Robert Towne, who wrote the screenplay for the movie “Chinatown,” gave “P.H. Vazak”–his dog’s name–for his credit on the movie “Greystoke” because he was unhappy with the final product.
Associated Press obituary.
Look, I got into the business of screenwriting with my eyes open. I’d heard all the crummy jokes:
Q: What’s the difference between a pizza and a screenwriter?
A: A pizza can feed a family of four.
And there’s the old classic about the budding starlet who comes to Hollywood to make it in the movie industry. She gets lost, gets bad directions–and sleeps with a screenwriter.
But I, unlike so many other dogs who dream of taking the stage on Oscar night, had a mole; none other than my owner, Robert Towne, the best in the business. He got me “Greystoke”–maybe not Citizen Kane, but it was a start. “What you make of it is up to you,” he said to me as the end credits rolled and I saw “P.H. Vazak”–right before the director’s card. It was the biggest moment of my life.
Nobody figured out our little ruse, so I became a bit bolder in my dealings with the “Big Five”–Universal, Paramount, Warner Bros., Disney and Sony. No more hanging around the front entrance waiting to be patted on the head by a patronizing secretary or key grip. I’d bound right into reception, hop up on a chair, and wait for the business to come to me, like Lassie or Rin Tin Tin back in Hollywood’s Golden Age.
Of course I continued to scrupulously observe the stupid conventions of screenwriting: 12-point Courier (ugh!) font; two solid brass paper fasteners to bind the script, BUT SCRIPTS SHOULD BE THREE-HOLE PUNCHED, with the “brads” in the top and bottom holes. Makes about as much sense as a fraternity-hazing ritual; we don’t know why we do it that way, but we’ve always done it that way, so let’s not mess with stupidity.
Of course, there was the usual palaver back and forth between me and the boss as to the credit: Did I deserve a “Screenplay by,” “Written by,” “Story by,” or “Created by” credit? “Developed by” or “Created by”? Should he get an “and” or an ampersand–“&”–on the screenwriter card? It was all mumbo-jumbo to me, like Catholic religious rituals–but these distinctions are veryimportant in the crab-bucket world of Hollywood. If you want to claw your way to the top, you’ve got to have sharp pincers.
The dog-eat-dog world of screenwriting is the cinema version of Sayre’s Law, often misattributed to Henry Kissinger, but actually formulated by Wallace Stanley Sayre, political science professor at Columbia University: To translate to the world of film, screenwriting politics is the most vicious and bitter in the film industry because the stakes are so low.
But I was, after all, his dog. And as George Graham Vest, the most famous lawyer to come out of Sedalia, Missouri, put it, a man’s best friend is his dog. He could’ve insisted that he get sole screenwriter credit for Greystoke–I wouldn’t have minded even though I think I contributed a lot to the script. Whenever he was stuck, I’d amble over and let him scratch my head. If he needed to clear his head, I’d go stand by the door and make him take me for a walk.
Still, it was his baby, to do with what he wished. I watched him struggle with his decision, pacing back and forth, wracked by pangs of guilt. Finally I couldn’t stand it anymore.
“Look, go ahead and give me sole credit,” I barked. “It’s not like I need it–I’m fine with my dog’s life.”
“You are?”
“Actually, I’ll be doing you a favor if your name isn’t on Greystoke.”
“Well, I’ll make it up to you someday.”
“How? Wet dog food for once instead of that crappy dry stuff you get at ‘healthy’ pet stores in L.A.?”
“Sure, I could do that.”
“Forget it Jake–Greystoke is a dog.”