A few days after my blog on the ageism settlement, the New York Times has weighed in.

…a deeper look at the settlement and its terms indicates that the defendants might not be giving up all that much, and that anyone who is expecting the floodgates to open with opportunities for older writers is likely to be disappointed.

Mmm hmmm…

“The best way to look at the settlement is through a fairly narrow lens,” said David R. Ginsburg, the executive director of the entertainment and media law and policy program at the School of Law of the University of California, Los Angeles. He noted that the statements of the targets of the lawsuit that they were settling the case merely as a business matter and their contention that they were not admitting any discriminatory acts “are not the sounds of a chastened defendant.”

True, true…so far, they’re singing my song. But what about the money?

Together, the defendants agreed to a $70 million settlement, but about two-thirds of that will be paid by insurance carriers. That means that no network, studio or agency will itself be on the hook for more than about $1 million — less than the average cost of a single half-hour of television production.

Subtracting the roughly 40 percent of the $70 million that will go for lawyers’ fees and other expenses leaves $43 million for the plaintiffs. About $2.5 million of that will go to create the Fund for the Future, which will issue grants and loans to affected writers “to further their writing careers and study ways to supplement their pensions and improve access to medical insurance,” according to the settlement terms.

While that leaves about $245,000 for each of the named plaintiffs, few if any will get that much, because the payouts will depend on how many people apply for and are granted membership in the class of affected writers. Even a quarter of a million dollars is not much when spread over 10 years, the time the lawsuit has been pending.

Boy, three for three. I’m tempted to think the Times reads this blog, but the fact is that the conclusions are so obvious, it’s far more likely that they arrived at them independently.

And, interestingly enough, the article also talks about how the hiring trend over the last decade has been away from ageism. So what we have here is a settlement addressing a cause that may or may not exist, the circumstances have been getting better on their own, the settlement changes absolutely nothing about how business is done, and the plaintiffs won’t even see much money.

But the lawyers…ohhhh, the lawyers.

Congratulations, Paul Sprenger! You were the lead counsel for the plaintiffs, and you’ve done it! You’ve made THIRTY SEVEN MILLION DOLLARS. Gee, I wonder why these suits are so popular…

Hey, you want to hear something interesting?

Here’s what Paul Sprenger said back when this case began.

Last month, 28 television writers filed a class-action lawsuit that seeks to alter ageist hiring practices in Hollywood that have deprived them of their right to pursue their profession in violation of federal and state civil rights laws. While acknowledging that older writers have “a legitimate ax to grind,” Brian Lowry wrote in his Nov. 1 column (“An Age-Old Question Persists in Television”) that “it’s hard to see” how the suit “will bring about any real change.” I respectfully disagree.

Do you now?

Underlying Lowry’s pessimism is his view that “profit-conscious executives” are “more apt to risk parting with a little pocket change to settle lawsuits” than to hire writers older than 40–at least as long as these executives continue to “presume twentysomethings are best able to write for and appeal to twentysomethings.”

Yes, such pessimism! Studios would never just part with a little pocket change to settle a lawsuit…

The primary goal of our lawsuit, however, is not merely to compensate writers for the income they have lost to date. The main goal is a court order compelling compliance with state and federal laws in the future. This type of court order (called a “consent decree,” if arrived at by settlement) would require networks, studios and talent agencies to institute measures intended to make age discrimination far more difficult, if not impossible, from continuing.

There you go! Now that’s noble. That’s honorable. And you’ll stick to that, right?

During the past 30 years, I have litigated scores of cases, which, like this one, have alleged that the defendants were engaging in a systemwide policy or practice of employment discrimination. In these and hundreds of similar such cases brought throughout the country, the plaintiffs have sought structural reform that is designed to ensure that unlawful discrimination does not occur in the future. Such court-ordered structural reform is pivotal to the resolution of most discrimination class-action lawsuits and has brought systemic change, ranging from desegregation of schools to the breaking of glass ceilings in heavy industry for women.

Yes! Pivotal! A resolution without structural reform is no resolution at all! Preach, brother!

Should the writers who have brought this suit prevail in a trial on the merits or should “profit-conscious executives” feel compelled to settle the suit, they will not be afforded the option of purchasing the right to continue their ageist hiring practices in exchange for “a little pocket change.”

THEY WILL NOT BE AFFORDED that option! Will NOT! Tell us what you’ll make them do instead, Paul!

