Richard Chapman is a senior lecturer in Film and Media Studies in Arts & Sciences at Washington University in St. Louis. He has written more than 200 hours of network television as well as the Emmy-nominated HBO film “Live From Baghdad” (2002) and the documentary “Dateline-Saigon” (2020).
We’ve had meetings. We’ve taken lunch. I’ve spotted him at parties and invited him home. One time I even picked him up.
He weighs 8.5 pounds. He’s 13.5 inches tall and carries a sword. His name is Oscar. I can’t say he’s a pal. More like a casual acquaintance.
At last count, I’ve had the privilege, honor and occasional frustration of working for, sharing credit with and being re-written by 20 Academy Award winners and/or nominees. One of those, a legendary producer who thought he could direct a television pilot, I had to fire. I won’t name him but he won best picture in 1974.
Sometimes Hollywood is a small town. In 1976, Martin Scorsese, our most-nominated living director, was trimming “Taxi Driver” down from four hours. A group that included me, screenwriter Robert Towne (Oscar winner for “Chinatown”) and Marty’s doctor offered suggestions. Marty even took some.
Another time, an amped Mel Gibson, then shooting “Braveheart,” threw a prop battle axe at my writing partner. We were discussing “Thank You for Smoking,” which Gibson produced and for which I co-wrote multiple drafts. My partner deftly bare-handed the blade, to Mel’s delight. Six months later, we were off the project, replaced by Roger Avary, Quentin Tarantino’s “Pulp Fiction” writing partner. His draft didn’t get made either.
Poor writers! The old newspaper line, “Hello, sweetheart, get me rewrite,” has become a studio mantra. Sometimes it’s not so bad. When CNN reporter Robert Wiener and I were producing “Live From Baghdad,” HBO brought in John Patrick Shanley, Oscar winner for “Moonstruck.” Happily, John maintained the integrity of our script. We shared writing credit and an Emmy nomination.
Rewrites don’t always go so smoothly. E. Jack Kaplan, a speechwriter for Jimmy Carter, and I wrote “My Fellow Americans” for Oscar winners Jack Nicholson and Warren Beatty. A chain of hacks tore our pages apart. We were hired and fired seven times (that we know of) before Warner Bros. finally greenlight our final draft.
Casting was fun. Robin Williams and Steve Martin were in the mix. We spent an evening in Dustin Hoffman’s Brentwood kitchen. But none were elected ex-president. Then Jack Lemmon, best actor for “Save the Tiger,” accepted the role of Russell P. Kramer, which we’d modeled on Richard Nixon. James Garner, best actor nominee for “Murphy’s Romance,” took the role of Matt Douglas, based on JFK.
These were icons! And off-camera, very different guys. Garner was the crew’s favorite – a cool fun cowboy, holding forth from his hand-tooled leather director’s chair. Lemmon was so cool he was almost haughty. When day was done, he’d retreat to his motorhome, French Poodle waiting with a chilled vodka martini.
But Jack could hold his own. After our premiere, Jack pressed the flesh, tickled the piano and charmed my star-struck parents. Across the room, co-star Dan Ackroyd bent my ear with tales of John Belushi. I was star-truck too.
Goldie Hawn’s statuette stared down from a bookshelf in her Benedict Canyon den. We were discussing a comedy for her and Steve Martin. Goldie’s public persona is goofy. She’s anything but. Goldie gave me some of the best script notes I’ve ever received. Her teenage daughter popped in to say hi. In 2000, Kate Hudson was a best supporting actress nominee for “Almost Famous.”
Oscar winners can surprise you. While discussing “The Policeman,” Israel’s 1972’s nominee for best foreign language film, Richard Dreyfuss casually mentioned, in the Disney commissary of all places, his “enemies list”. “I hope I’m not on that list,” I smiled nervously. “Not yet,” he smiled back.
Dolly Parton and I wrote a killer “9 to 5” sequel. The timing didn’t work for co-stars Jane Fonda and Lily Tomlin, so we retooled for Dolly and Cher. I even got to craft a couple songs. A week later the studio president resigned. Dolly’s production deal vanished with him.
Director Sydney Pollack might have put it best. In the end, the golden boy “doesn’t belong to just you,” he said. “It’s a bunch of people, who, against the odds and the Gods, are chasing a vision and manage to not make too many mistakes along the way.”
Sydney and I were adapting a novella by Jim Harrison. That might have been my best chance for bringing Oscar home but Sydney made a big mistake. He died. Back to the shelf our screenplay went.
Walter Mirisch, a former Academy president, consoled me. Joining us, in his office at Universal, were seven statuettes, arranged in a neat semi-circle. “In the end,” Walter mused, “it’s just nice to be nominated.”
Easy for him to say.