A Peek Behind “The Raven of St. James’s Park” Movie Deal

I optioned a movie recently and for that you can blame Bulova, the old watch maker. On July 1, 1941 they paid $9 to run the first television commercial broadcast in the United States. Because of that I love movies.

A New York station, WNBT, ran the ad before a baseball game between the Brooklyn Dodgers and Philadelphia Phillies. It was a 10-second spot that displayed a picture of a clock superimposed on a map of the United States, accompanied by a voice-over letting us know that, “America runs on Bulova time.”

Things are different now. There are so many commercials on TV now that prime time shows are, for me, unwatchable. More than 41 percent of screen time is spent hawking a flea market of things I really do not care to hear, see, or know about.

So, I don’t watch TV. I don’t listen to the radio either, for the same reason — ads annoy me.

Instead I watch movies, a lot of them, in a wide variety of genres, probably 150-to-200 films per year. I can disappear inside of a movie theater and pop back out at the end enriched from having watched it. I do not get that thrill from side-by-side bath tubs or super-versatile gizmos on sale at two for the price of one.

I love the story I recently optioned for movie development, as much for how I thought it up and brought it to life as for its many uplifting messages. “The Raven of St. James’s Park” is a romantic comedy set in modern day London, a class-conflicted romance triggered by a wonderful elderly old codger — one of the best characters I have ever written — who creates total chaos just going about his daily business.

This work is typical of what I enjoy creating most: a multicultural ensemble comedy with a happy ending, which is how I want the world to be. It is much easier to make someone cry than laugh, but laughter is my drug of choice. We all benefit from laughter and each of us can benefit from a bountiful supply. None of us needs more sorrow.

St. James’s Park is near Trafalgar Square, where I often stayed. At the time the park bench where I thought it up was about as far as I could hobble. My quad tendons had ruptured from a severe allergic reaction to statin medications and after major surgery I needed crutches to get around. “The Raven” came to me while sitting on that bench, fouling London’s foggy air smoking a good, fat cigar. Watch the world go by long enough and it will share exactly what you need to learn.

To better understand life, have some of it taken away. Everything slowed down: the lovers walking hand in hand, the suits hustling to work, tourists proving it, and the street people killing time. The park keeps time on its own. Even Bulova can’t make it fly.

Reflecting back over the billions of keys I have punched throughout the years makes me happy. The challenge of writing is eternal but fair because a piece of paper is nothing until I write on it. Whatever it becomes after that is up to a coordination between mind and hand. It is a noble challenge, often undertaken in a quiet location accented by the snores of a dog who needs me like I need him.

Helping people is important to me so sometimes I write about that. Coaching and teaching is important so I love to write about that. Being a positive influence in the lives of others is important so I like to encourage others in supportive ways. Doing  all that while making them laugh is the Holy Grail, so I love to do that too.

While the genesis of “The Raven” may seem to have come from that London park bench, it really occurred a million years ago when I was a lad. My heroes growing up were the great comedians of the silent era and early talkies: Chaplin, Lloyd, Keaton, Arbuckle, Laurel, Hardy, and Fields. Each had The Gift. Each could make me laugh simply by watching them create chaos. I loved the power of laughter and always will.

After those guys came stand-ups like Benny, Hope, and Carson. These three melded scripted standup with impeccable timing to get the same result as the silent screen filmmakers: spontaneous, earned laughter.

In college I started writing jokes to feed deejays and aspiring comedians. After that I worked at a newspaper and wrote bad sports articles. From there a magazine bought a longer piece and then I moved over to short stories. Stories provide structure but freedom of form with a beginning, a middle, and end. Since a novel is just a short story full of run-on sentences, novels came next.

Each step in the progression taught me a thousand things in its own little universe. The more I learned the less I knew but I just kept plugging along. I tell those who ask the naked truth: “Writing is easy. Writing well is hard.” This is true whether we are scripting a seven-minute comedy club monologue with one-liners, toppers, and toppers to the topper, or covering three continents in a sprawling 400 pages.

Movies are easy to write until you try and then they get hard. This I learned after entering script writing with great reluctance after avoiding it for years. I am a novelist. I dare not stoop so low. This silly attitude was eventually abandoned, encouraged perhaps by having three of my books optioned by screenwriters for movie development. Once I climbed down the rabbit hole and studied the furnishing of the movie maker’s lair, I liked it. Movies are a team sport, so leaving the solitary confinement of novel creation and entering a world of marvelously talented, creative people who are tremendous at what they do was refreshing. Movie types are interconnected and inter-reliant, and yet creatively unique in his or her passions and pursuits.

It is said that writing a movie script is a craft. It is. It is process dependent and comes with restrictive boundaries like format and structure and page counts plus a  jargon of its own.

Storytelling, on the other hand, is art. You need to see the story, create the characters, bring them to life, and make the audience care.

Blending those two, the art with the craft, is the challenge of the storyteller. It is not easy. Because it is not easy, I like it very much. Moviegoers depend on what they see and hear to convey the story. A novelist can take a reader anywhere. There is a difference and honoring that difference is a noble professional pursuit.

I do not know if my new producer partners will be able to raise the money to make “The Raven of St. James’s Park” but their track record indicates they probably can. If and when that happens, more fun begins. I will work with a slew of creative people united in a common goal: All of us will bust our cans to tell a wonderful story the very best we can.

It takes a team to make a movie, just like it takes a team to coach a dreamer to write one. For all of you who aspire to do so, get busy. The blank page beckons.