Rather, as in other cases involving the violation of federal and state civil rights laws, they will be required to alter their practices in a manner that is designed to eradicate the unlawful “custom” of ageism and to ensure that older writers are afforded the right to equal opportunity under the law.

Yeah! Stick it to them, Paul! There’s no way that 10 years later, you’ll be doing exactly what you said you would not and should not do: settling the case for pocket change, getting no structural reform, and not even getting an admission of wrongdoing…but rather a legal confirmation of the absence of wrongdoing.¹

I mean, unless the evil studios pay you off with $37 million dollars. At that point, who can hold it against you?

For the rest of you folks out there who don’t have $37 million dollars in settlement money, here’s what you can do to get a piece of this pie. Cuz honestly…if you don’t take this money, it’s just gonna end up going to the few writers who brought this suit, and that doesn’t seem fair either.

First, do you meet these definitions?

The “Professional Television Writers Settlement Class” means all persons, except Excluded Persons (who are described below in the answer to Question 7), (a) who performed at any time television writing work covered by the Writers Guild of America Minimum Basic Agreement (“MBA”) or who performed for compensation television writing work not covered by the MBA, (b) who were 40 years of age or older as of January 22, 2010, and (c) who, while 40 years of age or older, had an interest in securing Television Writing Opportunities and/or talent agency representation for the purpose of securing Television Writing Opportunities, at any time between October 22, 1996 and January 22, 2010.

The “Aspiring Television Writers Settlement Class” means all persons, except Excluded Persons and members of the Professional Television Writers Settlement Class, who were (a) 40 years of age or older as of January 22, 2010, and (b) who, while 40 years of age or older, had an interest in securing Television Writing Opportunities and/or talent agency representation for the purpose of securing Television Writing Opportunities, at any time between October 22, 1996 and January 22, 2010.

Get that? Are you 40 or older right now? Have you, or have you ever wanted to, write television professionally? Or even just get a TV agent?

I’m gonna guess that covers everyone over the age of 40 who reads this blog.

If you want, go get yourself some cash. The instructions and rules are here.

1. Don’t believe me? Here are the terms of the settlement if you remain in the class…

   If you remain a Settlement Class Member, you will release five types of rights, all of which cover the period October 22, 1996 through and including January 22, 2010:

   · You will release, and never be able to file or re-file, any past age discrimination claims you may have against Defendants and their corporate affiliates (including claims of the kind covered by the federal Age Discrimination in Employment Act, as amended by the Older Workers Benefit Protection Act);

   · You will release, and never be able to file or re-file, any past age discrimination claims against everyone (not just the Defendants and their corporate affiliates) as to any television projects in which a Defendant or one of its corporate affiliates was creatively, financially, or otherwise involved (including claims under and of the kind covered by the federal Age Discrimination in Employment Act, as amended by the Older Workers Benefit Protection Act);

   · You will give up the right to bring a collective action under the federal Age Discrimination in Employment Act, as amended by the Older Workers Benefit Protection Act;

   · You will release claims that Creative Artists Agency, LLC (CAA), aided and abetted the alleged age discrimination of the Defendants or otherwise is jointly liable with the Defendants (including claims that CAA failed to take reasonable steps to prevent age discrimination from occurring at the Defendants and Settling Party Affiliates or in connection with the Television Writing Opportunities covered by the releases);

   · Except to the extent prohibited by law, you will be barred from introducing any purported evidence of age discrimination that occurred prior to January 22, 2010 in making any future age discrimination claim against any Defendant or Settling Party Affiliate. [↩]

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There was once a time in America when great lawyers argued great cases in front of great judges.

A number of those cases were about things far more important than contracts and regulations and petty crime. They were about the soul of our nation.

Those cases literally changed our culture, our understanding of what it meant to be a human being, to be free to choose, to vote, to live as equals…

But I’m not going to talk about any of those cases today. Instead, I’m going to talk about a case that was misguided, silly and frivolous. I’m going to talk about how it dragged on for years, enriching attorneys.

Then I’m going to talk about how it ended with a nonsensical whimper, spreading some money around like a balm, but impacting none of us in any real way.

Yes, this should be depressing if I do it right.

Years ago, a number of (mostly television) writers got together and decided they were going to sue Hollywood: all the studios, the networks and the big talent agencies. They were going to sue them because it was their fervently held belief that they were being illegally discriminated against.

