Tales of Hollywood 4: The Agent
Bucking for Stars
He’d skim the trades outside on his iPhone 13, catching a little air and light before the arrival of wrinkle-sun, the new enemy of old Angelenos. Real movie stars, men like Cary Grant and Paul Newman, had always maintained bronzed skin. But the stars of today all loaded up on SPF in the high numbers.
He liked to maintain a little color, just a little, which made him appear like someone who played golf on weekends.
He no longer did the Four Seasons, the Peninsula, or Nate & Al’s. Instead, he’d take his breakfast at Starbucks, a latte and maybe a slice of lemon cake, while parked at the lot adjacent to The Original Farmers Market on Fairfax.
He didn’t seem to notice the crepe place, the empanadas shop, the Singaporean stall, or the pseudo-dive serving rich gumbo and catfish sandwiches. He had his routine and wasn’t seeking a morning experience that was charming, ethnic, or original. He never sought what was unique, but always what was most popular.
It wasn’t that he was unwilling to try anything new. During the height of sushi, he ate the raw dead fish three or four times a week.
He had been there for almost the beginning of the carnivore diet trend and still tried to follow a keto plan with intermittent fasting, when not indulging in lemon cake.
As a high schooler in North Jersey, he had caught the Frisbee craze, winning championships and looking oh so cool, or was the term “gnarly” or maybe “bitchin’” or “rad” then, in his abbreviated blonde Jewfro, Ray-bans, red acid-washed jeans, a logo T-shirt touting Atari, Donkey Kong, or Nirvana, along with his classic black leather motorcycle jacket and checkerboard Vans. Or sometimes he was wrapped into that royal blue velour tracksuit his Aunt Adele had purchased at Saks.
Whatever was on point at that time.
Desperately Seeking Trendiness
Daniel had to admit he wasn’t a trendsetter, wasn’t cutting edge, didn’t start any new fashions, but always caught the trends early. If he was a kid now, he was sure he’d be an “influencer” on TicToc.
He had participated in the cocaine trend but only when others were watching. Sort of like the way he sucked cigars now.
As a young trainee agent, working as the assistant to a Veep, he instantly realized that Gwen Stefani would be huge because she was the trendiest girl he had ever seen. So much style. Plus she seemed nice. He urged the agency to sign her.
That signing would have gold-plated his career. But he didn’t have the power to sign her on his own.
He thought trendiness was essential, that trendy meant new, and he wanted to be trendy, without realizing that sometimes trendy equaled old in LA, such as trendy vintage Cadillac Convertibles and trendy mid-century Wedgewood stoves.
No. He only coveted the latest sunglasses, minutely different from the $500 l.a.Eyeworks pair he wore all last year. And the Tesla he could no longer afford. This year.
Why had I snubbed Quentin Tarantino, he’d ask himself. When we were both kids, before Reservoir Dogs and True Romance, I often browsed in that video rental shop in Manhattan Beach where he worked.
Why didn’t I smile at that guy, befriend him, offer to rep him, take him to his beloved Mel’s Drive-In on the Strip, cast him as Vinny the Chin in a Mafia flick? Something.
But how was I to know that Tarantino would become Tarantino, leaving all the other Hollywood hopefuls to feign Tarantino-like dialogue in their screenplays? For years, so many submissions to the agency featured Tarantino-like writing and Tarantino-like passions. “Spawns, spawns,” he sighed to himself.
He would have loved to have been enmeshed in the Tarantino trend; he enjoyed clever and violent genre send-ups.
If only he had latched on in time.
Even later, he hadn’t signed any of the new guys, then mostly young, mostly male, unlike today. He remembered smirky, ironic, and handsome Taika Waititi whom he was introduced to as Taika Cohen. He met him before What We Did in the Shadows, when he was promoting a short up for an Oscar; that meeting was nearly twenty years ago. Long before Jojo Rabbit, never mind Thor. He really liked the New Zealander. Should have signed him. Gotten to him before CAA.
He’d missed out and now he’d been pushed from the agency. He hadn’t signed anyone iconic. No golden parachute for him. His clients weren’t that powerful.
Being a Talent Agent
He repped mostly below-the-line talent: a couple of solid DPs, a top stunt coordinator, and a major costume designer. A few music video directors. A few working actors. No Superstars or major directors.
He earned his salary. But just barely. They could and did drop him and move his clients to younger, less highly paid agents, agents who were bringing in the new talent.
