"Blocked" on the Rock

A little irregular of me - posting in the middle of the week. But I happen to be a little irregular today. Creatively speaking, that is. The cramping is most definitely of the cranial sort, but it puts me out of sorts all the same. Thought I'd try and get things moving by pinching off a little blog. Oh! So sorry -

Here's what I really wanted to say:

It occurs to me that I'm lucky to have been born with bushy eyebrows. When I was growing up, the biggest aesthetic thorn in my side, the bane of my physical existence was my eyebrows. They were thicker and darker than a proper girl's eyebrows should be.  And they were forever threatening to join forces on the bridge of my nose at night while I slept. Every single day of my adolescence, I cursed those tenacious, virulent brows and took to them with tweezers - the only weapon I had that could keep them at bay.

Turns out, plucking eyebrows can be very meditative - once you build up a little resistance to the eye-watering pain. You even kind of feel you're accomplishing something. It's a lot like weeding.  

Now when I'm faced by that blinking, taunting cursor - I reach for the tweezers and pluck til I get carpal tunnel - and miraculously I still have lots of eyebrow left at the end of the day! It is thus that I have learned to appreciate, even love these prolific, invincible brows.  

Okay, that's all I wanted to say. I'm starting to feel much better.  A steady infusion of Rickie Lee Jones', Flying Cowboys is also working a little magic.

Thanks for letting me write!

Blogging from the Rock

I am in exile.

It's self-imposed, but it's exile nonetheless.

Despite the fact that we are right this minute racing to put our Telefilm submission together for March 27 - i.e. nailing down a distributor (a deal which, I am thrilled to say, we're in the final stages of closing!), casting for our principal roles, finding our co-pro prairie partner - the script is still, and always will be, the thing.

So although I've been off dabbling in Dolly for a while, turns out there's no escaping the basics. While Telefilm and SODEC are looking for the overall production-readiness of a given submission, they won't look very far if the script is weak (at least that's the official line).

Aware of all this, my producer Barbara arranged a session with Ms. Katrina Best, a top-notch script analyst. Armed with all the goods she gave us, I then pulled the plug on my life last Wednesday. I have been holed-up in a bare naked apartment at the foot of Mont-Royal ever since. Writing. Just writing. I can be very masculine like that - doing only one thing at a time.

But while polishing my screenplay in relative isolation is an all-consuming pursuit for me right now, it makes for some pretty boring blogging.

So, enough about me. I want to talk about you...

As I mentioned in my last post, making a movie is so much about relationships and community. Our own community has been building slowly but surely over time - one interested, and interesting, person at a time.

If you're reading this right now, you're one of them. And you've probably already read about other very key people who've helped me get this far. But there's still others - people who are starting to feed the project in their own creative and stimulating ways. It's some of these people I wanted to shine a little light on... 

There's Erica Ehm (of MuchMusic VJ fame) who, along with broadcasting, writing books, writing plays, running a hugely popular website (www.yummymummyclub.ca), also writes and composes award-winning songs. Inspired by what she read right here, Erica sent me one of her original tunes. When I heard it, I got goosebumps. It's like the song was written for my protagonist, Elizabeth.

There's the visual artist, Paul Richmond whose work and personal story have been greatly influenced by "a certain be-wigged, sparkly songbird" (his own fabulous words). He's been following the blog and wrote to let me know.  Along with offering valuable words of encouragement, he also invited me to see his work. If you check out his website: www.paulrichmondstudio.com, don't miss pieces like "Hello Dolly" and "The Dollypop Guild". Along with their accompanying stories, they intersect nicely with main elements in our film.

There's Peter Pan - who likely needs no introduction seeing as he practically invented social networking decades before Facebook ever showed it's - face.  Peter is a close friend from high school and it seems like he's always known more people than God. Nothing makes Peter happier than helping the people he knows, know the people he knows. Not only has he already hooked me up to a Very Interesting Person for my film, whom I hope to discuss here very soon, he has also recruited a bunch of industry people out West to join our Facebook Fan Page. So, if you haven't joined yet, just click the link in the sidebar to the right and start networking. For Pete's sake.