How so?

Their age. Now, put aside that the numbers would more strongly support such a lawsuit from black writers or Asian writers or Native American writers or albino writers. And put aside that most of the people running the studios and networks and big talent agencies are over the magic age of 40, which is where the plaintiffs drew the line in the sand. And put aside the fact that just about every hit television show is run by someone over the age of 40.

Hell, put aside all the other arguments I made years ago about why there are perfectly logical reasons why people may find it harder to get work as a Hollywood writer as they get older…none of which involve employers hatin’ on the 40 and overs.

These plaintiffs didn’t care. They believed they stopped working because they got old. In their world, all the people who stop working in their 20’s and 30’s just…well…I dunno, suck I guess…but they stopped working for one reason and one reason only.

Their incredibly advanced age of…40?

Ugh, I actually felt myself getting dumber as I typed that.

Part of the legal argument they made was something like this: the government defines discrimination in a certain way, much of which revolves around outcomes not matching what you’d expect if all things were equal…so if there’s an age imbalance in the writing staffs of television shows, then there must have been de facto ageism involved.

In short, causality is presumed, which, as anyone reasonable will tell you…is just silly.

Silly? Why, then this latest quintessentially American legal excapade might just have a chance!

So what happened? Yesterday, all of the networks and studios and talent agencies (save my agency, CAA…and I urge you to fight this, CAA!) decided to settle. Yes, a settlement. An agreement. An understanding.

Here’s what they did.

They all got together, all gabillion dollars of market cap between them…and they decided, one presumes, that the legal fees were outweighing the actual cost of a settlement, so how much would it take to make this shakedown go away…and the number was…

…drumroll…

$70 million dollars.

Whoa! That’s a lot, right? Well…kind of. On the other hand, that number is split among 17 corporations. If it’s split evenly, that’s about four million bucks a piece. Oh. Well…still…that’s not too bad, considering that–wait, what?

Oh dear. Turns out that about 2/3rds of the money will actually be paid out by the 17 corporations’ insurance companies.

So instead of an average of four million a company, the actual retail price of what each company is paying out? More like an average of a million and a half.

Each.

Wow. That oughta bring them to their knees!

But I’m being negative. It’s not about punishing the companies financially. It’s about changing the unfair system, right? The plaintiffs struck a blow for social justice. They got Hollywood to admit that it was biased against old folks, and–

Oh. Oh no…

The defendants strongly deny the plaintiffs’ allegations and state that their hiring and/or representation practices fully comply with the law and reflect their commitment to equal employment opportunity. They also note that they all have long-standing anti-discrimination policies and regularly employ or represent substantial numbers of writers over the age of forty.

Of course. This is the way it goes. Brown sues the Topeka Board of Education over unfair discrimination. The Board of Education hands Brown an envelope with some cash they’ll never miss, then announce that they’ve never discriminated against anyone and they’re not changing shit about the way they do business, so back to your Colored school, Mr. Brown…

Um, sorry. I forgot. That was a different time.

In this time, the plaintiffs say, “Yup. We’re fine. That’s the settlement. You deny doing anything wrong, we stop chasing you in court, and you give us some cash.”

Which, by the time the lawyers take their cut and divvy the remainder up among the class, well…I’d be surprised if anyone buys a yacht when this is all wrapped up.

And so, this absurd chapter in our business (mostly) concludes. Most of my friends working in the business are still over the age of 40. Most of the people running the business are still over the age of 40. We now have a resolved legal case in which the plaintiffs are willingly going along with a settlement that denies the very argument they made to begin with.

In the end, they behaved true to the oldest of Hollywood principles: they took the cash.

Although, when you think about it, what they really did was take the cash to go away.

Finally, their absence from the work force will have a clear and unambiguous explanation.

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First, I apologize for my absence. Work calls, and well…I hate to say it, but…I kind of got bored with blogging for a while there. It’s not that I didn’t have anything to say. I did.

I just didn’t feel like talking much. God knows there are plenty of people out there who wish that condition to remain permanent, but perhaps all I was waiting for was something juicy.

Et voila, enter “the scriptshadow.”

Before you read any further, stop now and read John August’s excellent article here.

Go. Do it. I’ll wait.

Okay, you read it? Good. Now you know what the deal is. Scriptshadow is some guy operating under the blanket of internet anonymity. He reviews screenplays, many of which are still in development. He also occasionally posts links to the scripts themselves.

