Tagline:Fatherhood is going to make a man out of Eric Matters whether he likes it or not.
No there is no bun in the oven! And if there was there would be a lot of explaining to do. The guy to the left is the extraordinarily talented Matthew Brown of Brown Medius. We became friends a couple years ago (he did the final edit on my first short film Spoiled) and now we are both living in L.A.
Last summer Matt got a hold of me and asked me to write him a feature length comedy script. He was interested in directing a mini budget feature that would display his eclectic and versatile skills. He wanted the story to happen in a day, feature a male protagonist, and be funny. This call came at midnight east coast time so I thought I was hearing things. By now Matt had seen my portfolio of work and nowhere in there was male, funny, or situational. But he seemed to think I was a good enough writer to pull it off. A week later we had a treatment we agreed on and I went about the business of constructing the world of "Eric Matters" and the cast of characters that inhabit the Cresten Pine Mall.
Daddyhood is a cross between Friday and Clerks. Our protagonist is a reluctant young father, who is faced with taking care of his infant daughter for the day when his frustrated ex-girlfriend unexpectedly drops her off at his job. During the course of the day Eric discovers what it takes to be be father and how far he will go to fulfill that responsibility. It is a PG-13 film and has a nice feel good ending (after all the madcap and unexpected adventures).
It was a fun story to write and I was surprised how easy. I am now working on a rewrite and Matt is in talks with a "name" actor to take on the lead role. We spent a few hours together yesterday mapping out how we would pull this production off and what it would take to get our quality story on the screen. MONEY!
But besides money we are putting together a package (name actor, budget, production time, audience, etc) that we think will attract investors. So if you have a million or so laying around - hit us up:)
My east coast friends are both amused and baffled by my new love affair with hiking. They swear that I have been sucked into the Southern California lifestyle vortex of bean sprouts and healthy living, overnight. The reality is that hiking has turned out to be a happy, soul saving accident.
About six weeks before I was scheduled to leave for California my five year relationship came to an abrupt and painful end. By the time I left DC I was a shell of myself and I was virtually unrecognizable. All the drama and upset had effectively sucked the confidence and joy out of me. Only the love, support, and insistence of family and friends got me across the country - with the hopes that I could pick up the pieces once I got to sunny Los Angeles. But what I discovered, once all the fanfare died down, was that my sadness made it impossible to perform the smallest task at hand. I fixated on the broken relationship and saw myself as a failure. This is not how I had envisioned the start of my L.A. adventure.
My new housemate, an avid hiker, tried to pull me out of my increasingly darkening mood by inviting me on her morning hikes. I had met Carolyn two years ago at a writing fellowship and we became fast friends. She had taken me hiking during a couple of my visits west and I absolutely hated the experience. Tipping the scale at 300 pounds it was like pushing a boulder up the mountain with a q-tip. Impossible.
Every morning we went up on the trail I tried to remember that living in California was to be about new starts and pushing myself beyond what I thought I was capable of. Lumbering my way up Verdugo Mountain those first couple weeks was painful. I felt inadequate and struggled with a great deal of shame that I had allowed myself to get so big that I could barely make it five feet without gasping for air and stopping. Carolyn was extremely supportive, but it was difficult to watch her seemingly effortlessly make her way up the winding ridge, all while controlling two large dogs that outweighed her by at least 20 pounds. It didn’t matter that she had been hiking for over ten years and took extremely good care of her body; it frustrated me that I couldn’t keep up. As far as I was concerned hiking was just another thing that I could fail at. Those first couple weeks I almost never finished the hike.
Then one morning, after another restless night, I decided I was going to go out hiking by myself. I chose Griffith Park which is purportedly an easier hike than Verdugo. The verdict is still out on that. As I pulled up to the virtually empty parking lot, I promised myself I would make it all the way to the top no matter how long it took. The Griffith hike is challenging to me because it immediately starts off with a steep incline. You are walking at least 15 minutes before you encounter a flat lay of land to rest your burning legs and lungs.
That first solo hike I felt every single step, every single curve and bend. I noticed how other hikers stared at me as they passed (running or briskly walking) and I knew they were judging me, doubting that this big, black woman, heaving and grunting her way up the dusty trail, would ever make it to the top. By the time I did I was drenched. I’m sure I looked like a shiny black piece of coal under the hot morning sun. But I had done it. I had made it to the top at my own pace and on my own terms.
