Introduction: Why Jay Leno Hates You
Some of my favorite stories are about belly buttons. I don’t know when I developed this strange affinity for the little hole in my stomach, but I can’t deny that a little wave of pleasure passes through me each time my beautiful wife Pat sticks one of her tiny fingers in there. My eyes roll back in my head and I let out a giggle like some sort of white Bill Cosby or a Jewish Pillsbury Doughboy.
That being said, a few weeks ago, I found myself crammed between two large, fat, sweaty people on the N train between Long Island City, current home of Troma Entertainment, and Manhattan, current home of me and Jon Gosselin. It was about 6 pm and there was not a whole lot of room to wiggle on this particular train. Because I was sandwiched directly between Godzilla and Mechagodzilla, I ended up facing an advertisement for a storage facility and was unable to turn my head to look away. This particular storage facility, which my editrix has warmly encouraged me not to name, has several different posters, and they are located on several different trains. Most of these ads feature naked people in an empty apartment with the slogan “Maybe we make storage too easy…” Get it? Because when storage space is cheap, people will put all of their belongings into storage, including, apparently, their clothes. And I guess this is supposed to be seen as a positive thing. So, in this ad that I had no choice but to stare at, a naked guy and a naked gyno1 are lying on the floor of an empty apartment. The gyno’s ample bosom is hidden behind a book, and both of their special hoo-haa parts are covered by one small blanket. Kinky, right? You can just imagine all the racy thoughts just limping through my head at that moment. So imagine my surprise, when, as I stare at this ad longer and longer, I realize that the gyno has no belly button. At all. Not like it was just hidden somewhere. I mean, trust me, I looked. Believe me when I say that I stared at this poster longer and harder than anyone would be expected to, and there was absolutely no fucking belly button. So, (1) either this unnamed storage facility found some belly button-less freak of a gyno to pose for this picture2 or (2) this picture was so thoroughly airbrushed in an attempt to make these people look attractive while naked that some dipshit accidentally erased the gyno’s belly button! How could no one have noticed that someone was missing one of the main 26 body parts! Then again, I can’t tell you how many DVD covers I have approved that read, “Michelle Herz and Loyd Kaufmann Present…” Or maybe the lack of belly button was actually an ingenious way of getting me to stare at this advertisement and remember it in my nightmares weeks later?
That is actually the question that people have been asking about me and Troma Entertainment for years. Unfortunately, the people with money seem to fall more in the “Stupidity” category, while the people with taste but no money lean more toward “Genius.” But the fact is, idiocy, lunacy, or whatever, Troma has been selling itself as something for over 35 years. By all reasoning, Troma Entertainment shouldn’t even exist. It should have died out in the megaconglomerate-dominated 1990s like Kurt Cobain and beepers. You need look no further than my incredibly intelligent business and life partner, Michael Herz. He has been saying for years that Troma is a piece of shit that should just die. His beautiful wife, Maris, says that too, but I think she is talking about me specifically, more so than Troma. And Michael and Maris have every right to be pissed. Poultrygeist: Night of the Chicken Dead, my magnum ovum, has yet to make any money. We haven’t even made back our distribution costs. We have absolutely no international sales deals, and we haven’t had a movie on television in who knows how long. Mark Neveldine and Brian Taylor,3 the guys behind the Crank movies, have said that, in a fair world, Poultrygeist would have been a worldwide hit! Unfortunately, Neveldine/Taylor fall into that category of good taste/no money.4
The fact is, if the Big Man wants in, you’re out. Like Conan O’Brien said, you can do anything you want to in life, unless Jay Leno wants to do it too. Now just imagine that Jay Leno is a giant megaconglomerate movie studio5 with billions and billions and billions of dollars. And he hates you—you, the little, nipping, sweet puppy at his feet who wants nothing more than some fucking table scraps. Not only does he hate you, but he hates that fact that you even exist and will stop at nothing to crush you, just because he’s Jay Leno and he can. But that’s not all. Even other independents are out to get you. You think all the other little puppies are going to let you have a table scrap? No, goddamn it. They’re going to fight you for it because they’re starving too. Thanks to the democratization of filmmaking, everyone on earth can make a movie and does! Not only will you have to compete with Avatar and Almodóvar, but you’ll be competing with everyone in the world; from the guys who make the formulaic crappy movies for Syfy and Lifetime networks to the guy who manages a strip club and has produced a movie for $5000! Yes, as my previous books have described, we can all Produce and/or Direct Our Own Damn Movies®, but how do we make a living from our art?
Just last week, I was at a meeting with some producers at the Independent Film & Television Alliance (IFTA). Some of the boys with $60 haircuts and “interesting” open-collar shirts were discussing their business model. They only make a movie if they know upfront that it will make a profit. One of them was actually making fun of filmmakers or producers who make movies that come from the heart—people who make movies that they believe in. I sat there, holding my tongue. They were laughing at people like me. Laughing! But you know what? Fuck ’em!6
Do you know how hard it is to sell something that you don’t love? Try working at Kmart or Foot locker for a few months. Do you know why those people are so fucking unhappy all the time? It’s because they hate their lives.7 And also, because they are not passionate about what they are selling.
But enough of this ideological bullshit. You’re not here for a pep talk. You’re here to find out how to sell a movie. So let me get this out in the open right away: Troma sales suck. I already told you that Poultrygeist: Night of the Chicken Dead hasn’t made any money.
So why am I writing this book if I’m such a failure? Ha! Good question. Aren’t you a little smart ass. It’s because I’m a fucking salesman, that’s why. If I can hoodwink a smart editor like Elinor at a reputable publishing house like Elsevier into letting me write another book (for money!), you think I can’t help you sell a movie? Okay, well, I’m not actually making any promises. But we’ll figure this out together, hand in hand, mouth to mouth. Have a little faith. You are so good looking.
1 “Gyno” is the politically correct word that we, at Troma Entertainment, use for the nonmale sex.
2 If this is the case, would someone tell this beautiful, belly button-less freak of gynohood to please call me at 718-395-9067. I have a script for her.
3 Neveldine/Taylor also wrote the introduction for my book Direct Your Own Damn Movie!, which is available for purchase at www.troma.com. BUY TROMA!
4 Actually, Crank and Crank 2 were huge hits and these guys have lots of money. They just aren’t giving it to me.*
* NOTE FROM LLOYD’S CO-WRITER AND FORMER ASSISTANT, SARA: Actually, Lloyd, they paid you the SAG daily rate to appear in Crank 2 for about three seconds. I know this because I set up the deal. I also know that the SAG daily rate was more than you paid me in two months for working on Direct Your Own Damn Movie!
5 As opposed to the giant fucking douche bag that he is.*
* EDITOR’S NOTE: Wow, Lloyd, no wonder you’ve never been on The Tonight Show.
6 Not IFTA. I love IFTA. I mean fuck Jay Leno.
7 Employees of the iconic Strand Bookstore in New York City are so unhappy that I have managed to entice two of them to become my assistant by offering them less money than they were making there! In fact, I found my co-writer, Sara, at the Strand, trying to sell copies of Infinite Jest to homeless people.