Adventures in the Screen Trade

by William Goldman

Well, screenwriting is shitwork. Brief example: Waldo Pepper. Waldo was basically an original screenplay of mine, I say “basically” because the pulse of the movie came from George Hill, the director, and we worked for ten days on a story. So Waldo wasn’t as “original” as Butch, but it was a hell of a lot more mine than any adaptation I’ve ever done. Okay, we open in New York and three daily papers are split—two terrific, one pan. In neither of the laudatory reviews was my name even mentioned. But you better believe I got top billing in the pan. I had screwed up George Hill’s movie. Nothing unusual at all about that—it’s SOP for the screenwriter. That is simply the way of the world. You do not, except in rare, rare exceptions, get critical recognition. But you do get paid. And as you get hotter, you get paid more. (Now we’re into the danger zone.) You don’t get banished to Siberia at Chasen’s. And you get flattered in meetings. And at first you sit there thinking, “Can you believe this asshole, bullshitting me like that?” But the flattery continues as the heat rises. And at first, again, you remind yourself that none of the heat has to do with literary quality, it’s because people lined up to see your last picture. But eventually, inevitably, you say to yourself, “Since so many people tell me I’m a terrific writer, what’s my voice against the multitudes? Forget my voice—they’re right. I am; check my box-office receipts if you don’t believe it—terrific.” And you’re finished ...