The D-Word's life is one of glamour and riches, as only a documentary filmmaker can live it

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Last Monday morning I call in for messages and get greeted by my mother’s voice.

“Hi, Bubula, it’s your mother. I saw The Heck With Hollywood! on Bravo last night. Now, I can’t really be sure but it seemed like they cut a few things out, did you know that?”

No, I didn’t know that.

I’m out in Amagansett for a long weekend to prove to my wife and daughter that, yes, I remember their names and, yes, I truly do want to spend time with them. There’s no tv set, so I'll catch the Wednesday rebroadcast. I can wait-- I haven’t seen the film in three-and-a-half years, since the night of the first PBS broadcast.

The weekend is great. The sky is blue, the sun is warm, the water is calm. I actually read a novel. I’m so laid back it’s almost noon before I check in for messages.

“I mean, it was still, ya know, perfectly fine, of course, but I was just wondering...”

I’ve been so busy with Home Page I haven’t given Heck a lot of thought. Bravo licensed a 57-minute film for a one-hour broadcast slot, why ever would they want to make cuts? Suddenly, my stomach knots.

Lauren Hutton.

Heck is part of a Bravo series called Expose. Lauren Hutton is the host. Lauren Hutton introduces the program. Lauren Hutton closes the program. There are lots of commercials and coming attractions between programs.

I try and think back to the contract negotiations. I remember putting up a polite stink about the wording of the editing. They 've slipped in a heinous clause that they basically can do whatever the hell they want with the film, any time, any where, for any reason. Standard wording, they say. Don’t worry about it. Standard wording, my lawyer says. Don’t worry about it.

I remember changing it, anyway, but what the hell did I change it to? Surely they have to ask my permission to make changes, right? No matter how distracted I was, I couldn’t have been that stupid, could I?

Tuesday morning, first thing I do is check the contract. Yes, folks, I can, indeed, be that stupid!

Licensee and each Sublicensee shall have the right to cut, edit, dub, alter and modify the Title as may be necessary to comply with local or national broadcast standards or any other applicable laws or standards (including obscenity laws or standards), to meet with scheduling and timing requirements, to create promotional materials and/or to insert commercial material, and to authorize any person to do the foregoing.

Now listen carefully boys and girls. If there’s one thing you learn from The D-Word, and one thing only it’s this: Never ever ever trust someone else to not fuck with your film. But at the very least, make sure they have to sweetly inform you that they intend to fuck with it.

I can’t believe it! Bravo and the Independent Film Channel have each licensed twenty-five airings of Heck over the next three years. Suddenly, it may not be the same film I slaved over for almost four years to make. And there’s nothing I can do about it.

I race home for the broadcast Wednesday night from therapy, of all things. I’ve just resumed seeing a therapist after a few years of being... what’s the term for it? Cured? Normal? So, here I am, making a movie about my life and writing about my life for the whole Web-wide world to read, and I’m paying someone to talk about my life! Cured no more.

And what have I just told my unsuspecting new therapist? About my life as The D-Word, of course. He asks if he can check out my entries. I give him the url. I ask if I can quote him. Go ahead, he sez. He seems intrigued.

Oy.

Anyway, get home just in time to pop a beer, turn on Bravo and settle in on the couch with the family. Josh is visiting. Lucy is up late watching Heck for the first time. Marj is almost passed out from the heat wave, but supportively props herself beside us

After a gazillion coming attractions trumpeting Expose, Lauren Hutton comes on. Gotta admit, she does look great, even in her 50’s. Or is it simply that I’m getting older, too.

She mouths some platitudes about indie filmmakers and Heck comes on. I’m on the edge of my seat, silently warning them not to lay one finger on my baby or incur the wrath of hell. They hear me. Not a frame seems out of place. Until the end, that is.

Heck ends with one of the three filmmakers I’ve followed for three years summing up his experience. He’s interviewed with his lead actor and co-screenwriter (who doubled as the film’s accountant).

“If I were to choose, ok, you’re gonna make a movie, you can have the choice. You’re going to make a movie that you think is a reeky piece of shit, that you can’t stand, but, hey, people are gonna buy it, it’s a moderate success and you’ll make a little bit of money. Or, you’re gonna make a movie that, when you’re done with it, you really like, and you like even after living through the thing for three or four years, but maybe you’re not going to make a dime. Which do you want?

The opening chords of “Heaven,” by the late great Del-Lords, begins to fade in underneath.

I’d choose the later. And that’s why I’m happy, I feel good about it, and I don’t even know where it’s all going to end up, but I’m already winning the game, so...”

The writer/accountant suddenly chimes in: How much is the little bit of money we’re talkin’ here?

They all crack up laughing.

Now this is the where things take a turn. Normally, the image fades out, the music continues to build for a few beats then climaxes in a loud scream and the song begins. On the beat of the scream the title pops on: The Heck With Hollywood! Then the end credits scroll.

I’ve always loved that moment. The indie spirit in a nutshell.

Only Bravo has other ideas about indie spirit. As soon as the guys start laughing, Lauren Hutton pops onscreen to bid us adieu. And at the climax, right on the beat, a new title replaces The Heck With Hollywood!:

MS. HUTTON’S WARDROBE BY GIORGIO ARMANI.

It’s been real nice spending time with you, says Lauren. Be sure to come back next week for another hard-hitting edition of Expose.
Meanwhile, in teeny tiny letters, the end credits creep on to the rightmost part of the frame. The first four credits only, that is. When PBS originally broadcast the film, they demanded that the end credits be no longer than one minute. Bravo takes that one evolutionary step further; the credits are ten seconds. All those people who worked so long and hard on Heck for so little money... Now not even a millisecond of recognition.

My wife playfully gives me grief. “Where’s my special thanks?” she demands.

I feel badly, but in all honesty I was rolling on the floor laughing. Indie filmmakers have to develop a thick skin or they won’t survive. I’m on my fourth film.

In the vast hierarchy of the glamourous film biz, Bravo has it exactly right:

un film de Giorgio Armani...

Starring Lauren Hutton.

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