There's still more people I want to bring into the light, but better get back to the script.

In the spirit of Facebook and all the creative spirits feeding the project, I'll close by listing some of the music and movies that are presently keeping me company in exile...

"Loving Cup", Rolling Stones (featuring Jack White), from Shine the Light soundtrack 

All the Bach Cello Suites, Mstislav Rostropovich, Bach: Cello Suites

"Holly Holy", Neil Diamond, Gold

Also, I watched Alan Ball's Towelhead last night. The film's protagonist is a young girl who's coming of age and inadvertently challenging some archaic social mores.  It took a long time to warm up to it, but somewhere near the middle, the film started growing on me. Been thinking about it today...

Still in Pieces

Call me naive, but I thought that with Dolly Parton's generous blessing in hand, the remaining pieces required to make my movie would more or less just fall into place.

Granted, there were still a lot of pieces outstanding. We needed a Canadian distributor, principal casting, key crew and a few compelling locations to complete our request for funding.  And we had less than two weeks to secure the whole lot. But I felt entirely convinced that anything was possible now. And I guess that faith was contagious because once we drained our celebratory champagne glasses, Barbara and I jumped down off our bar stools - both equally ready to go full tilt to the deadline.

The Year Dolly Parton Was My Mom will be Barbara's fifth feature film, but the first she will produce in English. Her substantive industry relationships and experience are very much rooted in the French side of Canadian cinema and, as we were about to learn, not always directly translatable to the English side. And although I've been more exposed to English Canadian cinema throughout my directing career, this will be my first feature film. 

Ultimately, we're both new to this particular scene - and thus, relatively unattached. Which is a real challenge, because regardless of whether you're doing it in English, French or Urdu, the business of moviemaking is pretty much all about relationships. And relationships take time to build. 

Unfortunately, time was the one thing we were critically short on.  So a week before the funding deadlines when we were still riding the Dolly high, we hit a very harsh wall. We weren't going to be ready.  Not this time. Since you only get three shots at Telefilm per project, you can't afford to submit unless you're hands-down sure you have a shit-hot package the first time out.  

So we took a deep collective breath, let our heart-rates settle down to a modest 100 beats per minute, re-set our internal alarm clocks for the next deadline - end of March 2009 - and turned on the charm. 

We had a lot of relationships to build between now and then....

The Bomb

IT had come - unheralded and humble - on recycled paper through the half-forgotten fax machine. 

Barbara stood in the middle of the office, holding IT in her hands, looking at me with her eyes bugging out and saying quietly, "We just got a letter from Dolly Parton."

Time stopped. The world stood still. If Barbara had said, "We just got a live bomb," my brain and body would have reacted exactly the same way. 

I couldn't move. I just stared at her. She stared back at me. Neither of us blinked. The pit of my stomach got cold, and the saliva that had been in my mouth drained straight down into my knees.  I was instantly aching to know what that letter in her hands said and just as instantly I didn't want to know.  I suddenly wanted to stay a little longer in the state of being unanswered, of being blissfully ignorant, where all possibility still existed.  

Because as long as Dolly hadn't yet said no, she could still say yes....

If it WAS no, though - my entire jig would be up. Right there. Right that second. There would be nothing left to do but pack up my computer, say thanks to Barbara and go home. There would be no re-writing this particular story. There would be no re-naming it, "The Year Tina Turner Was My Mom".  It was Dolly Parton or it was nothing.

I swallowed.

"I'll read it," Barbara said.  That got me moving. In a flash I was out of my chair, across the room and snatching the letter out of her hands. Call it some weird sort of maternal instinct but it was my baby - I needed to be the first one to see it.  I had to love it and accept it as mine, no matter what it looked like.

It looked fat.  

When I saw that the whole page was crammed with words, my heart started to sink like a stone. Everything I've learned and heard about Dolly Parton has led me to believe that she is a truly generous and compassionate soul. So when I saw all that writing, I was dead sure she had gone out of her way to be kind - to let me down easy. 

