The Case of the Runaway Director

(AKA There’s no Crying in Baseball)

I’m still in London this week and found myself having dinner with a really lovely English producer at the SoHo House.  (I’m conflicted about that place – it’s sometimes nice to have a drink at but the idea of paying $1k for the privilege is a bit to bouge for my tastes.  And I always feel slightly paranoid at uber-industry haunts like that – people talking way too loud about their business that no one gives a crap about and listening a little too intently to my conversation that is totally meaningless to anyone other than me and my guest.  But nice couches.)  Anyway.  There I was.

The very lovely producer was telling me the sad story of how his latest film fell spectacularly apart with his entire crew in a foreign country mere days before principal photography was set to begin.

It was a $2M feature with funds cobbled together Euro-style.  (i.e. bits and bobs meticulously acquired from various EU nations – every element in delicate balance with the other.)  Basically, the director got cold feet, he refused to get on the plane and show up for work. Anyone remotely familiar with this complicated European system knows how deadly the loss of a director can be – only about as detrimental as if a house of cards was caressed gently by a small hurricane – and that’s exactly what happened.  And unless the dude was a complete moron he knew the impact of his bailing.  What a douche.

But it did get me thinking about what that director could possibly have been going through.  I have no doubt the truth of this has many sides but here’s what I think it was… classic artist self sabotage.

We’ve seen it all before, the writer failing to make deadlines, the director getting in a ridiculous argument with the talent before a big shot, the producer showing up late to a meeting.  It’s classic self-sabotage.  It’s a response to feeling out of control.  That feeling of, “the world can’t hurt me if I hurt me first.”

This director, in a feeling of loss of control, perhaps exacerbated by being mishandled or because he was just plain koo-koo, further worsened because this film had to be good or his career might be over, decided he’d rather have control over no film than be judged harshly over a film not entirely his own.

I know the guy was on his second or third feature (and if you’re not known at that point it’s because the films didn’t do so well) so he had a crapload of pressure to get this one right.  If the relationship with his producer was one that would allow him to even fathom bailing he clearly didn’t feel supported (lovely producer if you’re reading this he could have been completely delusional, so I’m certainly not blaming anyone).  He just basically lost his nerve.

And I’m not totally unsympathetic either.  The director is always in the position of having to accept all of the blame or praise for that which was actually created by an entire team of people.  Nerves I get.  Normally when I get nervous I have to pee.  Always have, it started when I was a competitive swimmer.  But bail on a shoot?!?  That’s not just nerves, that’s paralyzing fear.  And not a good trait for the captain of the ship.  What’s worse, if you give into that impulse too many times it can become a very hard to break habit.

I read somewhere recently that Sydney Pollock said he tried to find the little bit of room for art in every film he made and found a way to be happy with that.  That makes a lot sense to me.  You can’t control everything, but if you focus on what you can control – choose your projects carefully and make every decision as best you can - you’ll likely stay a much happier filmmaker.  And probably more prolific too.

So, lovely producer, the next time a wussy director bails on you… you have my number.