Sun Tzu and Ovitz

From a list of cool things in Michael Ovitz memoir:

10. Sun Tzu Move II: “I’d wash my hands 30 times a day and insist that my assistants not touch my food.”

11. As a result, he never got sick, except when he took vacations.

12. Sun Tzu Move III: “When the leading figures in television entered our lobby, we kept them waiting long enough to be spotted by anyone who happened to be in the building.”

by Richard Rushfield in his newsletter The Ankler ($45 a year to subscribe, recommended if you are interested in Hollywood).

Rushfeld points out, how many agents even have a favorite philosopher?

I got down this Penguin edition.  Impressed with this John Minford translation:

How do we even translate whatever character represents “dispositions”?

Whom did Ovitz consider “the enemy”? WMA?  When Sun Tzu used the word enemy, what other meanings could that word have had, in English, I wonder?

Dr. Melfi tells Tony Soprano if he wants to become a better gang leader, he should read Sun Tzu.  How much would it help him?

Meanwhile:


Hollywood: A Very Short Introduction

The sequence beginning around 3:30 is captivating.

What’s going on here?  We are right to be confused:

So I’m told in this one:

Some of the Oxford Very Short Introduction books aren’t that helpful.  Some are great.  I got a lot out of this one.  I didn’t know this story about Lucille Ball, for instance:


Nice Try Hall Of Fame

when Harvey Weinstein’s then-lawyer Lisa Bloom said he’s “an old dinosaur learning new ways”


nightmare


Great book, great name

 

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Somehow came across the name Hortense Powerdermaker and I knew I had to have her book. img_9109-1

Some good observations:

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Kiss Kiss Bang Bang:

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How about this?:

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Me, I’m trying to be like Mr. Well Adjusted:

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Ridiculous

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Amazing letter from The Academy.  Imagine sending out an email in which you described your own organization’s action of slightly adjusting membership rules as “courageous.”


Writers in Hollywood

Pizzlolatto

I spent the ensuing weeks across a table from Nic, hashing out plotlines. It gave me a chance to study him at close quarters. No one was more vehement about character and motivation than Nic. Now and then, he’d do the voices or act out a scene, turning his wrist to demonstrate the pop-pop of gunplay. He was 37 but somehow ageless. He could’ve stepped out of a novel by Steinbeck. The writer as crusader, chronicler of love and depravity. His shirt was rumpled, his hair mussed, his manner that of a man who’d just hiked along the railroad tracks or rolled out from under a box. He is fine-featured, with fierce eyes a little too small for his face. It gives him the aura of a bear or some other species of dangerous animal. When I was a boy and dreamed of literature, this is how I imagined a writer—a kind of outlaw, always ready to fight or go on a spree. After a few drinks, you realize the night will culminate with pledges of undying friendship or the two of you on the floor, trying to gouge each other’s eyes out.

I love True Detective and I loved, loved reading this profile of Nic Pizzolatto in Vanity Fair (from which I steal the above photo, credited to Art Streiber).

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I did have a quibble, though.

Here’s what profile writer Rich Cohen says about F. Scott Fitzgerald in Hollywood:

Early in the history of film, when the big-time writers of the day, Fitzgerald most famously, were offered a role in the movies, they decided to write for the cash, forswearing deeper participation in a medium they considered second-rate. Perhaps as a result of this decision, the author came to be the forgotten figure in Hollywood, well paid but disregarded. According to the old joke, “the actress was so stupid she slept with the writer.”

Later:

Credit and power are shared. But by tossing out that first season and beginning again, Nic has a chance to finally undo the early error of Fitzgerald and the rest. If he fails and the show tanks, he’ll be just another writer with one great big freakish hit. But if he succeeds, he will have generated a model in which the stars and the stories come and go but the writer remains as guru and king.

Not sure this is totally accurate.  I’ve read a decent amount about F. Scott Fitzgerald in Hollywood.  The more you read, the more it seems like Fitzgerald really loved Hollywood, and tried really hard to be good at writing movies, and was distressed by his failures.  Fitzgerald loved movies:

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When Fitzgerald worked on movies, it seems like he worked hard, was hurt when he was (frequently) fired, which sent him into tailspins that made things worse.  But he was trying:

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Those are from the great Marc Norman’s book, highly recommended:

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Or how about this?:

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That’s from this great one, by Scott Donaldson:

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Now, that’s not to say that Fitzgerald always did everything perfectly:

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(from this one, very entertaining read:

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).

On the other hand, William Faulkner did well in Hollywood.  He’s credited on at least two movies — The Big Sleep and To Have And Have Not, that you’d have to put in the all-time good list.  If he’d never written a single book, you could look at those credits and call Faulkner a pretty successful screenwriter.

What did Faulkner do differently than Fitzgerald?  Possibly, his secret was caring less:

IMG_8502 More, from Norman:
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Murky, to be sure.

But you might say: the big difference in the Hollywood careers of Fitzgerald and Faulkner is that Faulkner teamed with a great director, Howard Hawks, who liked him and liked working with him.

That’s what Pizzolatto did too.  He teamed up with Cary Fukunaga. Cary Fukunaga directed all eight episodes of season one of True Detective (and a bunch of other things worth seeing).

Fukunaga’s not mentioned once in that Vanity Fair article.  That’s crazy.

Anyway. I’m excited for season two, it sounds super interesting.