My eyes stung. My hands shook. I forced myself to read:

Dear Tara,

Well, I spent the weekend reading your wonderful script, -

SHE spent the WEEKEND reading my WONDERFUL script...?!  I couldn't breathe. Dolly Parton had actually brought my script on tour and spent her weekend reading it? And thought it was wonderful?!    

"And?! Andandandand???" Barbara was losing her mind.

Still fearing a big bad "but", I almost stopped reading right there. Almost.

...Needless to say, I was and am very flattered that you would choose me as your subject for a movie. I think it is written really well and I could see where it could make for a fine and meaningful film....

So far, so unbelievably good.... Then, it came:

... I would be proud to allow you to use my name, likeness and music...

I read those words again. And again. Then I skimmed the rest of the letter, checking even the very sweet "P.S." she'd written me at the bottom.  Apart from an entirely reasonable request for approval of her images and an eye to respecting the causes she supports, Dolly Parton did not write any "buts" whatsoever...!

In fact, she said that she would be proud to be part of the project in every single way I had requested - and more.

It was then that my face started leaking pure joy - for about two days straight actually. In fact, I spent the next week or so after that just feeling goofy with gratitude and goodwill toward all humankind.  Most especially towards Dolly Parton. But also towards the mysterious Miss X who was instrumental in ensuring my proposal was seen and carefully considered by Ms. Parton in the first place.  I am very grateful for all she did and continues to do.

So, if I thought Dolly Parton was something special before all of this, I am now quite simply overflowing with admiration and respect for her and the people with whom she surrounds herself. 

And so the time had come to do us ALL justice and get this baby made!  After the twists and turns and time I had travelled, there was exactly 13 days left before the funding applications had to be submitted. But hey, I now held the most important and wondrous piece of the puzzle in my hand - a big fat Yes! from Dolly Parton herself. 

What could possibly stop me now?

Tick Tock

My proposal package for Dolly Parton went out to Nashville as planned. 

We all three (Theresapedia, Barbara and I) kissed the sweat-stained envelope and surrendered our cinematic fates to the FedEx guy. If he did his job right, Dolly Parton's point person (let's call her Miss X) would have our proposal on her desk the next morning - one month to the day before we had to submit our production funding application. And before we could submit that application, we needed Dolly Parton's approval of the use of her name in the title, her permission to use her likeness and "celebrity" as well as her agreement to perform in the film.  

Once we had all that (dear god, let us get all that!), then we could finally approach a distributor - another necessary piece of the funding puzzle - and from there casting could start. 

We had one single month.

And by my calculations, the proposal package would be in Nashville for all of 9 days before Dolly was scheduled to go out on an extensive US tour.  I could only hope that Miss X would be willing and able to pass the proposal on to Dolly before she left. Otherwise, she probably wouldn't even see it until after Thanksgiving, when the tour ended and she came back to Nashville. And that would put us about three weeks past our deadline. 

Even though so many planets had to align in such a narrow window of time, I remained wildly optimistic for the first few days after we sent out the package. My heart would leap into my throat every time I heard the fax machine ring.  Because Brad (the fabulous and entirely non-flaky guy who got me this connection in the first place) told me that Dolly and her administrators would often correspond with him via fax, I couldn't help but think it was HER every time that damn fax would ring.  And for some reason it rang an inordinate amount of time (considering the times) those first few days. 

It never was her though. And after a while, I stopped hearing it ring.

I let almost a week go by before I called down to Nashville to "follow up" on the package (I didn't want to pressure too hard or too soon for an answer and end up getting a No just to make me go away). Once again, I'd written myself out a little phone script and once again, the woman I needed to talk to answered the phone.  Only this time, I actually mispronounced Dolly Parton's name when I asked if she had received the package!  If she noticed though, Miss X didn't let on.  She just told me drily that, yes the package had arrived at the office but, no Ms. Parton had not had time to read it yet. Flustered, I thanked her and hung up. 

