This project is bursting with backstory to the point where you don’t know what to focus on. Maybe we’ll start here: Is “What Makes Sammy Run” the next Citizen Kane?
Genre: Comedy-Drama
Premise: In the 1930s, energizer-bunny producer Sammy Glick became one of the biggest producers in Hollywood. But even with all his success, he still had one thing missing – someone to understand him.
About: This one has an interesting backstory. The script is based on a 1940s novel by Budd Schulberg, who happened to be the screenwriter for 1954’s Oscar-winning screenplay, “On the Waterfront.” Now this is just hearsay, but the rumor is that Steven Spielberg acquired “Sammy” to make sure it never got turned into a movie because of its blatant racism towards Jews. Still, Ben Stiller became attached to star somehow and wrote the script with Jerry Stahl, the guy Stiller portrayed in the cult favorite, Permanent Midnight, which Stahl wrote. That was about Stahl’s $6000 a week heroin habit while he was a writer on NBC’s, “Alf.” This looks to be the final draft they turned into the studio, but for whatever reason, it never got made.
Writers: Ben Stiller & Jerry Stahl (based on the book by Budd Schulberg)
Details 3rd Draft (April 1st, 1998)
I don’t know what I expected when I opened this script. Actually, I do. I figured it was going to be some piece of trash that Stiller and Stahl belted out between projects. Not because I didn’t have faith in the two. From what little I know of their writing, both these guys are competent. But I figured, if it was forgotten, there was a probably a reason for that. The script wasn’t any good.
And that’s exactly how the script started. It was a mess! I know Stahl had a very public substance abuse problem and my guess is that most of that abuse took place during these first ten pages. We start in the 30s, flash-forward to the 90s, go back to the 30s, then flash back WITHIN the 30s. Oh, and not too long after, we find ourselves in 1965! What the hell??
However, once the story finds its bearings, it turns into this tragic strangely moving tale of a really lonely man. In fact, one might even compare it to Citizen Kane, which it seems the two writers (and author) were strongly influenced by. I’m not going to say anything crazy, like it’s as good as Citizen Kane. But it’s hard to read this and not be reminded of that film. So what’s it about?
Sammy Glick.
It’s New York, the 1930s. Radio was still cool. This is where we find producer/writer Sammy Glick. Sammy writes radio plays. Actually, he has his secretary ghost-write them for him. Sammy doesn’t need to write. Not when he has the gift of gab. And boy does he have that gift.
As we see early, this nobody 20-something radio writer cold-calls the biggest agent in LA and tells him he’s gotta a hot script for him. The writer of that script, a naïve young man named Julian Blumberg, is excited that someone – anyone – likes his screenplay, so he’s more than thrilled to have Sammy pitching it for him.
But Sammy’s plans aren’t exactly on the up-and-up, as his co-worker Al Manheim notices. Al is the opposite of Sammy. He’s a slow-talker. He stumbles over his words. He’s uncomfortable in social situations. If you would’ve put Al on the phone with that agent, he would’ve hyperventilated his way into a coma.
But Al, unlike Sammy, is actually a talented writer. Which is why it’s so ironic that Sammy’s the one jumping up the ranks. In fact, it isn’t long before Sammy moves out to California and starts producing movies. Nothing big. Not yet at least. But he’s starting to be a player. All because he can sell ice cubes in Alaska. He’s the stereotype slimy no-talent producer who makes everyone else do the work, then takes the credit in the end.
And that’s exactly what he does to poor Julian Blumberg. He steals his script and slaps his own name on it. The film is a hit and pretty soon Sammy is practically running a studio. In the meantime, poor Al, the guy who does things “right,” gets spit out of Hollywood faster than an A-cup porn actress, and resorts to drinking himself to sleep every night back in New York.
But all isn’t so bad for Al. Through Sammy, he meets the beautiful Kit, another talented writer, and she becomes his muse, inspiring him to write again. You may be able to figure out the rest for yourself, but in the end, it’s Al who finds his way to happiness and Sammy who realizes that while he has all of Hollywood in the palm of his hand, he hasn’t got a single friend to share it with.
Let’s jump right into it. Structurally, “Sammy” is messy. After the confusing time-jumping opening I mentioned above, we settle into some sort of rhythm, but this isn’t your typical screenplay with character goals and shit. It’s a tragedy. Which means we’re going to see our hero rise up. And then we’re going to see him fall. See that’s what you have to remember. In “happy” movies, the main character always overcomes his flaw. He changes. But in a tragedy, the flaw is never overcome, and ultimately does our character in.
Sammy’s flaw is that he only thinks of himself. He cheats and lies in order to get what he wants, regardless of who it hurts. Since he never learns to change this part of himself, he of course ends up sad and alone. Tragic indeed!
Hold up though. Let’s get back to those opening pages. How can they be such a mess and the writers get away with it? Not only are we needlessly jumping all over the place, Stiller and Stahl don’t do a very good job explaining who the characters are or what they do (I didn’t know if Al was a critic, an author, or a radio writer. At certain points he was all three). Well, they get to do this because they’re working with the producers. They’re hashing things out between drafts, explaining to them what they’re going to do next. Because of this, the producers have some context when they read the pages. You’re not talking to any producers as an unknown spec writer. So they don’t have that context. Which means you gotta be a lot clearer. Unfair? Yes. But that’s the way it is.
Another thing you gotta be clear about is your female lead. What almost never fails in signifying a good script is when a male writer cares about his female lead – actually takes the time to make her three-dimensional. Because nine times out of ten, a male writer won’t bother figuring out their female lead other than that she’s hot and maybe had a bad childhood. Here, Kit is a fully-formed character with her own goals (she’s trying to start a writer’s guild in Hollywood) and her own agenda.
But it didn’t stop there. The writers actually weaved this development into the storyline in an interesting way. As Al and Kit started to fall in love, Hollywood turns on Kit since she’s trying to form something that’s going to make all the rich guys less rich. Al finds that his opportunity for success may ride on whether he leaves Kit or not. And I found that a really compelling plot development! It just goes to show that when you take the time to make ALL of your characters interesting, you open up a lot more story options.
I started this one trying to keep my eyes open and ended it rubbing the tears out of those eyes. “Sammy” is a complex tale with an unorthodox structure that somehow comes together in the oddest way. I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it since.
[ ] Wait for the rewrite
[ ] wasn’t for me
[xx] worth the read
[ ] impressive
[ ] genius
What I learned: Transitions. High or low priority? I remember a writer once said to me that the most important thing about a screenplay are the transitions. You had to cleverly or seamlessly cut from one scene to the next. I didn’t know much about screenwriting at the time, but that seemed…I don’t know…dumb. I bring this up because Stiller and Stahl spend an inordinate amount of effort on the transitions. For example, we’ll cut from the loud obnoxious blowing of one’s nose to the loud obnoxious engines of a DC3. Look, that stuff is fun but it’s like number 300 on the priority list of things that need to work in a screenplay. Focus on a compelling story, great characters, sharp dialogue, high stakes, snappy pacing, etc., before you worry about how to dissolve from one scene to the next.
