriters, fine. But…

Max: Awright, awright, just turn the damn thing on and get outta my way, kid.

[He grabs the digital recorder]

Max: Okay, so I did some research, checking out various places on the computer. And I see that basically what works with you screenwriter types is lists. You know, “9 Keys to a Killer Screenplay” or “25 Secrets for a Million Dollar Spec.” So I came up with my own list for you and here it is: “Three Ways to Not Be Fucking Stupid.”

Number One: Don’t be an asshole. Nobody in the business likes a screenwriter that’s an asshole. We know you’re smart, we know you got a college degree, we know you understand story which you think we don’t know shit about. But you don’t gotta lord it over us, awright? Rolling your eyes, the heavy sighs, shaking your head. We say something really minor, just trying to help, awright, like can we give the Protagonist a dead wife, you know, make him more sympathetic? Or can we lose the boyfriend, he seems like a putz? And you’re all, “But don’t you see? That changes the whole fabric of the story.” Fabric? Fuck fabric! We’re talking stories here, not a goddammed upholstery shop. I don’t need to hear your theories, you wanna regurgitate that crap with your fellow desk jockeys, hey, there’s a million Starbucks in the Naked City, be my guest, the first vanilla bean creme mocha coconut blended crappucino whatever is on me. You wanna go for the asshole-of-the-year award out there, fine. But not with me.

Awright, Number Two: Don’t be a pussy. Now you may be thinking, “Doesn’t want me to be an asshole, doesn’t want me to be a pussy either.” Hey, news flash: You can not be an asshole and not be a pussy at the same time. In fact, that’s precisely what a professional screenwriter is: Not an asshole and not a pussy. It’s a fine line, but you gotta learn to walk it. We wanna hear your ideas, we wanna see what you got going on creatively. If we didn’t think you could bring something to the table, we wouldn’t, you know, be sitting with you at the goddammed table. Just use a little smarts, a little finery. Here’s what I’m talking about. You hear our idea, you don’t like it, instead of popping off like I got maggots for a brain, you say, “You know, that’s interesting. What if we spin it this way.” Or you got something you really believe can work, you try something like, “Hey, just spitballing here, but what if we tried this?” You know, you make your point, but you do it subtle. Not an asshole, not a pussy.

Finally Number Three: Don’t be not talented.

Scott: Uh… excuse me, Max.

Max: You’re interrupting.

Scott: I know, but why say “don’t be not talented”? That’s a double negative…

Max: Hey, here you go with the asshole business. Have you not been listening?

Scott: Yeah, but why not just say “be talented”?

Max: First off, I don’t even know what be talented means. How the hell can you be talented? If your mother and father were named Sorkin, and they were playing hide the salami back in 1960, and nine months later when their baby boy bundle of joy popped out of mom’s keister, it was you, not Aaron, then I could see how you could be talented. On the other hand, “Don’t be not talented,” I know what that means all day long and six ways to Sunday. Hell, I see that with every other goddammed script I read. Crap dialogue, confusing characters, stories that wander all over God’s creation. Hello! I’m looking for a plot here! When you are not talented and it shows on the page, believe me, you look fucking stupid.

[long pause]

Scott: That’s it?

Max: Yeah, that’s it, “Three Ways to Not Be Stupid.” Number One: “Don’t Be An Asshole.” Number Two: “Don’t Be A Pussy.” And Number Three: “Don’t Be Not Talented.” What, you want me to give a salutation, “Hugs and kisses, it’s you I misses?”

Scott: No, it just ended sort of… abruptly.

Max: Okay, fine, Mr. Abruptly. Here’s a bonus. There’s actually one circumstance that you can be a screenwriter and an asshole at the same time. Know when that is? When you’re a million dollar-a-script A-list writer. Then you can crap on my face and call my mother a monkey, and I will still take you out to Musso & Frank for drinks because that’s how much this town respects talent. But if you ain’t on the A-list, you’re on the NA-List: No Assholes.