I was cooked. Dolly Parton was leaving on her tour the next day and she hadn't even seen my proposal.  

After that, the mood at the production office started to change.  We all valiantly continued on, each one of us making as much headway on the funding requirements as we possibly could, even though the biggest piece of the puzzle was still missing. But as each additional day went by without any news, hope began to fade.

I started tracking Dolly Parton's tour schedule - trying to figure out how I could get to Georgia or Kentucky, then get into one of the shows, somehow get to meet her and ... And what? Read the script out loud to her on the way back to the dressing room? Tape pages of the proposal documents to the tour bus windows? Even if I could somehow get access to Dolly Parton in the middle of her tour, when would she even have time to look at my humble package anyway? 

Meanwhile, hours kept turning into days which were magically transforming into weeks and the funding deadline was bearing down fast. I remember literally having my head buried in my hands one dim afternoon when Barbara noticed some crooked piece of paper that had come through on the fax machine. She peered at it and picked it up. Holding it out in front of her with both hands, she turned toward me in what seemed like slow motion and said in a quiet, almost robotic voice, "Tara. We just got a letter from Dolly Parton." 

Dear Dolly

You'll remember last week: Brad Horvath - my single remaining "live" connection to Dolly Parton, my last hope of getting her approval and participation on my project - had kind of gone M.I.A. after he offered to hook me up with his link to Dolly. 

"Please don't let this be a dead end", I kept chanting through the days and weeks of not hearing back from Brad. "Please don't let this person be a flake."  The fact that I really don't like to hassle people for favours probably compounded the turnaround time though, because after one or two polite and well-spaced "reminder" emails to Brad, I just waited.  

Until I couldn't wait anymore. One day I picked up the phone and left a timid message on his voice mail. Shazam! - five minutes later I had the email he'd promised me! From then on, everything moved like lightning. By the end of the day, I was actually looking at the name, address and phone number of THE person who could see to it that Dolly Parton would see my project!! 

Hyperventilating, I wrote Brad and thanked him deliriously.  He advised me to get a really kick-ass package out as soon as possible. And he also mentioned I should include a fax number where I could be reached, as that was how he'd usually received business correspondence from Ms. Parton.

Simultaneously giddy and nauseous, I went right to work on the various elements of my proposal package - resisting the temptation to look at the script for fear I'd start to rewrite everything from scratch!

I'd decided the following Monday would be the day I'd send out the package. Barbara would be back from a film festival in Belgium by then and I'd have the weekend to clear my head and compose the last element that needed to go into the proposal - my personal letter to Dolly Parton.

But first, I wanted to phone this magical person who was about to receive my unsolicited package. I wanted to at least introduce myself - make a personal connection to the person who was so personally connected to Dolly.  I wanted to be more than just another FedEx envelope landing on a busy desk.

So, I waited until everyone left the house and I closed myself in my office. But wait. I couldn't make such a critical phone call in such a messy office - it would probably screw up my aura or karma or something. So I cleaned my office (first time since I moved in). But then, I was too dirty. After a thorough shower, I came back into my office, did some deep breathing and picked up the phone. Wait. Maybe I better do some positive visualization first. 

Holding my beat-up copy of Dolly's autobiography in one hand and the photo of my Grandma Kehl receiving her "Hole-in-one" trophy from football hero, George Reed, in the other, I "visualized" the hell out of my upcoming phone call. I got all the way to being invited over for a business lunch at Dolly's house when I decided I was ready to do this thing.

Maybe I should have a drink first.  Just to relax. 

It being 10:15 am, that idea could only end badly. So, reluctantly sober, I picked up the phone again and dialed the number of Dolly's right-hand person. WAIT!

I threw down the phone. What if someone answers? I'd forgotten everything I wanted to say. Clearly, I couldn't be trusted to wing such an important call. I needed a script. And for every foreseeable eventuality - like if the person answered, or if the person didn't answer, voice mail or secretary ... I had to have something written down for them all...