By the time I made it back down to my car, and sucked down 16 ounces of water, I suddenly realized that for the entire hour I was up on that trail I couldn’t feel my heartache. My body had only one imperative – get air into my lungs - if I insisted on taking another step. Every other worry was pushed aside.
So, every morning, at least five times a week, I wake up just after sunrise and lace up my shoes. No matter what kind of day I had before or how the day is going to unfold later on, for that one hour I have peace. For that one hour I can’t cry. For that one hour I don’t feel like a failure.
On September 2, 2009, Lionsgate sent out a press release announcing the most heartbreaking news of the day: Tyler Perry (Madea Goes to Jail) finalized a deal to write/direct/produce a big screen adaptation of the 1975 classic and landmark For Colored Girls Who have Considered Suicide When the Rainbow is Enuf by Ntozake Shange.
A moment of silence, please.
WTF! What about Perry’s body of work makes anyone believe he could handle this complex piece? Yes, his business acumen is to be applauded and replicated, but his filmmaking ability sucks!
For Colored Girls, a choreopoem, made up of 20 poems, performed by seven actresses, addressing the provocative issues of abandonment, rape, abortion, and love took New York by storm. Upon its release the play was heralded as revolutionary and progressive. Not the two words that would ever come to mind in describing Perry’s work.
Perry’s characters are one dimensional and ridiculous. His storytelling is preposterous and riddled with logic problems. But somehow he keeps packing the theatres. Is he really telling stories that black folks can relate to or is he the only game in town, so by default he gets all the attention? Through his movies he claims to celebrate black women (probably the reason For Colored Girls seems like a good match), but his work is consistently tired and unpolished. He drags out the same old themes in every movie. A Black woman is downtrodden (most likely by a black man). She goes off the deep end. While out in the "wilderness" she finds a “good” black man, but can’t initially see his goodness because she is all bitter bitch. But eventually God will speak to her heart and she will get Prince Charming and the Technicolor life she deserves. The End.
As a black Lesbian, of the feminist persuasion, I know Perry’s cockeyed stories are not for me, but still. I can’t believe his “mentor” Oprah hasn’t pulled him to the side and clued him on the need to up his creative game. I know that money rules everything around us - his seven films have consistently opened at the top of the box office and Lionsgate can’t stop patting themselves on their richer backs – but there has to be a call for good storytelling and solid, believable characters.
And how could I have gotten this far in my rant without bringing up his wig wearing alter ego Madea. She was initially created in his stage play era and is no doubt his most popular character. Is it only me or isn’t it offensive and weird to have this mammy figure (played by Perry in drag) schooling black women how to be better - women?
I have not gotten a satisfactory answer from any of his fans why they accept this campy caricature as legitimate in the face of the homophobia that plagues our community. They mostly poopoo my concerns and write it off as good clean fun. Maybe I could accept that if there was something else in the marketplace challenging his noxious product. But with Hollywood’s continued practice of only allowing one Black, Latino, Asian film up to bat at a time, there is nothing to compete for those precious opening weekend eyeballs.
And there doesn’t appear to be any stopping Perry. In the last few years Perry has spread out to television with his two lame half hour comedies House of Payne and Meet the Browns, released a book featuring the wisdom of Madea, and recently opened his own movie studio in Atlanta, Georgia. It also doesn’t diminish his power that his stories focus on black women, so quite a few talented black actresses are lining up around the block to work with him.
In reality, I am not really hating on Tyler Perry. I am imploring him to go to his lab and stay there, coming out only when he has learned to tell a compelling, rich, and good story. But if a gun-totting Madea comes screaming out of the wings and shoots Lady in Red I won’t be surprised.
When I walked out of the UCLA Writers' Fair last Sunday I was extremely agitated.
I had come to help a friend hand out business cards to promote her resource website for writers (very awesome- check it out) and hopefully do some networking of my own. The Writers' Fair was an attempt to attract writers - of all genres - to the fabled UCLA Extension program. More than a few success stories had come out of there, so I was geeked to have the opportunity to get some free advice from the various panels that were set up for the day.
My primary concentration is screenwriting, but I've committed myself to adding a couple television spec scripts to my portfolio - so I took my happy ass over to the Comedy Writing for Television panel. Comedy! What better way to spend 40 minutes? Almost immediately I had the sense that I should leave. The four panelists in attendance seemed knowledgeable enough, but the amount of grousing going on was absolutely off-putting. The first ten minutes was used to tell all the potentially most talented writers in the world sitting in that room (and the place was packed), that the business was hard and there was only a handful of opportunities for the most determined and young writers. WTF!