I have a problem with this. But first, let me tell you the problems I don’t have.

I don’t have a legal problem with this. The studios almost certainly do, and there are all sorts of copyright issues involved here, but in this particular circumstance, they don’t get my goat.

I don’t have a “convenience” problem with this. Yes, the more guys like Scriptshadow post screenplays in development, the more annoying studios will get with their writers, forcing us to jump through all sorts of security hoops, when all we really want to do is just write the damn things and be done with them.

I don’t have a personal problem with this, i.e. as far as I know, Scriptshadow has never bothered reviewing any of my screenplays. No grudges to speak of.

Finally, I don’t have the “barrier” problem. Many defenders of Scriptshadow believe that he’s doing the Lord’s work in breaking down the barrier between the pros and the non-pros. The more screenplays in development the aspiring writer can read, the better his or her chance of writing something the studios will want to buy.

I rue how difficult access is, and I empathize. That’s one big reason I started this blog and forum (with our Ask a Pro section), and it’s why I was thrilled to be a part of the excellent Nashville Screenwriting Conference this year. I will certainly be back in Nashville in 2010. It’s also why I go after the cottage industry of nonsense books, courses and scams designed to separate desperate writers from their money.

I want you to succeed. This is not a zero sum game. Your success will not impact mine. If you write a great script and I write a great script, they’re both going to get attention, and hopefully they will both get made.

Here’s my problem. Here’s my one single problem. Sometimes, Scriptshadow posts reviews of screenplays that are in development.

So?

THE SCRIPTS ARE NOT DONE.

Let me repeat that.

THE SCRIPTS…ARE NOT DONE.

You would think writers would understand. And yet, so many don’t get it. When we write a draft, it’s a draft. It’s an attempt. We may find it absolutely awful and horrifying, and yet necessary as a basis for the next draft, which will be good. We may be writing the draft to address notes we think are completely misguided, with the optimistic (and often rewarded) belief that once the note-givers read the draft, they’ll finally see the light. We may be writing the draft to race a deadline, and we’ll fix it after. We may be writing the draft for an actor who is hopelessly miscast, and once that actor is gone, we can do it right.

And yes, of course, maybe we just stink, and this one isn’t very good.

Yet.

But dear Scriptshadow…it’s NOT YOURS. Not yet. Soon it will be. Soon it will belong to everyone. But not yet. And anyone who really gives a damn about movies should see that and believe it and just…well…KNOW it.

Why experience someone’s writing before they’re ready for you to experience it? Even worse, why critique what you know IS NOT DONE?

Do you go to a restaurant, ask for raw chicken and a glass of wine, then review the coq au vin?

Let me tell you, I’m the last guy in the world to get precious about what I do. I’ve got years of blogging here to back that up. I’m the guy who says we shouldn’t be arty-farty about the gig, that we should remember this is a job as well as a creative pursuit, that screenwriting is about writing movies and not about writing documents…

…but I deserve one thing.

I deserve to goddamn finish my script before you or anyone else in the audience tells me what you think. You can hate it allllll you want when it’s DONE. And a draft isn’t “done.”

In short, my writing process, and the writing process of anyone who does this job, be they on the top of the mountain like John August or a newly-optioned-for-a-buck rookie, deserves and requires PRIVACY.

Privacy, Scriptshadow. Privacy until we decide we’re ready to show it to the world.

Not you.

Us.

Privacy is why you should stop reviewing screenplays in development. Because hey, if you didn’t believe in the value of privacy, in the value of holding things back, in the value of protecting that which you’re not ready to make public…

…then why call yourself “Scriptshadow” instead of your name?

Right, Christopher Eads?

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If you’re a WGAw screenwriter, you should have just received an email from the guild inviting you to take an online survey. While I can’t print the link (the survey is for Guild members only…each of you gets your own link…), I can strongly urge you to take the five or ten minutes necessary to fill it out.

Online, of course.

The survey centers around economic and employment issues. Is it easier or harder getting work now? More hoops to jump through? Are you still getting paid your quote? Are producers demanding more free writing? How about one-step deals?

Here’s why it’s important that you respond (you can do it anonymously if you so desire, and it’s done through a secure website). Even though screenwriters kick in a disproportionately large amount of dues dollars, we are often underrepresented when it’s time for negotiations. It’s easier for the guild to do outreaches to rooms of TV writers at a time, and it’s the threat of shows going dark that drives a strike. All that adds up to a screenwriting constituency that is all too often ignored.

