Roger Keith Coleman II: Snakecharmer
My new producing partner, Paul-the-Silicon-Valley-software-developer-turned- producer (herein referred to as simply Paul) was holding out on me. He had come up with this crazy idea that we should go after the rights to the hottest media story in the nation, the upcoming execution of Roger Keith Coleman, a coal miner who passionately (and convincingly) professed his innocence of rape and murder charges. But my new dilettante had something else up his sleeve.
I should have known.
Despite the cozy talk and all the free meals I'd been treated to while we wooed each other into the illusion of a partnership (He doesn't know anything so I'll run the ship...She's got no money so I'll get anything I want) Paul was also harboring a secret desire.....to direct.
"So you want to be a director? Jimmy, our busboy, is a director."*
This ridiculously overplayed Hollywood cliche is what was really driving this effort. And there was no talking him out of it. Every neophyte film junkie who wants to be a director thinks, like the solitary man staring at the paint-can slashes of a Jackson Pollack canvas, it can't be that hard. Paul wanted this so badly that he was willing to spend any amount of money to shoot our little venture to the head of the line. I admit now I reluctantly gave the nod to his wacky dream and decided that if we did actually land the rights to Coleman's story, my little wannabe director would eventually be bowled over by the sheer momentum of other egos ready and willing to jump on board.
But first things first: Paul was willing to front the money. A lot of it ($200K for option rights alone) A good thing because without a ready source of funds no one would have answered our calls at the various studios. Right - for those of you who don't know, how quickly your calls are answered is directly tied to your personal pull in this town. Everyone - studio executives, producers, directors, agents, managers up and down the line, they all have these notorious call lists, (vetted by assistants) and the lists can be many pages long because no-one wants to actually delete a name from it, no matter who it is. The callbacks are ticked off in order of priority with the intention of eventually getting to everyone on the list. But it could take months to get to the bottom of the pickle barrel, perhaps with the hope that the person has either died or given up and moved back to Minnesota. It's one of those industry peccadillos that would seem odd to outsiders but we're all afraid NOT to call someone back just in case they are the next Starbucks barrista-soon-to-be-hit filmmaker. Happens here all the time, unfortunately and there's an old saying, "Never kick anyone in the pants on your way up the ladder because you'll be meeting them again on the way down." Fame is fleeting here even if you do get a comeback.
But onwards to Coleman, who had more to worry about than his profile in Hollywood. With negotiating money in hand I started out by calling his high-powered attorney, Kitty Behan, of Arnold & Porter in Washington. Her team was the third or fourth set of representatives he'd had since his conviction in 1982 and part of his sad story was that from the beginning he'd had inadequate and incompetent public counsel who had either ignored or failed to uncover key witness testimony and other evidence that would have cleared him. Behan, who was doing this pro bono, also charged prosecutorial misconduct against the State for withholding key evidence during trial. It would have seemed like the chances were good for re-opening the case but the Supreme Court had recently ruled for stricter rules of evidence to reduce the number of jailhouse appeals clogging up the system and keeping death-row innmates alive for decades. Weeks before his scheduled execution, Coleman was in a fine mess, and had appealed to the public for help.
Apparently the Pope heard what was going on and put a word in for mercy.
With the rally cry from religious groups adding to the support, Kitty Behan and her team had a lot of help from some interesting quarters. Jim McClosky of Centurion Ministries started pitching in to dig up old leads, investigating new ones, and private investigators were running down stories of jailhouse snitches and witnesses who had died under mysterious circumstances. Things were getting very dramatic (part of the attorney strategy) and when I called to see about a meeting with them, I was about fifth in line behind a couple of studios, Steven Spielberg, and Al Pacino.
I was on the call-back list. Far down the list. Kiss of death (no pun intended) I needed another way in.
Next: We track down someone close to Coleman and find we share a bond.
(*Restaurant Owner to Nick Chapman, The Big Picture)
I should have known.
Despite the cozy talk and all the free meals I'd been treated to while we wooed each other into the illusion of a partnership (He doesn't know anything so I'll run the ship...She's got no money so I'll get anything I want) Paul was also harboring a secret desire.....to direct.
"So you want to be a director? Jimmy, our busboy, is a director."*
This ridiculously overplayed Hollywood cliche is what was really driving this effort. And there was no talking him out of it. Every neophyte film junkie who wants to be a director thinks, like the solitary man staring at the paint-can slashes of a Jackson Pollack canvas, it can't be that hard. Paul wanted this so badly that he was willing to spend any amount of money to shoot our little venture to the head of the line. I admit now I reluctantly gave the nod to his wacky dream and decided that if we did actually land the rights to Coleman's story, my little wannabe director would eventually be bowled over by the sheer momentum of other egos ready and willing to jump on board.
But first things first: Paul was willing to front the money. A lot of it ($200K for option rights alone) A good thing because without a ready source of funds no one would have answered our calls at the various studios. Right - for those of you who don't know, how quickly your calls are answered is directly tied to your personal pull in this town. Everyone - studio executives, producers, directors, agents, managers up and down the line, they all have these notorious call lists, (vetted by assistants) and the lists can be many pages long because no-one wants to actually delete a name from it, no matter who it is. The callbacks are ticked off in order of priority with the intention of eventually getting to everyone on the list. But it could take months to get to the bottom of the pickle barrel, perhaps with the hope that the person has either died or given up and moved back to Minnesota. It's one of those industry peccadillos that would seem odd to outsiders but we're all afraid NOT to call someone back just in case they are the next Starbucks barrista-soon-to-be-hit filmmaker. Happens here all the time, unfortunately and there's an old saying, "Never kick anyone in the pants on your way up the ladder because you'll be meeting them again on the way down." Fame is fleeting here even if you do get a comeback.
But onwards to Coleman, who had more to worry about than his profile in Hollywood. With negotiating money in hand I started out by calling his high-powered attorney, Kitty Behan, of Arnold & Porter in Washington. Her team was the third or fourth set of representatives he'd had since his conviction in 1982 and part of his sad story was that from the beginning he'd had inadequate and incompetent public counsel who had either ignored or failed to uncover key witness testimony and other evidence that would have cleared him. Behan, who was doing this pro bono, also charged prosecutorial misconduct against the State for withholding key evidence during trial. It would have seemed like the chances were good for re-opening the case but the Supreme Court had recently ruled for stricter rules of evidence to reduce the number of jailhouse appeals clogging up the system and keeping death-row innmates alive for decades. Weeks before his scheduled execution, Coleman was in a fine mess, and had appealed to the public for help.
Apparently the Pope heard what was going on and put a word in for mercy.
With the rally cry from religious groups adding to the support, Kitty Behan and her team had a lot of help from some interesting quarters. Jim McClosky of Centurion Ministries started pitching in to dig up old leads, investigating new ones, and private investigators were running down stories of jailhouse snitches and witnesses who had died under mysterious circumstances. Things were getting very dramatic (part of the attorney strategy) and when I called to see about a meeting with them, I was about fifth in line behind a couple of studios, Steven Spielberg, and Al Pacino.
I was on the call-back list. Far down the list. Kiss of death (no pun intended) I needed another way in.
Next: We track down someone close to Coleman and find we share a bond.
(*Restaurant Owner to Nick Chapman, The Big Picture)
posted by vallie at 12:42 PM
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