By 3 pm I was finally ready. I dialed the number, lined up my various scripts in front of me and prayed for voice mail to pick up.  But no such luck.  She answered.

I started off okay and managed to stumble woodenly through the appropriate script for the occasion, finishing up with, "So I was wondering if you would be willing to receive my proposal package?". When she cautiously asked me what exactly the film was about, I read her my short synopsis. And she paused.  And then slowly she said, "Well, I guess it would be alright. Go ahead and send it to me."  Just like that.

I hung up. And I cried. 

I was finally, FINALLY, within spitting distance of my goal. 

Now, only time and personal tastes could stand in my way.  

I sat down and wrote my letter to Dolly.

The Giving

I think it's fitting that on this auspicious day - Dolly Parton's birthday! - I should start to wrap up the prologue to our story, and bring this blog into the present by recounting how my Dolly-seeking efforts eventually bore fruit, and I received the greatest gift an independent filmmaker with a dream could ask for. (not to mention an unexpected treat from Viggo Mortensen)

So, where did I leave off last week? Right, so there I was - it was coming up on the end of August, production funding deadline was fast approaching in November - and I was no closer to Dolly, or her blessing, or a distributor than I had been from the very beginning of this project. 

Or so I thought...

Those "research" habits I'd developed over the years still had me compulsively going to visit the various web sites that had anything at all to do with Dolly (and yes, I've been recently told by a few readers that Facebook would have saved me a whole lot of time - but I'm kind of old-school about this interweb thing and besides that, I truly believe that all things come to pass in the time they're meant to).  Anyway, there I was, doing my habitual cyber rounds when I happened on an item posted at dollymania.net (the most comprehensive fan site I've found yet) that changed the course of things in a big way.

It was on this site - admirably mastered  by Mr. Duane Gordon - that I discovered a news item about a new documentary on Dolly's Imagination Library (her children's literacy foundation) coming to Canada.  I feverishly did some follow-up research on "The Book Lady" and discovered that Dolly had personally appeared in the film, and that the filmmakers were indeed Canadian.  I did some basic deductions and figured that they would have had fairly close dealings with Ms. Parton or her people in order to have achieved that kind of access to her. And since we Canadians are such a neighbourly people, maybe they'd be willing to give a fellow Canuck filmmaker some pointers on how to go about connecting with Dolly Parton...?

After some further digging, I was able to contact one of the filmmakers in Nova Scotia, Brad Horvath, the brainchild and producer behind "The Book Lady". He was immediately and graciously responsive. He answered my email within minutes, saying he'd be happy to recount his experience in contacting and achieving access to Dolly Parton. Not only that, but he cc'd the director of the film, Natasha Ryan, saying she'd be just as happy to give me her insights and experience.  Love these Canucks.  I instantly emailed them both back: When could we talk?  I could call them, or they could call me at their convenience. But the following day, I would be unreachable as I was enroute to Toronto.  

Another of Barbara's films had been invited to screen at the Toronto Film Festival, so we'd hatched a plan that I would travel from Montreal to crash in her Toronto hotel room for a few days during the big event and we'd do whatever kind of schmoozing we could to create some advance buzz around our project.

Within minutes, Natasha had emailed me back saying coincidentally she was going to be in Toronto for a job. Did I want to meet up while I was in town? Um, yeah!

So, I pack up my car and off I go to Toronto - glad for a concrete reason to be there but trying not to get my hopes up too high.  Six hours later, I meet Barbara in the lobby of the posh hotel where she's had a room booked for her by festival organizers, and we go to check in. Only to be told that there's just one bed in the room. We look at each other - can we do that? Can we sleep together for five nights? If we can do that, we reason, chances are we can make a film together...! Simultaneously we beg the clerk for a room with two beds. Unfortunately, the hotel's been sold out for months. Film festival, you know. Yeah. We know. 

The bed is a queen-size, the clerk offers helpfully.

