FADE FROM BLACK TO: A man in an expensive suit, straightening his tie and looking out a window at a line of people below. The people are marching back and forth in front of the building, holding picket signs that say different versions of “Writers on Strike.” The man opens the window and heaves a bucket of water out at the line, then slams the window shut and turns to the camera. We can hear distant screams, and a car wreck.
CROWE: Hi, I’m Mick Crowe. And this is my job.
CUT TO: Opening sequence shows CROWE performing different disgusting jobs: sewage pumping, collecting soil samples in a swamp as an alligator approaches, greasing up competitive bodybuilders, working in a high school cafeteria, etc. Over this is the show logo: “FILTHY JOBS with Mick Crowe.”
CROWE (V.O.): I travel the world to find hard-working men and women who do the jobs that make life easier for the rest of us. Now get ready… to get filthy.
CUT TO: CROWE walking through an elegantly-appointed hallway. He talks to the camera as we follow him past offices and busy employees.
CROWE: You may be noticing I look a little different today. Usually I’d be in old jeans, a T-shirt, and a baseball cap bearing the name of whatever hapless company whose productivity I would be ruining that day for our show. This job has a different dress code, but trust me, it’s one of the filthiest jobs I’ve ever taken on.
CROWE arrives at a polished oak door. On it is a small gold sign: “MIGHTY MOGUL ENTERTAINMENT, CEO.”
CROWE: Today, I’m a studio executive.
He walks through the door. Inside is a sumptuous office, filled with tasteful furniture and a small fountain. There is a string quartet playing soft music in one corner. At the far end is a desk the size of a Buick and a smiling, middle-aged man. The floor is littered with loose cash, which CROWE shuffles through like autumn leaves. Faint strike slogans can be heard from outside. CROWE stops and gestures to the man.
CROWE: This is Austin MacFeady, CEO of Mighty Mogul Entertainment here in Los Angeles. Mighty Mogul produces movies and television shows for the Gimme! Network, and —
ASSISTANT: I’m sorry, sir. I’m Mr. MacFeady’s assistant. He’s in an executive meeting, but you can go right in.
CROWE: Oh, right. Thank you.
CUT TO: A magnificent boardroom. It’s dark, lit only by the roaring fire in the middle that casts flickering lights on the heavy tapestries and assorted gold decorations on the walls. Six or seven men in suits are sprawled around the fire across silk pillows, laughing and yelling to each other. MACFEADY is seated above them. CROWE enters but is pushed aside by barely-clad reality show contestants bearing trays of fruit and a roasted ox.
CROWE: Hi, I’m Mick —
STUDIO EXEC 1: (yelling) MacFeady! What is best in life?
MACFEADY: To crush the union, cancel their development deals and hear the lamentations of their strike leaders!
The STUDIO EXECS laugh uproariously and continue drinking.
MACFEADY: Mick! Glad you could join us. These are the heads of some of the other studios, we were just talking about the writers’ strike.
CROWE: Let’s get that out of the way. Why are the writers on strike, anyway?
MACFEADY: That’s a very complicated matter, with valid points on both sides, that requires a great deal of explanation, Mick. But what it all boils down to is that they want to cripple the entertainment industry and the entire economy of California to serve their master, Satan.
The STUDIO EXECS all mutter and spit on the floor.
CROWE: I don’t recall seeing that on any of their flyers, Austin.
MACFEADY: No, they talk about “residuals” and “New Media” and “percentages” and other words that no one’s ever heard of. That’s the thing with writers, they make stuff up. “Fair compensation,” what’s that?
CROWE: I believe they’re asking that the 22-year-old residual rate for DVDs be increased, that they get a fair percentage of the profits from online broadcast and productions, and union jurisdiction over animation and reality shows. That sound about right?
MACFEADY: Probably. Who cares? C’mon, have a seat.
CROWE: I don’t mean to interrupt, but why exactly can’t you give the writers a percentage of the online profits? Isn’t broadcasting their work online the same as broadcasting it on TV?
The STUDIO EXECS all laugh.
STUDIO EXEC 2: It’s completely and totally different.
CROWE: How?
ALL THE STUDIO EXECS: When we rerun the show online we get to keep all the money.
They laugh again. Several deliver high fives.
STUDIO EXEC 2: No, seriously, when it’s online it’s not a rerun. It’s promotional.
CROWE: An entire episode? If viewers can watch the whole show, what are you promoting?
STUDIO EXEC 4: Toyotas.
