First Time Director. Gil Bettman

that the picture would have played better if I had had a hand in the post. But enough things had been done right on the set, so that, even though all the pieces were put together without much inspiration, the picture sometimes almost takes flight. The post was a missed opportunity.

      Crystal Heart was distributed in the U.S. by New World. It had a very brief run on the coasts and then folded. Pedro had much better luck distributing it internationally, especially in Spanish-speaking markets. Amazingly, about a year and a half after the last time Pedro informed me, “What you do today eez shit,” I had lunch with him and he asked me to direct another picture for him. It was a boxing movie called Fist Fighter. Or “Feeeast Fiiighter” as he would say, drawing out the vowels with anticipatory relish. When I politely declined, he actually begged me to do the picture. What this proves is that we both had provoked an intense conflict and had driven each other mad with anxiety throughout the production of Crystal Heart for no good reason. If we could trust each other and anticipate working together in a constructive fashion on Fist Fighter, we could have done it a couple of years earlier on Crystal Heart. If I had known then what I know now, when Pedro pronounced “dees eez da script!” I would have said, “Okay. Fine. Whatever you say.” By trying to sneak another version past him, I put him on the defensive and incited a conflict that ultimately hurt the film more than the revision of the script ever could have helped it. Yes, he did not fire me. But I had poisoned the well. I had threatened Pedro's authority. His response was to rattle my cage about everything and anything. After that, it became impossible for me to do my best work.

      You have a great deal to lose and not much to gain by alienating your producer. As the director you get to sit on the throne and act like the king. Still, the producer is above you. He is god. And no king, in his right mind, ever defied god and came out ahead. If the wisdom of the Old Testament can be boiled down to one line, I would say that line would be, “Respect the Almighty, even when he deals with you capriciously or unjustly.” As a first time director, that is how you have to treat your producer.

      One way to make sure you have a productive relationship with your producer is to socialize with him as much as possible. Do whatever he suggests that you do together, right up to having sex with him. Sex overcomplicates matters and can do more harm than good. Common sense dictates against it, but, under the right circumstances, even sex, or something like it, is worth engaging in with your producer if it's certain to solidify your relationship.

      The validity of this truism was borne out in the best preproduction experience I ever had with a producer — one which I would hold up as model to be replicated as often as possible. It was with a British producer I will call him Reg. He was a founding partner of one of the first little production companies to get a start in rock videos and then move into producing high-end commercials and feature films. We got started on the right foot and built up enough momentum so that we did not start to feud until the last day of production. This was because Reg came on the project after I had already sold it to the record company and band. Through a series of fortunate coincidences, the Vice President of Promotions at Warner Records, Jeff Ayeroff, took me into a pitch meeting with the band, Chicago, without a clue as to what I was going to try to sell to them. All he knew was that I had followed his instructions to listen to the cut, Stay the Night, and come up with a concept for the video that featured a wall-to-wall car chase.

      I came to the pitch meeting so completely over-prepared I even had gone to the trouble to have a storyboard artist who was a buddy of mine storyboard the entire pitch. Having never done a rock video before, and wanting very much to get into that game, I recognized that meeting for what it was: one of those rare chits you get offered to get ahead in Hollywood. So I made sure if I was going to miss out on this opportunity, it wasn't going to be due to lack of preparation. Hence the storyboards.

      The band and their manager loved the storyboards and the pitch, and so I got the gig. Ayeroff and Warner Records then contracted with Reg and his company to produce the piece. This made Reg the only producer I ever came to with the project and the money in hand — probably one of the big reasons why Reg and I got along so famously all through preproduction. Because I was on the project before Reg, and because Warners and Chicago were putting up their money to have Reg produce my idea from my storyboards, I had more status and clout than a director usually has on his breakthrough gig.

      But even taking that into consideration, my relationship with Reg was exceptionally harmonious. To a large extent I think this was because Reg had a kind of an English schoolboy crush on me. I don't mean to imply that Reg was gay. A touch kinky, maybe, but by no means gay. The whole time we were in prep, Reg seemed much more interested in getting together with me to party than in working on the video. In the office, he was polite and charming in a coy, Brit-like way. He had dated Madonna briefly and clearly could not avoid giving himself a little ego boost by dropping her name and telling stories, out of school, about their little fling. Ironically, it turned out I was something of an old friend of the actress who he was sleeping with when we were prepping the video. I will call her Sally. She was a tall, strong, fresh-faced Valley girl who was one of the seven lady truckers whom the TV network guru of the hour, Fred Silverman, had added to the cast of B.J. and the Bear in the second season of the show. Silverman's theory was that their collective cup sizes would give some lift to our sagging ratings. It did not work. The show was cancelled after the second season, but in the meantime, Sally and I had had a lot of fun flirting with each other when I directed the show. When I was prepping Stay the Night, it seemed as if, at least once or twice a week, Reg would call me up late at night when he was with Sally. They always seemed very high on something. They would be laughing and making wisecracks and between the jokes and the giggles, Reg would let it drop that we should all get together. I would look at my watch. It would be almost midnight, if not later. “What, now?” I would ask, slightly incredulous. “C'mon, don't be a party pooper!” they would shout.

      I never went, but I should have. Never pass up an opportunity to socialize with your producer, or for that matter, with any of your key collaborators on your break- through directing gig. The stars, the DP, the UPM, the line producer, the department heads, even the studio people or the bonding company — hang out with any and all of them at every available opportunity. Do whatever you need to do to get loose and have a good time with them. It doesn't matter if they want to play croquet or footsie — as seemed to be the case with Reg and Sally. Play their little game, because it is money in the bank. We humans are all naturally inclined to be much more patient and trusting with those that we like. If they like you, or if they think you are funny, or if they respect you for your intelligence or your uncanny ability to recite the batting averages of the 1955 Brooklyn Dodgers, then, when you are working to bend them to agree with you on some matter which could significantly improve your movie, like a story point or a casting decision or the choice of a location, instead of feeling threatened and going on the defensive, they will try a little harder to see it your way. Nothing could be more valuable. A little friendship can go a long way in getting your key collaborators to work with you and allow you to realize your vision. If you have some doubts about the validity of this truism, read Budd Schulberg's immortal tale of the importance of schmoozing in Hollywood, What Makes Sammy Run? Yes, it was published in 1941, but it is still as accurate as if it had been written yesterday.

      Even if you find that you have nothing in common with the higher-ups or your key collaborators — even if you find them, for some reason, loathsome and despicable, turn on the charm! Make them like you! If this groveling is beneath you, if you are such a Boy Scout and an honest Abe that you cannot artfully dissemble in order to ingratiate yourself with people you secretly despise, you are going to be at a distinct disadvantage in the Hollywood film business. The simple fact of the matter is that in Hollywood relationships are everything. No sane person with a significant amount of experience in the business would deny that. To a great extent your success will be determined by the extent to which you can charm everyone and get them all to like you. On your breakthrough directing gig, this axiom is especially true when applied to your key collaborators and those above you who have the power to make or break your film. In America, the culture of the workplace demands that working relationships be non-confrontational. In Hollywood, relationships are everything. The combined weight of these two truths is what leads me to tell every film student in every class I have ever taught that the best training for