Hanging our heads and clenching our butts, we take the keys and go off to our room. Once we settle the age-old debate about who gets which side of the bed, we head out to navigate the streets of Toronto and the daunting labyrinth that is a big-timey international film festival.

Exiting the Royal York Hotel, who should we bump into but Viggo Mortensen - standing right there on the sidewalk, casually resplendent in bare feet and having a smoke with Ed Harris.  Barbara and I blush furiously, pinch each other and walk faster.  That, we both agree once out of earshot, was a very good sign. Of what, we're not sure - but it felt great!

Over the next two days, we make our best attempts at schmoozing - at which I unfailingly suck - but Barbara's a great person to riff off of, and I eventually catch a bit of the festival beat. So while she goes to do some press for her latest film, A No-Hit, No-Run Summer directed by Francis Leclerc, I feel ready to meet with Natasha Ryan.

We hook up and have a great lunch. Natasha is more than forthcoming about her experience shooting not only Dolly Parton, but Miley Cyrus, Keith Urban and Robert Munsch!  We talk about what Natasha calls the Dolly Parton paradox - her larger-than-life looks and her down-to-earth nature - both of which Natasha can personally vouch for. And her many admirable causes - most notably the Imagination Library.  But with all the anecdotal information, Natasha admits it's really Brad who managed to get the access to all the personalities - and most especially Dolly. 

After Natasha comes with me to a screening of Barbara and Francis' film, we part ways, and she urges me to contact Brad again for more nuts and bolts advice on getting access to Dolly.  Which I immediately do. Still don't know if this is the breakthrough I'm hoping it is, but I keep on pushing. 

While I wait to hear back from Brad, Barbara and I go about the business of the rest of the festival. We go to a blur of cocktails and screenings and after-parties.  We hone in on industry types - solo and in tandem - trying by any means necessary to talk up our project, The Year Dolly Parton Was My Mom. As I think I've mentioned, I am conversationally-challenged, so I would systematically have at least a couple drinks to get me through these functions.

After one particularly long day of such functions (and drinks), our taxi dropped us off in front of our hotel.  This evening, Barbara and I were in the company of Francis Leclerc and Marc Robitaille, the writer of Francis' film.  Francis is a huge hockey fan and a red-blooded Quebecois boy.  So when he heard about us spotting Viggo Mortensen, his fondest wish was to meet Viggo during the festival and talk hockey, in French, with the actor who is a well-known Canadiens fan and multi-linguist. 

When we spilled out of our taxi that night, we were all delighted to find ourselves face to flushed faces with Viggo Mortensen - dressed this fine evening in a Montreal Canadiens shirt bearing the number 27 (Alex Kovalev). Talk about signs!

So Marc, being that oddest of animals - a very gregarious writer - just walked on up to Mr. Mortensen and hailed him like a brother - in French. Viggo responded pleasantly in French and smiled at all of us standing there beaming at him like idiots. Marc stepped forward first and formally introduced himself, holding out his hand. A surprisingly star-struck Francis woodenly did the same. But when it came my turn and I held out my hand, Viggo took it, clasped my elbow with his other hand and pulled me toward him for two very warm kisses - one on each cheek.  Thank god Barbara arrived right then after paying the cab and planted two right back on him - because I was at a complete loss for a charming comeback. 

It took a day or two after returning home to Montreal for the glow of the festival to wear off.  It was a small personal triumph that I'd even put myself out there on that circuit as I had. Felt good and hopeful about the Canadian Dolly connection I'd found. 

But I still hadn't heard back from Brad.  As the month of September was quickly slipping away, I started to get nervous.  Did Natasha tell him that I was really a geek in person?  Should I have offered to buy her popcorn at the film? I wrote another email to Brad, trying to stay light, and waited...

Okay, I have just about blogged myself right out at this point! My eyes are seriously crossing - and if you've managed to read this far, no doubt yours are too.  But I promise I'll come back fresh, pick up this thread next Monday and tie this particular package up in a bow.  

Meantime, wishing Dolly Parton a very happy birthday and hoping you'll all come back now, ya hear?!