That’s why it’s crucial that we make our voices heard within our own union. If you’re a screenwriter, I don’t have to tell you that the town has changed over the last year. Let’s arm our leadership and staff with as much of our feedback on this situation as we can give.

Sarah Singer at the WGA did a really nice job putting this survey together, and she reached out to a number of writers for input on the kinds of questions that needed asking.

So fill it out, wouldja? Think of it as a prerequisite for complaining months from now! See? Now you’re interested…

Once you’re done, if you want to come back here and praise it or critique it (constructively, please), then leave a comment. I’m sure Sarah and the Guild will be watching this page.

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After the jet ski and poisson cru madness (which never really ended, but who needs to hear about that anymore?), the adventures really began.

First, I want to point out that while Couples Retreat obviously did very well at the box office, I think there’s a lot more cinematically to Bora Bora than just the resort. For instance, Mount Otemanu. It looms up and over the lagoon, typically peaking somewhere in the clouds. What’s inside that thing? Probably just more rock, but in my imagination, there’s a whole temple to explore. So hey, that’s at least a few shooting days I’m going to try and arrange for on location. Naturally, whatever’s inside is gonna be built on some stage…

Second, as I went on my adventures, I was accompanied not just by my fellow screenwriters and our French hosts (and Jonathan), but also by the French Polynesians themselves.

I love these people, and I really don’t like people in general, so that’s saying something.

They’re proud. And while it’s true that they are colonized by the French, there are vast areas of little assimilation, because there’s no reason to assimilate in the first place. There are no natural resources to strip mine, no military bases to control. In fact, what French Polynesia really has going for it are the very things that aren’t French. The landscape, the people, the traditions, etc.

Like steering a boat with your feet. Mmm…maybe that’s not a tradition, but this guy did it. He was awesome. When he took his wrap off to reveal a thong, maybe not as awesome. But with wrap on and foot-boating? Yeah. Loved him.

The Tahitians and Marquesians move easily between French and Polynesian, sometimes within the same sentence. I was honestly surprised how quickly my high school French came back to me; if people spoke slowly and simply, I was able to understand 80%, and by the end of the week, I could communicate haltingly, but enough to get along in French. Not so with Tahitian (I can say “Hello” and “Thank you” and “Breadfruit” and “Transsexual”).

(really)

(Pro Tip: “Oui” is yes, but “Wheh” or “Weigh” is yup or yeah…and that’s what the cool kids say).

After learning how to crack open a coconut with a just stick and a rock--and it’s both harder and more satisfying than you’d think--we made our way to a part of the lagoon where you can pet manta rays and snorkel with sharks.

Funny thing about Bora Bora…people say “go snorkel with some sharks” and for whatever reason, you shrug and say, “Sure, sounds like a decent idea.” Happily, the rays and sharks and one very evil-eyed barracuda were all so well-fed by the time we got there that they were completely disinterested in eating us. The barracuda did devour one smaller fish right in front of my face, but I think that was just emotional eating…

As beautiful as that was, I don’t think I was quite prepared for the splendor (yeah, it’s a mushy word, but whatever) of the Coral Garden. To be honest, I’m not a big marine life kind of guy. And coral is just…what the hell is coral anyway?

I think it’s alive, partially, but also dead…you know, I’m not going to look it up. I’ll keep it a mystery.

When I got in the water to frolic with the manta rays, I made the bad choice of not properly closing the battery hatch on my underwater camera. On the other hand, that meant I could just steal photos from Chris Markus and Jeff Lowell. I could even be in some of those photos.

The coral garden was full of fish that didn’t seem quite real. Oh, and there were oysters? Clams? I can’t tell the difference. I called them “whore mouths” because, well…look at the colors. Those lips border on obscene. I do know that, at the very least, those things were alive, because I would slowly extend a finger toward them, and they would pucker up in fear.

Shortly after returning to the boat, it was patiently explained to me that I should not have done that, because, you know, they can bite your finger off. In retrospect, it seems obvious, but then again…I think the entire point of having clam lips the color of Prince’s wardrobe is to entice things like fish…or fingers…to wander near the biting zone.