STUDIO EXEC 3: And since everything is moving towards online distribution, we’re looking at a huge savings down the road.
CROWE: But doesn’t that mean the writers will be seeing a drastic cut in their income?
STUDIO EXEC 2: Yeah, but that part’s just funny.
MACFEADY: Enough talk. Mick? Time to get to work.
The reality show contestants begin to dance.
CUT TO: The administrator’s office. MACFEADY and CROWE come out. Loud laughing and music can be heard before the door closes again.
CROWE: So, what do we do first?
MACFEADY: Well, our usual schedule has been changed because of the writers’ strike, but I’m sure we can find something for you to do. (laughs heartily)
CROWE: This is where the magic happens, huh?
MACFEADY: Right here is where I make all of our shows and movies.
CROWE: You, personally?
MACFEADY: Couldn’t happen without me. I pick and choose the projects and talent, and I guide them to successful releases. At heart, I’m an artist.
CROWE: When you say you guide them, what does that mean?
MACFEADY holds out his hand; his assistant slaps a script into it.
MACFEADY: Here’s a spec script for a new series we stashed away before the strike started. It’s an adventure series about an old guy who’s tracking down the men who killed his wife 20 years ago, trying to get them all before he dies of cancer. Make it happen!
CROWE: Really? OK, I guess first I’d find a director with a distinctive style who can shoot both action and emotional scenes. Then I’d talk to him about the right actor, maybe someone in his 60s who would really sell it to the audience. Then I’d talk to the actor and the writer to start developing the story arc …
MACFEADY: Whoa, no, no. The first thing you do is check the demographics.
CROWE: The what?
MACFEADY: You pick the advertisers you want, you find out which demographics they want to hit — age, income, gender, whatever — and you make a show that gives it to them. Who’s looking for a show?
ASSISTANT: Apple.
MACFEADY: Apple? Forget the old guy. Old people don’t buy Macs. Make him 20. And no cancer, cancer depresses people. Say he’s got to find all those guys in a year and if he does, it brings his wife back to life.
CROWE: How?
MACFEADY: I’m a writer? Let them figure it out. Actually, let’s make the guy a chick, action chicks are hot now. She’ll need to be 18, though, 20’s too old for a chick. And she has to find and kill all these guys in a year to get back her dead boyfriend. That gives us a season.
ASSISTANT: Money in the bank.
CROWE: What about next season?
MACFEADY: You kidding? It’ll probably get cancelled long before that. If we need to we can always kill him again and start over. But we need a hook.
CROWE: Um, how about she tracks the guys down, but she falls in love with one of them? Then she’d be conflicted, and —
MACFEADY: She’s a stripper!
ASSISTANT: Perfect, Mr. M.!
CROWE: What?
MACFEADY: That’s how she makes her money, traveling around to strip clubs, maybe with her blind twin sister and a dog. That way we get her half-naked most of the time, that’s another 5 shares right there, we get the sensitivity points and the dog lovers, and at the end of the show viewers go to iTunes to buy the music she was stripping to. Apple will walk over their grandmothers to get this!
ADMINISTRATOR: Genius, Mr. M.
CROWE: Is there somewhere I can wash my hands? I feel a little —
MACFEADY: Now we need the talent. And you know how we choose that, of course.
CROWE: Based on previous success and ability?
MACFEADY: Based on who we have development deals with. Pick a director, pick a star or two, just grab ’em at random. I use darts, myself. The best part is that whatever they did before, the media will be all “ooh, a new direction” and “a bold choice.” But right now, of course, the strike is paralyzing us so we can’t get any writers or actors to cross the picket lines. That means we have some hard work ahead of us.
CROWE: Ah, we’re going to negotiate with the Writers Guild. I was hoping I’d get a chance to —
MACFEADY: No, Mick. We have something far more important to do.
CUT TO: A large room full of desks, where people are feverishly typing. All of them look grim, many of them look as though they’ve been there for days at a time. Several are weeping as they type. One of them can be seen rubbing soap in his eyes, screaming and then bending back to his keyboard, enraged. CROWE and MACFEADY enter.
MACFEADY: This is the PR Pit, or the sock puppet room. Go on, give it a shot. Here, you’ll want this bucket.
CROWE: Sure thing. Should I know what I’m doing? I don’t usually (mugs to the camera), just thought I’d ask.
MACFEADY: This is where we tirelessly work to counteract the bad PR from the writers’ strike by going to each and every article, forum or blog that’s talking about the strike and posting comments.
CROWE: Comments that explain your position clearly and reasonably?
