SECOND OF TWO PARTS
.
In the early days of June 2002, there was a brainstorming meeting of the top creative people at Showtime, the pay cable channel that uses "No Limits" as its tagline, trying to set itself apart from its less controversial, but more popular rival, HBO.
There was Jerry Offsay, the president of programming and the man who had been guiding the network for nearly 10 years as it carved out a movie-heavy schedule with films like "Bastard Out of Carolina" and "Lolita" that garnered critical raves for mature themes and chance-taking. And there was Gary Levine, the executive vice president of programming and Offsay's right-hand man. The two men were intent on taking Showtime further in a different direction -- fewer movies, more emphasis on original series.
The shift had to be made. Quality original series like "The Sopranos" and "Sex and the City" had established HBO -- and, unlike movies, original series build loyal, repeat viewers. Showtime had already started to see significant results with staples like the gay-themed "Queer As Folk," and race-specific series like "Soul Food." They'd mixed in the quirky comedy "The Chris Isaak Show" and the gritty fare of "Street Time" with Rob Morrow.
The channel was close. But it wasn't there. Sitting in that room with Offsay, Levine recalls, the two discussed "arenas" that weren't overdone, genres that could be opportunities for storytelling. "We had wiped the slate clean and said, 'OK, what next?' Jerry wanted to do something about gangs."
But not stereotypical gangs, Levine says. They envisioned "getting inside a gang and feeling not only the violence and the danger, but also the love and support that goes with it." The two got Danielle Gelber, vice president of original programming, reading scripts and getting word to the agent community that Showtime was looking for something, well, really good.
Then Gelber got a script from Alex Tse called "87 Fleer." She liked the script. She liked him. "He has a very distinctive voice and a very authentic voice," Levine says. "That's what made it right." Tse got the nod -- write something about gangs.
By the end of June 2002, Showtime had a first-story outline from Tse for a series tentatively titled "The Game." Offsay, Levine and Gelber added notes. In July they had a story outline. But they also had something bigger: Spike Lee.
Tse's agent worked with Offsay to get Lee -- they both are represented by the William Morris Agency, "which helped facilitate it," Levine says. "We really loved the idea."
By September 2002, the first full script by Tse made its way to Showtime. It was a hit.
"The script is so good, I ordered 15 episodes based on it," Offsay says. "I'm really, really excited about this series."
But there was a catch, as there often is at the deal stage. For the 15- episode commitment, Offsay wanted Lee to direct -- something he'd never done for television. "The door was open a crack and getting him as a producer was done. Getting him as a director was another matter," Levine recalls. "It was primarily Jerry Offsay's tenacious effort."
To understand the commitment, step back. Showtime doesn't have the money HBO does. It needs to be selective and creative. If a show or movie flops, it hurts the channel -- in the wallet. Three years ago, Showtime ordered one pilot, and it became a series. Two years ago, two pilots. Both became series. Last year -- of four pilots shot -- three became series.
"Showtime doesn't do a lot of pilots. We don't order many scripts," says Levine, firmly.
"The Game" soon morphed into "SFC," short for "Sucker Free City." It knocked the lights out of the man calling the shots at the channel. It had a prestigious film director on board as executive producer. It was what they'd dreamed about at that brainstorming meeting back in June. "Different is one thing," Levine says, starting to count the qualities they seek in new series. "Quality is one thing. Provocative is another." It's simple, but it's not: "We won't do cops, doctors, PI's" that the networks "do to death."
Both men knew they had something. Black, white and Asian gangs in Sucker Free City. Word went to Tse to keep writing and honing. A month later, in October 2002, Showtime had what it calls a "decision draft," a revised script the creative people were willing to show everyone else at the channel. That's a critical juncture; everyone has to agree. "That's a serious commitment from the company on many levels," Levine says. That's the green light. Sales, advertising, promotion, distribution -- "we need the whole company behind us." They were. Offsay got busy readying his bombshell strategy.
But why the fuss over the difference between an executive producer and a director title? "It's everything," Levine said. "It makes or breaks the series. "
That's because the director sets the look of the series in that pilot episode. He puts the template down for other directors to follow. He controls how the characters interact, how the actors approach their roles. If it was going to be "Sucker Free City," they couldn't have a sucker setting the agenda.