Some pics…

The next adventure I had was probably the only one I’d call “life-changing,” inasmuch as I experienced something that has been seared into my brain.

We went whale watching.

Now, when I heard the words “whale-watching,” here’s what I free-associated: boring, water, watching, waiting, lesbians.

I don’t know why. In the back of my head, there’s a serious overlap between the venn diagram ovals for “lesbians” and “whale-watchers.”

Well, if it’s at all so, then I congratulate my lesbian sisters for being right.

We headed out into the open waters between Bora Bora and Moorea on a pretty big boat…45-footer, I’m guessing. Joining us for the trip was a marine biologist (from Berkeley, I think) who was stationed in French Polynesia. After a lengthy and choppy ride in waters that would have surely made me…

Wait, have I talked about The Patch yet?

Ah, I see I haven’t. Okay, so here’s my deal. If you put me on a big boat in choppy ocean waters, I throw up. If you put me on a small boat in calm waters, I throw up. If you put me on a docked ferry, I may throw up. I’ve thrown up from sitting in the back seat of a limo. Dig? So in advance of this trip, I called my doctor and got a prescription for the Patch, otherwise known as Transderm Scop. The “scop” is for “scopolamine,” which is an alkaloid derived from the belladonna plant, so that’s +1 for medieval witches knowing what the hell they were doing.

By the way, do you know why we get motion sickness? When we are in situations like the deck of a pitching boat, the visual input from our eyes doesn’t match the balance input from our inner ears. Well, okay, but why does that make us hurl? Turns out there’s something else that often causes the exact same differential between visual and balance cues: being poisoned.

Yup. The body presumes that the dizzy feeling you’re experiencing is the result of ingesting something toxic, and so it cues the brain to make you whistle carrots. And as everyone knows, it’s a terrible, terrible, vacation-ruining feeling.

Sartre was wrong. L’enfer, ce n’est pas les autres. L’enfer, c’est le mal de mer.

I had never tried the patch. Instead, I’d been sticking with a more traditional remedy known as “don’t get on a frickin’ boat.” In French Polynesia, though, you have to get on a boat. You have to get on a boat to get to breakfast. Or your room. Or another island. Unless you’re getting on a tiny plane (more on that later). You have no choice.

Dear people at the Novartis Pharmaceutical Company:

I love you.

The Patch transformed me from a upchucking puke machine into a seafaring soul. Waves? Rocking? HA! I will not lie down or turn green. I will stand at the pitchiest part of the deck, and laugh into the wind! For lo, I am Nautilus!

Seriously, it felt like that.

So…I and my trusty patch are on the boat, and we’re heading out to “where the whales are.” We finally spot one. For the next thirty minutes, we circle around a mother humpback and her calf…or at least the parts of them we can see. Jeff Lowell snapped a picture, which is impressive, because they would only come up for seconds at a time…

But the truth is, it was really boring. We’d watch the shadowy thing come up, it would go down, we’d circle around, I’d smugly remind myself that I wasn’t puking, then we’d do it again, over and over…

The whole time, the marine biologist kept saying, “If we get close enough, we’ll snorkel in and swim over to the whales.” He said that a lot. But we didn’t do it. Ever. We just kept boating around in a circle. For whatever reason, after the 12th time he mentioned it, I decided to take my shirt off, grab my mask and snorkel and wait.

The 13th time he said it, it went like this. “Okay, we’re close enough. Let’s go.” And he immediately jumped off the boat. Our Man Jonathan In Tahiti made a “whoa, okay” face, and then jumped in as well.

A small voice in the back of my head said, “Hold on, should we even--?” but another voice said, “JUMP IN THE OCEAN, DICK,” and I jumped.

Boats are really tall. I think I fell for about three months. Finally, I hit the water, came back up…and saw that the marine biologist was swimming like frickin’ Aquaman toward a distant point. Jonathan went after him, and I went after Jonathan.

We basically sprint-swam for a quarter mile, which is weird when you’re snorkeling, because your own breath makes you sound like Darth Vader. Jonathan and I took a three-second breather at one point (enough for me to say “This is exhausting!”…which he will not let me forget), and then we swam swam swam as hard as we could through the current until we arrived at a spot where the marine biologist had met up with some other French snorkelers.

We dip under the water, and they point to a murky shadow in the depths below.

A very big murky shadow. But honestly…if that had been it, I would have been pretty annoyed, because the swim back wasn’t gonna be any easier.