MACFEADY: Comments that accuse the Writers Guild of America of incompetence, malfeasance, and, when appropriate, necrobestiality. And we pretend to be writers ourselves, so people believe it.
CROWE: Well, I’m here to get filthy. What do I do?
MACFEADY: Let’s see … here we go. Here’s an article from a respected source about how what the WGA wants would cost us less than what we paid to get rid of a single disgraced CEO last year. Get in there and comment, Mick!
CROWE: Should I say I’m me, or —
MACFEADY: No, no. Go with “Anonymous” or “Starving Writer with Leukemia.” Here’s some sample phrases, just mix and match.
CROWE: Right. “I can’t believe anyone is buying this. I know every single writer in Hollywood personally and they all think the WGA negotiators are ignorant greedheads who step on babies. Give it up and go back to work. If the multizillionaire writers weren’t so greedy we’d all be working now and animated birds would sing to us. Love, Anonymous.” Is that … is that … ulp…
MACFEADY: Great!
CROWE leans over and throws up into the bucket. MACFEADY laughs.
MACFEADY: They all do that the first time, Mick, don’t worry about it.
MACFEADY grabs CROWE’s arm and drags him out of the room.
CUT TO: The hallway, where CROWE is wiping his mouth.
CROWE: And that helps?
MACFEADY: Every poll shows the viewing public is behind the writers, and we need to bring that down a bit. Good negotiating strategy, and we hired the best and most expensive public relations people in the business to do it.
CROWE: But why attacks? Why not just explain your side?
MACFEADY: Turns out that “we don’t wanna” isn’t really defensible. But we have our reasons.
CUT TO: Another large room, filled with hundred of massive tubes extending from the three-story-high ceiling. Money is spouting from the tubes into large bins with digital counters on the sides. MACFEADY walks up to one marked “NIGHTMARE EYES III.”
MACFEADY: See this movie?
CROWE: “Nightmare Eyes”? Yeah, that was great. Didn’t it make a couple hundred million last year?
MACFEADY: And here’s what the writer gets.
MACFEADY reaches down to the coin dish on the side of the bin, where he scoops up some change.
MACFEADY: See? Perfectly fair.
MACFEADY walks to another door and opens it to reveal a man dressed in rags, shivering in the cold. Behind him are a woman and two children. One of the children sneezes. MACFEADY hands him the change, slams the door and turns back to CROWE.
MACFEADY: Now if we doubled it, I’d have to walk over there twice as often. Do I look like I have that kind of time, Mick?
CROWE: But studios heads make tens of millions of dollars a year in salary, target bonuses and stock options. Couldn’t you take a smaller percentage of the profits yourself, leaving more money for the writers, actors, directors and production crews who make the shows and movies that are making you rich?
MACFEADY stares at him.
CROWE: OK, forget that. What about residuals for online broadcasts? I know you’ve said that the Web is too new and you can’t predict how it will do, but all of you have bragged to your stockholders about the millions you’ve been making from online distribution. Wouldn’t it be ethical to share that success with the people who made it possible?
MACFEADY stares at him.
CROWE: I see.
MACFEADY: I’m not sure you really… (his phone rings) Hang on. Yes? They did what? Seriously? Were hostages involved? Their children were threatened, was that it? Keep on it and keep me posted. (he hangs up) Damn! A strike development.
CROWE: Something bad?
MACFEADY: Yes. Something was negotiated, with the directors’ guild. How could they have let that happen? We actually agreed on something! Someone over there is thinking long term and I don’t like it one bit. Apparently some of the other studio heads have been going around being reasonable behind our backs. Gotta be Chernin and Iger, they had that look…
CROWE: Isn’t this good? I mean, now you can work out a fair and equitable deal with the writers. Everyone wins, right?
MACFEADY: Yeah, probably. Fun while it lasts, though. It’s, what, 10:30? C’mon, time for the scab fight.
CROWE: The–
MACFEADY: Picture it. Big arena. Thousands of screaming onlookers. Two desperate writers, armed only with G-2 Pro ballpoint pens, battling it out for supremacy. The survivor gets to work anonymously writing late night monologues. We’re thinking of taping it and running it on Sunday nights. It’s in Sound Stage 3, if we hurry we can see the ritual bloodletting!
CROWE: I’m Mick Crowe, with “Filthy Jobs.” We’ll be right back. Darsky? Guys? Can you help scrub this stuff off me? It’s getting into my soul …
MACFEADY: Afterwards you can hose their shattered dreams off the floor. Better hang on to that bucket.