"Jerry told Spike, 'I would love you to direct this and to prove how much I'd love you to direct this, I want to do all 15 episodes.' We were trying to up the ante," Levine says. "If Spike would direct this," Offsay "was ready to roll the dice and go for all 15. We did a full-court press, and Spike just couldn't do it."
Lee had another movie in the works. He wouldn't commit to directing. The two sides took a breather. The deal itself wasn't completely in limbo, but was in serious danger of having its scale reduced. "Spike really liked this piece, " Levine said. "Plus, he's a filmmaker -- he said, let's make the film. The rest of it is deal stuff."
Traditionally, the "deal stuff" settlement at this point is a two-hour movie. If the film scores with viewers, it could be turned into a series. But even the best-loved ideas can fall victim to commerce. Showtime had a slate to fill. Offsay took the money and put it elsewhere.
Months later, things changed. Lee's own film fell through. Now he wanted to direct. And he said, "So, can we get those episodes?" Offsay remembers Lee asking him if the same deal applied. It did, but the money was gone. Yet nobody walked away. Showtime ordered four more episodic scripts, "just to get a little momentum going" in case Lee stayed on board and the money came.
By April of this year, Showtime had a "shooting script." That meant all the technical stuff was there -- the shots blocked off, a professional had told Tse whether what his mind envisioned could be replicated on the screen, in reality and on budget. The creative wheels had kept turning though there'd been no movement in the deal department.
"Once Spike came on back, we couldn't order episodes, but we could order scripts," Levine says. "Our commitment to this is extremely strong."
So is Lee's now. He's adamant that Showtime call the series "Sucker Free City" instead of "SFC." Levine says Showtime hasn't ruled out anything. "My sense is Spike likes that title a lot," he says, laughing. Because last month Lee showed up at a script meeting with baseball caps for everybody. On the front: "SFC." On the side: "Sucker Free City."
In June, "Sucker Free City" started shooting with a cast in Los Angeles. This month it comes to San Francisco to shoot location scenes. Levine wouldn't say whether "Sucker Free City" would become anything more than a movie, but he dropped hints that if a script gets approved at Showtime, a series soon follows.
Besides, one year ago, sitting in a room dreaming of change, Showtime had a blank slate and a fresh idea. Today it has a full-blown production -- with caps -- and a star film director behind the lens of his first-ever television series. Now what would HBO do?
.
In the early days of June 2002, there was a brainstorming meeting of the top creative people at Showtime, the pay cable channel that uses "No Limits" as its tagline, trying to set itself apart from its less controversial, but more popular rival, HBO.
There was Jerry Offsay, the president of programming and the man who had been guiding the network for nearly 10 years as it carved out a movie-heavy schedule with films like "Bastard Out of Carolina" and "Lolita" that garnered critical raves for mature themes and chance-taking. And there was Gary Levine, the executive vice president of programming and Offsay's right-hand man. The two men were intent on taking Showtime further in a different direction -- fewer movies, more emphasis on original series.
The shift had to be made. Quality original series like "The Sopranos" and "Sex and the City" had established HBO -- and, unlike movies, original series build loyal, repeat viewers. Showtime had already started to see significant results with staples like the gay-themed "Queer As Folk," and race-specific series like "Soul Food." They'd mixed in the quirky comedy "The Chris Isaak Show" and the gritty fare of "Street Time" with Rob Morrow.
The channel was close. But it wasn't there. Sitting in that room with Offsay, Levine recalls, the two discussed "arenas" that weren't overdone, genres that could be opportunities for storytelling. "We had wiped the slate clean and said, 'OK, what next?' Jerry wanted to do something about gangs."
But not stereotypical gangs, Levine says. They envisioned "getting inside a gang and feeling not only the violence and the danger, but also the love and support that goes with it." The two got Danielle Gelber, vice president of original programming, reading scripts and getting word to the agent community that Showtime was looking for something, well, really good.
Then Gelber got a script from Alex Tse called "87 Fleer." She liked the script. She liked him. "He has a very distinctive voice and a very authentic voice," Levine says. "That's what made it right." Tse got the nod -- write something about gangs.
By the end of June 2002, Showtime had a first-story outline from Tse for a series tentatively titled "The Game." Offsay, Levine and Gelber added notes. In July they had a story outline. But they also had something bigger: Spike Lee.
Tse's agent worked with Offsay to get Lee -- they both are represented by the William Morris Agency, "which helped facilitate it," Levine says. "We really loved the idea."
By September 2002, the first full script by Tse made its way to Showtime. It was a hit.
