HOFFA

I was not fired off of Hoffa.

I was hired by Danny DeVito and Joe Roth, then head of 20th. I wrote the script and was called, as per usual, to take my beating. We were in a hotel on Central Park South (where I’d turned down Once Upon a Time in America), the above-named, and several Suits.

“Hi, hi, how was your trip can we get you anything, pause pause.” And then one of the suits said, “I have some questions…” Joe interrupted and said, “I don’t. Thank you.” And they made the film.

Billy Wilder said that one must keep the first draft by him, as, sure as hell, he’s going to come back to it.

Few films are better than the first draft, as subsequent diligence of an industrial committee always turns the thing into mush. The committee cannot improve a work of art.

The artist, asked, “Is it possible that everyone is wrong and you’re right?” must answer, “It’s inevitable”; the work was not produced by “everyone” but by an individual, who, if he possessed talent, had no objective other than pleasing himself.

I was left alone on Hoffa, and on Ronin, The Verdict, The Postman Always Rings Twice, Wag the Dog, and perhaps a few others.

I told the producers the story as I saw it, and they agreed, I wrote that story, and they shot it.

My pal Barb cut a film for a Very Famous Director. They went to preview screenings, and the director read each and every one of the comment cards, and asked Barb to recut the film according to them.

But not only were they generally foolish (What didn’t you like? The part where the villain shows up); they were, in bulk, contra-dictory.

A committee of producers, similarly, is made up of the foolish, the wise, the sycophantic, the cowed, and the arrogant. As in any meeting, a consensus may emerge. It is not a canvass, however it may be presented, but a direction from the He or She Wolf who has condescended to hear the counsel of inferiors.

Joe Roth thanked me for the Hoffa script. I am still stunned.

Danny, a prince, did a superb job—the phrase is insufficient.

My friend Ned Dowd was Danny’s AD.

I was called from Boston to Hollywood to see the final cut. My father had just died, and I couldn’t go. I called Ned, who’d seen it, and asked, “Is it any good?” And he said, “It’s a masterpiece.” I said, “Heh heh,” and he said, “No, really.” And I agree, it’s clean as a hound’s tooth.

I was with Danny, than whom no greater gentleman ever lived, in Montreal, shooting Heist with Becca Pidgeon and Gene Hackman. We often went out to dinner, preferring Queue de Cheval for the world’s finest steaks and a lot of red wine.

One night we sat down, I saw a group of five or six at an adjoining table. There were several beautiful women and a fellow in his forties—a tough-looking, obvious thug. He recognized Danny. Dinner was served, and the man came over and mentioned his name, which nobody caught, and said he’d be honored if we came to his table for a cognac. Danny said, “No, thank you.” Back-and-forth. Danny said, “Thank you, really, no.” The fellow said, “You don’t know who I am.” And Danny said, “I don’t give a fuck who you are. Get lost.” God bless him.

We were shooting the big shootout on the dock. Becca has ratted out her lover, Gene, to Danny, his archrival; Gene and Delroy Lindo have it out with Dan and his hidden sharpshooters, and at one point Danny starts shouting his (my) dialogue to his cohorts (I can’t recall it offhand), ending his speech, “I COULD SAY THIS SHIT ALL DAY.”

Joe Roth was head of 20th Century Fox till 1993. I wished someone would have asked me to comment on the reasons for his retirement, as my prepared response was, “He only has seven years to come up with a new company name, and he couldn’t stand the pressure.”