Editor's Statement

I must be very eloquent. This is my last pass-through as editor of the Journal, and precedence requires that farewell addresses be very eloquent, befitting the historical nature of the situation. By the time this column is done with, many of you will be in tears and your lives will have been changed by the insights I am about to share.

Never ask a director, "Why are you shooting it that way?" No matter how much child-like innocence you inject into your tone, the person in the puttees will find cause to take exception to this simple inquiry. This admonition also applies to variations as: "Why don't you shoot it like _______?" (Scorsese, Lynch, Cameron, fill in the blank). Also verbatim is: "Isn't that the same setup you used when you did Hill Street?" Do not ask a writer if an especially effective moment was something in the script or was an ad lib added by the performers at the last moment. Writers have been known to be protective of their reputations and take umbrage when the specter of actors adding to the quality of the production is brought into play. It isn't that they don't like the actors. Well, yes, it is.

Think twice before attending a Golden Laurel Awards Ceremony intent on finding out what a producer really does. Those who agree to answer the question prove by doing so that they don't have a clue. Those who refuse to answer the question are sworn to secrecy as a result of the Fries-Stern Accord of 1903. To quote a recent hit film, "The one rule about the Producer's Guild is never to talk about the Producer's Guild. Those who listen won't believe you and those who might believe you won't listen." If you're a director and an actor tells you, "I wouldn't do that," resist the impulse to tell him he's not playing himself, because the reality is that he is playing himself and more than likely will continue to do so for the duration of his thirty-month career. If you're an actor, and a writer has happened to infiltrate the set and asks what you really think of the script, tell him anything in the world except what you really think of the script.

If you are any of the aforementioned and in conversation with a youthful network decision-maker (a redundant phrase), do not mention that Marilyn Monroe regularly rewrote her dialogue on "The Misfits" even though the part was written for her by her husband. The network decision-maker will tell you he didn't know that Joe DiMaggio was a writer.

If Jerry Isenberg ever calls you and asks you to assume the role of editor of The Journal of the Caucus for Television Producers, Writers & Directors, resist the survival instinct that tells you to hang up instantly. Know that while the job is a substantial pain in the butt, it will also bring you into contact with some of the brightest and best we have. It will force you to examine long-held preconceptions and force you to frame thoughts in a manner both meaningful and succinct. And while the pay is noticeable by its absence, there is more tangible recompense in the knowledge that something is occasionally done on these pages that matters and is worth a moment's reflection and thought.
Are you in tears yet?
Funny. Me, neither.