Everyone wanted actors and directors of color now, preferably women or transgender folk.
He told his acquaintances he had left the agency to become a producer. Yeah sure. Good luck. He was actually hoping to become a manager. Managers could double up as producers and bring in the big bucks, which agents couldn’t do. That was on trend.
Manager/producer. Yep. He wanted in.
So many media figures utilized both an agent and a manager, although others had one or the other. Agents generally received 10% of the client’s income, managers 10–15%, and then there was another 5% earmarked for the lawyer and who knows what for the publicist.
Bill Murray goes it alone without an agent. Or a manager. Just his lawyer. But that’s rare. Sharon Stone chooses to only commission a manager, not an agent. Some other biggies go this route. Hello Sharon…. Why hadn’t he fought to represent her when he had the chance? Tried to sleep with her. Got pretty close, maybe. But she went with someone else. When she had an agent.
Now he was trying to sign Jamie Redson, his former #1 client, to take him on as a manager. He had gotten Jamie that Amazon Prime series and Jamie owed him big time. But Redson was smart.
He said, “Listen, Daniel, there are two types of people who need a manager, the assholes just starting out who know nothing and the bigger assholes at the top who are too busy shopping to read their own scripts. I’m not in either category. You took me out of the first and for that I stayed your boy until you left. But you never got me into the shoppers’ league. Ya know, Daniel, I like you but I don’t need you.”
And then he read in The Hollywood Reporter that the twerp signed a big deal for a lead in Megan Ellison’s next undertaking, being directed by that young Indian woman just out of NYU/Tisch, the one who garnered many accolades last year at Sundance. When he was at Sundance.
Why hadn’t he managed to sign her?
He’ll not be at the film festivals this year. No Cannes. No Deauville. No Venice. Not even Karlovy Vary or Telluride. Maybe TriBeCa. He could visit his mother in New Jersey and not pay major hotel fees.
The Redson news ruined his day. His week. His month. Did he need another Starbucks latte? Nah. Have to venture forward.
He pondered: maybe I’ll have dinner at Tagine, try to run into Ryan Gosling. He doesn’t have a manager. But unfortunately, he doesn’t need one anymore. I wish Beso, Eva Longoria’s LatinX steak place was still open.
Horses on Sunset is the trendy dinner spot now, but he doubted they’d seat him without a long-standing reservation, even if he squired someone hot, like that naturally bosomy Laura who works at Fred Segel. Giorgio Baldi was another celebrity-flooded spot. Then there was Craig’s, which always had a spectacular crowd and where he knew the maitre-d.
It was important to be seen in the right places, in the trendy spots. He had to forgo certain luxuries now, and although he no longer had the agency paying for his expensive meals with clients, he reminded himself that maybe he should return to breakfasting at the Four Seasons instead of Starbucks. Or maybe he’d start hitting Gracias Madre for lunch. An early lunch instead of breakfast as they open at 11. They always have notables there for meatless Mexican.
He needed to reconnect and invite some of his former colleagues for a meal. Stay in touch. Always keep your contacts. Important rule not to be broken. The old farts who had remained powerful had abided by this. And the current ones like Taika knew how to schmooze, dating well-known beauties and socializing with big names.
Even that trendy comedian, Hannah Gadsby, chooses to be the houseguest of movie stars rather than college chums. She claims to be autistic, on the spectrum, yet she sure knows how to play the game.
Hollywood is not the town for loners, for introverts. So many powerhouse types had a gang of butthole lickers surrounding them. He himself had never had an entourage or been part of an entourage, although he had been a fan of that show Entourage.
He had never had a wife. Or a serious girlfriend. Other than Abigail. That c-word. He bought her a blue Mustang and she dumped him for a guy at ICM. Just like that. Hello car. Goodbye Daniel. She managed to marry the next sucker. Managed to whelp. Alimony bigtime.
He’d rather stick to models. More cachet than actresses. Prettier than flight attendants or sales associates like that Laura. And not a pain in the ass like “Womyn in the Business.” And models are trendy. But the really hot ones like rock stars, even if they are ugly.
He could have been a rock star too. He’d played bass in a pretty good garage band in high school. But now it’s too late. You can’t start a career as a rock star pushing 51. Or was it 52?
He’d been handsome enough to act. Tried for a time. But he wasn’t very good. Did law school at UCLA. Did the mailroom at William Morris.
Moved to a trendy small agency.
Became a big fish in a small pond.
Drowned.