Where’s My Script?

A friend related a story to me recently about a well-known prima donna actor.  Naturally, I loved it.

Because it’s hearsay, I probably shouldn’t name names, so I’ll just say my friend was working on an unspecified Buffy the Vampire Slayer spin off, and I’ll call the actor, oh, “Bavid Doreanaz.”

So, a new script came out, and it was delivered to the actors (including the star, which is unusual).  A few hours later, Bavid called the producer, telling him that he never got a script.

The producer stormed into the production coordinator’s office and demanded to know why Bavid didn’t get a script.

The coordinator just looks at him and asks, “Do you really think I wouldn’t send the script to the star of the show?  The one who plays the title character?  Really?”

Here’s my beef with UPMs and above.  Why do they always assume, when an actor complains about something, that the office staff is wrong?  Nine times out of ten, it’s the actor’s stupid fault.

I realize you have to pretend it’s not the star’s fault when you’re talking to them, but you’re not a method actor; you don’t have to carry that attitude when you talk to us.

Anyway, the producer gets all huffy, because, while the answer is obviously “no,” he’s not about to admit he was wrong.  “Just find out what happened!”

So, the coordinator calls the PA into her office and says, “I know this is a stupid question, but did you drop off a script at Bavid’s house?”

“Um… yes.  Why wouldn’t I?”

“I know.”

So, she sends the guy out with another script, and instructs him to call once it’s delivered.

A little while later, the PA calls.  “I’m at Bavid’s house, and I’m setting the script down on his porch.  On top of the other script.”

- – -

Here’s some fun links I’ve find during my short break:

• Hollywood Juicer explains why television is a young man’s game.
• Script Goddess has an amusing PA story that made me laugh and cringe.  Be sure to read Nathan’s comment at the bottom, too.
• John August seems to think you should be able to write a script in twelve weeks.  Yikes.