And then…

A humpback whale…the calf…swam up from the depths, and then slowly circled around me…maybe 10 feet under the surface, and maybe thirty feet away from me. It swam slowly in a circle, as if presenting itself. I just turned slowly to follow it with my eyes, attempting to process the impossibility of it all.

It was religious. Like seeing an alien. An alien the size of a schoolbus moving gracefully around me. Its body, which appears nearly black above water, looked blue and turquoise and striated and bioluminescent under water.

I looked into its eye.

That’s one I get to keep for the rest of my life.

This video, right around the 2:00 mark, is about the right distance in terms of where I was vis a vis the whale. As a movie, it’s cool. In real life, it’s absurd.

Up next, the final installment…Danger on the High Seas! And the saga of Death Island!

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Between work and baseball and something viral in my lungs that wasn’t swine-derived, it’s been a tough couple of weeks for blogging. I’ve got the final installment of the Tahiti trip stuff, plus my thoughts on the WGA election and the recent foreign levies settlement…all coming up.

Stay tuned.

Or not! That’s the fun of blogging fer free.

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A little video snack. Hopefully a new post goes up tonight.

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So here’s what I knew about Tahiti.

Bubkus. To be honest, I was only vaguely sure that it was in the Pacific, as opposed to the Caribbean. Here’s what I know about it now.

What we think of as “Tahiti” is actually French Polynesia. And “Tahiti” is merely one of the many, many islands that comprise French Polynesia, which is scattered across a massive portion of the Pacific Ocean. There are basically three sections (by basically I mean “more than three, but three big ones”). The Society Islands include most of the resort destinations: Tahiti, Bora Bora and Moorea (not to mention the late Marlon Brando’s private island Tetiaroa). The Tuamotu Archipelago contains lots of the best diving locations, including Rangiroa. And the Marquesas, which include Nuku Hiva and Hiva Oa, are the more rugged islands that were featured on Survivor.

My adventure began with an eight hour red-eye from Los Angeles to Papeete, Tahiti (the only “city” you’ll find in French Polynesia). Let me just take a moment to sing the praises of two drugs. Ambien is a tiny little pill, but it has the magical power to transform an endless, sleepless, jet-lagging flight into what is basically teleportation. You sit in your seat, you take the pill, you close your eyes…you open them and you’re there. Awesome.

Side note…if you haven’t read Stephen King’s short story The Jaunt…you should.  It haunts me to this very day…

After landing, we jumped on what would turn out to be the first of about four hundred thousand small plane rides, this time heading from Papeete to Bora Bora.  Our accomodations were the luxurious overwater bungalows at the Intercontinental. I checked in, put my bathing suit on, walked out the back door of my bungalow, and jumped in the most beautiful water I’ve ever seen. It’s hard to get used to the brilliant color of the French Polynesian water. Depending on the depth, it’s either deep blue, sky blue, turquoise blue, aquamarine blue, or some other alien-world shade of blue. The depth changes abruptly, so the water changes color along clean lines, as if someone carefully painted each lagoon.

After a short swim, the wonderful madness began.

Our two main guides for our trip were Franck Priot of Film France, and Jonathan Reap of Tahiti Tourisme. They were a pretty amazing duo. Franck’s job was to design as many possible inspirational and educational moments into each day, and Jonathan’s job was to figure out exactly how to do it. In theory, it’s a recipe for disaster, but in practice, they were brilliant. Franck planned every moment of every day as if our lives depended on how much we could possibly experience. Jonathan…well…Jonathan is basically the Mr. Wolf of French Polynesia. If you need something, anything, at any time of day or night, he’s your man. He solves problems. He makes stuff happen.

I’m not sure, but I think Jonathan knows every single person who lives in French Polynesia. And they all owe him favors.

Between the two of them, Franck and Jonathan could pretty much get us into (and out of) as much excitement and trouble as they desired. Case in point: the jet skis. Our first mission, undertaken just hours after arriving, was to jump on jet-skis in the lagoon in Bora Bora and then ride out into the open ocean and arrive at the atoll of Tupai.

Here are some facts.

None of us had ever been on a jet-ski. People aren’t traditionally allowed to jet-ski out of the lagoon. There were reports of 3 meter swells in the ocean. The Coast Guard was advising against the mission. And people aren’t normally allowed to set foot on Tupai anyway.