Why were these people representing the Writing Program? They had clearly been beaten up by the game and were clearly bitter! In fairness, the chairman of the panel, a gregarious guy who was born to be a comedy writer, tried to keep the proceedings a little more hopeful, but the other panelist (especially the husband and wife team) would have none of it. Finally, during the Q&A period, one of the attendees asked, what I'm sure we all had been wondering, "Do you like being a writer?" They all chimed in a mostly convincing "yes," but the damage had already been done, at least as far as I was concerned.
Now don't get me wrong. I am fully aware how tough this business can be and how much talent road kill litters the halls of studios and production offices, but you don't go out of your way to crush a dream before it has even gotten its sea legs.
As I drove home, still shaking my head at the ridiculousness of the most inappropriate people to populate a "come spend your money at our school" panel, I was grateful that I had had a more encouraging dinner with director Tina Mabry (Mississippi Damned, Brooklyn's Bridge to Jordan) and actor Michael Hyatt(Mississippi Damned, The Wire) a couple weeks before.
I'd met Michael in church of all places. I had just seen Mississippi Damned the night before and was blown away by her performance. And as the Universe would have it she sat right next to me in the packed room. She let me be a gushing fangirl for a moment (very gracious woman) then we chatted like normal people (me telling her I was a screenwriter and new to LA, and she congratulating me for following my destiny). At the end of the service she asked that we exchange info. I was floored. Actors are really regular people...lol
A couple weeks later I got a call from Michael inviting me to dinner with her and Tina. We ended up meeting at Morel's French Steakhouse and Bistro at the much talked about The Grove. Almost immediately I knew I was in for a hell of an evening. Tina and Michael were bawdy and funny and smart and way down to earth. Over escargot (yuck!) and wine, they shared stories of their time on the Mississippi Damned set (I wont repeat the more juicy details here) and how profoundly blessed they felt to have the opportunity to make this provocative and moving film (see review a couple entries down).
I was totally sucked into their banter so I was completely caught off guard when they both turned to me and asked why I had given up my life in DC and moved to the city of movie dreams. Now I barely can remember what I said. Maybe something about always loving movies? Understanding how film has been a huge cultural touchstone in our society. And who wouldn't want to live in sunny Los Angeles - even as a struggling writer. Something like that.
Suddenly Michael and Tina got all serious on me. They started doling out some "sister love and advice." Tina was adamant that I remember exactly who I was when opportunities came my way. She was clear that no amount of money was worth forgetting that. At the end of the day I needed to feel good about myself. She was currently getting a lot of praise and opportunities, as a result of her stellar work on Mississippi Damned, so she knew what she was talking about. Michael chimed in that as artists we should never sell our art short. What we do is not easy, even if some claim it is frivolous, and we shouldn't give it away - ultimately causing others to believe it not valuable.
Somewhere in there they both shared that the business was hard. That I always had to show up with my A game. That I shouldn't get caught up on the perceived "lost opportunities" because there were plenty more right around the corner. But what they really wanted me to remember? If I kept my integrity and maintained a solid support system, I would always be alright.
Sure these fabulous divas led me astray on the escargot (did I mention - yuck!), but on everything else, I know they were absolutely right. And they certainly had a better pitch than the bitter bitch panelists at UCLA.
We all knew this day would come. HOMESICKNESS! I have been moping around for the last few days wishing for all things east coast: friends, Busboys and Poets, my king sized bed, and familiarity. Nothing could seem to shake me from this foul mood until I got a call this weekend that resulted in an all-expense trip to DISNEYLAND. My friends Carmen and Jacqui are in town and they have the hook up in the form of Carmen's very pregnant sister Valentina. The most awesome Disney Cast Member (that is what everyone who works for Disney is called) treated us to a day at the park and we had a frickin' blast! If you are a Facebook friend you can check out the pics from the day or check out my video below of some of the things we got into while at the "Happiest Place on Earth." If Disneyland can't help you shake the blues, maybe you need meds...lol
Five Things I learned while at Disneyland
1. No need to go to the gym that day. You will walk your ass off! 2. The Screaming roller coaster is truth in advertising. 3. The Soarin' aviation ride proves how innovative the human mind really is. 4. It is best enjoyed with friends 5. The 8:45 fireworks show at the Magic Kingdom is AWESOME!
BONUS According to Mary Poppins - we are practically perfect in every way.