"The script is so good, I ordered 15 episodes based on it," Offsay says. "I'm really, really excited about this series."
But there was a catch, as there often is at the deal stage. For the 15- episode commitment, Offsay wanted Lee to direct -- something he'd never done for television. "The door was open a crack and getting him as a producer was done. Getting him as a director was another matter," Levine recalls. "It was primarily Jerry Offsay's tenacious effort."
To understand the commitment, step back. Showtime doesn't have the money HBO does. It needs to be selective and creative. If a show or movie flops, it hurts the channel -- in the wallet. Three years ago, Showtime ordered one pilot, and it became a series. Two years ago, two pilots. Both became series. Last year -- of four pilots shot -- three became series.
"Showtime doesn't do a lot of pilots. We don't order many scripts," says Levine, firmly.
"The Game" soon morphed into "SFC," short for "Sucker Free City." It knocked the lights out of the man calling the shots at the channel. It had a prestigious film director on board as executive producer. It was what they'd dreamed about at that brainstorming meeting back in June. "Different is one thing," Levine says, starting to count the qualities they seek in new series. "Quality is one thing. Provocative is another." It's simple, but it's not: "We won't do cops, doctors, PI's" that the networks "do to death."
Both men knew they had something. Black, white and Asian gangs in Sucker Free City. Word went to Tse to keep writing and honing. A month later, in October 2002, Showtime had what it calls a "decision draft," a revised script the creative people were willing to show everyone else at the channel. That's a critical juncture; everyone has to agree. "That's a serious commitment from the company on many levels," Levine says. That's the green light. Sales, advertising, promotion, distribution -- "we need the whole company behind us." They were. Offsay got busy readying his bombshell strategy.
But why the fuss over the difference between an executive producer and a director title? "It's everything," Levine said. "It makes or breaks the series. "
That's because the director sets the look of the series in that pilot episode. He puts the template down for other directors to follow. He controls how the characters interact, how the actors approach their roles. If it was going to be "Sucker Free City," they couldn't have a sucker setting the agenda.
"Jerry told Spike, 'I would love you to direct this and to prove how much I'd love you to direct this, I want to do all 15 episodes.' We were trying to up the ante," Levine says. "If Spike would direct this," Offsay "was ready to roll the dice and go for all 15. We did a full-court press, and Spike just couldn't do it."
Lee had another movie in the works. He wouldn't commit to directing. The two sides took a breather. The deal itself wasn't completely in limbo, but was in serious danger of having its scale reduced. "Spike really liked this piece, " Levine said. "Plus, he's a filmmaker -- he said, let's make the film. The rest of it is deal stuff."
Traditionally, the "deal stuff" settlement at this point is a two-hour movie. If the film scores with viewers, it could be turned into a series. But even the best-loved ideas can fall victim to commerce. Showtime had a slate to fill. Offsay took the money and put it elsewhere.
Months later, things changed. Lee's own film fell through. Now he wanted to direct. And he said, "So, can we get those episodes?" Offsay remembers Lee asking him if the same deal applied. It did, but the money was gone. Yet nobody walked away. Showtime ordered four more episodic scripts, "just to get a little momentum going" in case Lee stayed on board and the money came.
By April of this year, Showtime had a "shooting script." That meant all the technical stuff was there -- the shots blocked off, a professional had told Tse whether what his mind envisioned could be replicated on the screen, in reality and on budget. The creative wheels had kept turning though there'd been no movement in the deal department.
"Once Spike came on back, we couldn't order episodes, but we could order scripts," Levine says. "Our commitment to this is extremely strong."
So is Lee's now. He's adamant that Showtime call the series "Sucker Free City" instead of "SFC." Levine says Showtime hasn't ruled out anything. "My sense is Spike likes that title a lot," he says, laughing. Because last month Lee showed up at a script meeting with baseball caps for everybody. On the front: "SFC." On the side: "Sucker Free City."
In June, "Sucker Free City" started shooting with a cast in Los Angeles. This month it comes to San Francisco to shoot location scenes. Levine wouldn't say whether "Sucker Free City" would become anything more than a movie, but he dropped hints that if a script gets approved at Showtime, a series soon follows.
Besides, one year ago, sitting in a room dreaming of change, Showtime had a blank slate and a fresh idea. Today it has a full-blown production -- with caps -- and a star film director behind the lens of his first-ever television series. Now what would HBO do?