To which Franck and Jonathan said, “N’importe quoi.” And off we went.

I have to say that it was a wonderful feeling to be free of the normal American bubble of fear-of-litigation. Within minutes of learning how to jet-ski (sit down, press accelerator, hold the hell on), we were all catching air, getting smashed in the face with seawater, slamming into massive waves, chasing our guides at absurd speeds, wind screaming in our ears, our asses banging against the seat…

I loved it. Nick Schenck actually got tossed off his jet-ski. Our guides finally gave up fighting the waves and said we had to head back to the lagoon. Franck announced that this first mission was a “failure,” but he couldn’t have been more wrong. It was a complete success. My heart was pounding, my legs were aching (all of us were muscle-cramped for days), my eyes were burning…but I was already in love with this place.

A simple observation: if you involuntarily shout “OH!” more than ten times in an hour, you’re getting some living done.

After our jet ski adventure, we took a boat to a private motu (motus are small atolls), where we had a traditional Polynesian lunch. This was the first of many meals that centered around poisson cru (literally “raw fish”). Polynesians are very proud of this–their most famous dish–which is typically a mixture of raw tuna, onions, lime juice and coconut milk. It’s quite good, especially when someone cracks open a fresh coconut, grates the inside of it using a traditional tool, then squeezes the coconut milk right into the tuna. On the other hand, every single person we encountered in French Polynesia fed us poisson cru. Every…single…person.  It was as if they hadn’t considered that other Polynesians would have had the same idea. So while I really enjoyed poisson cru, by the time we had our fifteenth serving of it on day 7, it was a bit much.

Got bad enough that we eventually decided we would name ourselves The Poisson Crew. I know…but trust me, it’s very funny…if you’re really tired and eating poisson cru. Again.

Up next…swimming with sharks. The real ones.

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Normally, when WGAw election results are announced, I’m right on top of it. But that wasn’t going to happen this year, because when the ballots were counted, I wasn’t home. I wasn’t in Los Angeles, or Calfornia, or the United States…or even the Northern Hemisphere.

I was in French Polynesia. Not as a tourist, mind you, but as a screenwriter and guest of Film France, the French Film and TV Office of the French Embassy, the Tahiti Film Office, Tahiti Tourism, Air Tahiti Nui and many others.

Why?

For the second year in a row, the French government chose to sponsor a group of screenwriters in order to inspire them. The idea is simple enough. A screenwriter writes a film or even just a scene or two that takes place in Paris or Marseille or Tahiti or French Guyana…and France and its people reap the economic rewards of the resulting film production.

While many might think that inviting producers or studio executives is a better way to go, the French (and I) disagree. I think it’s actually quite brilliant. True, so many of what I call “secondary decisions” are out of the screenwriter’s hands, e.g. who to cast, which building to shoot, is it day or night, short or lengthy, broad or restrained, etc.

But the primary decisions are often made by the screenwriter before anyone realizes it’s happened. We may not determine whether or not Bruce Willis or Denzel Washington is cast, but we’ve written the role for a rugged, masculine, action-oriented man in his 50’s. We may not decide to shoot a sequence in Bora Bora, but we’ve written a script that takes place in a romantic honeymoon getaway resort.

We define the parameters more than most are willing to admit.

The French, to their credit, readily embrace this reality.

And so, I found myself journeying to Tahiti, Bora Bora and the Marquesas with Marc Norman (Shakespeare In Love), Kevin Bisch (Hitch), Nick Schenck (Gran Torino), Jeff Lowell (Hotel For Dogs), David Stem (Shrek 2) and Paul Boardman (The Exorcism of Emily Rose).

Coming up next…a week, the places, people and stories I’ll never forget.

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Can’t really write much of an entry now (all will be explained later next week), but I wanted to take a quick moment to congratulate all of the winners of the WGAw election.

While I was disappointed that some of the candidates I admire (like Howard Michael Gould, Chris Keyser, Jeff Lowell and Mick Betancourt) didn’t win, the end result is very encouraging.

First, I believe strongly that John Wells is our best chance at a good contract.

Second, I believe our high turnout sent a firm message to the AMPTP.

Third, and most importantly, I don’t have much interest in one slate dominating another. For the last 5 years, our Guild has been a one-party system, and that’s changed in a huge way. Let the Board Room once again feature the kind of healthy discourse and debate that results only from philosophical diversity.

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