10 Ways to Escape Hollywood’s Gofer Hole

Two summers ago, I worked on “Slackers,” a movie directed by Dewey Nicks that depicts a crew of college hustlers parlaying and partying their way through school. For a student at UC Santa Cruz, working as an assistant to the director on the movie--which opened Friday--it seemed like another day at the office.

I learned an important lesson while working on the set of “Slackers”: You don’t get what you deserve in life; you get what you negotiate. For example, getting work in Hollywood is a pitch. To get hired by Dewey Nicks, I use four magical negotiating words: “I love your work.”

Day 1, my first official duty is to chauffeur Dewey and his wife, Stephanie, out to the shoot in Riverside. I park my 6-year-old Acura in Dewey’s driveway at 4:30 a.m., the time I usually go to bed. My foul mood improves as I slip behind the wheel of his Mercedes S600, and I have a spiritual insight. Driving a $125,000 automobile gives you that calm, Buddhist feeling.

I figure that to move up to a nicer ride, I’d better learn the rules of the game. Writers Bill Robinson and Ceridwen Morris in their book “It’s All Your Fault: How to Make It as a Hollywood Assistant” give 10 rules on how to behave on a set. The rules are very helpful--if you do completely the opposite.

Rule 1: Don’t speak unless spoken to.

Instead, speak up, and with a forked tongue. I discover the best talkers on the set make the most money and do the least work. The producers, who have the deepest pockets, come in late and go home early because, as one told me, “being insincere all day really drains you.” In fact, the theme of “Slackers” is sometimes a lie, which is the most honest thing you can say--a sentiment near and dear to the hearts of the producers.

The coolest part about saying things that you don’t mean in Hollywood is that even if they catch you in an outright lie, everyone has the decency not to go on about it. The first few days, the producers and agents pose, bluff and use red herrings and smoke screens to squeeze the last drop of blood from each other. The big negotiation is over how much to pay Eminem to make a cameo appearance. I argue that Eminem’s appearance in the trailer will double the opening weekend gross. I don’t really believe this, but I want a chance to meet him.

Rule 2: Knock loudly on trailer doors before entering.

Forget it. Why would anyone want to be in the movie business and not hang out with movie stars? Instead, get personal. Hollywood is high school with money.

I was in high school two years ago, so I know you don’t make friends by showing deference or by respecting others’ privacy. I’m not saying you have to go clubbing all night with them (and then try to explain to their girlfriends why they didn’t get home until 6 a.m.), but it doesn’t hurt.

Nearly everyone who works on “Slackers” was in one of my favorite movies or TV shows. Devon Sawa starred in “Final Destination.” Jason Schwartzman starred in “Rushmore.” Jason Segel was on “Freaks and Geeks.” But I’m not in awe of actors or directors. My dirty little secret is I want to become friends with the producers.

My role model is “Slackers” producer Erik Feig. After college, he gets a job at a big agency. They show him to the mailroom and tell him he might make full agent in five years. He quits at lunchtime. He finds the novel “I Know What You Did Last Summer” at a garage sale and, without even reading it, successfully pitches it to director Kevin Williamson.

Rule 3: Never talk to neighbors on location.

Why not? Neighbors are there to be played. The producers generously allow one local to work for free. He gets so into it that when the shoot moves back to L.A., he borrows gas money from his mom so he can make the commute each day.

I pick up a few tips on horse trading by hanging out with the producers. This pays off when Dewey asks me to pick up some pigeon feathers that don’t look right in the scene. I ponder how producer Neil Moritz (a.k.a. Mr. Big) would handle this and offer a couple of 12-year-old kids from the neighborhood cigarettes if they pick up the feathers. After they’re finished, I tell them I don’t smoke and lecture them on the evils of smoking.

Rule 4: Don’t complain about the food.

If you can’t complain about the food, what in the world do you talk about over lunch? Instead, to make it big, whine about everything. Haven’t you noticed that the rich are always complaining?

On the set, complaining is the chief negotiating tactic. The crew swaps war stories in attempts to top each other. A camera operator says, “You try being on ‘The Perfect Storm’ and spend the whole day in water.” A grip responds, “That’s nothing. Try watching Tom Cruise do the 18-minute crying scene in ‘Magnolia’ 42 times.”

If I have any doubts about complaints being gold, I just have to look at the best negotiator on the set, the line producer. He’s like an eighth-grade hall monitor on a mission from God to stamp out all wasteful spending. He has been rumored to pull pencil stubs out of the trash and mutter, “Still good.”

The only person who can’t complain on the set is the writer. In between shots, I suggest a line. The writer complains, “Hey! You can’t use that. It’s from ‘Bill and Ted’s Excellent Adventure.’” One of the producers snaps back at the writer, “If you’re going to be negative, we’re going to kick you off the set.”

Rule 5: Don’t sit down unless invited.

What do you want to be? A waiter or a player? Instead, always sit at the power table.

After a long day, Dewey treats the crew to drinks. I go down to the hotel bar, take a seat at the power table and lean back to watch the big-screen television. I tell myself, “Here I am, 20 years old, on location, sitting with the stars, the director and the producers and watching the Lakers in the NBA finals. This is truly as good as it gets.”

Rule 6: Never walk on a set while they’re shooting.

C’mon, the movie business is about getting noticed. How else will the production company know you’ve been there? Even if they yell at you, you’re getting your daily dose of attention. You should break this rule just for the heck of it. In Hollywood, as in “Fight Club,” the only rule is there’s no rule. If you’re not in trouble with someone on the set, you’re doing something wrong.

For example, one time I take the dailies back to Dewey’s house in L.A. It’s 3 in the morning when I get there. I’m too tired to try to figure out how to make the house key work, so I stash the dailies in a shed next to the house. The next morning though, I begin to think: 10 hours of film, at $30,000 an hour. That’s $300,000. I’m not worried someone will steal the film, but the temperature is heading into the 90s. Maybe there’s a reason they keep film in refrigerators. I wonder how much forgiveness is in the producers’ hearts. But, fortunately, my slacker luck holds, and all is well.

Rule 7: Don’t offer opinions on script, performances or direction.

This is like saying, “Don’t breathe.” Everyone on the set, from the driver, Harry the Horse, to the catering guy, wants to direct. Instead, learn to promote your opinions.

If you ever want to strike The Big Deal, you better learn the art of shameless self-promotion. This means whenever possible, escalate your self-promoting opinions to fact (“I don’t think so, I know so”).

Dewey is my model of fearlessness. I see him scared only once, when the “Bond Lady from the Valley” comes to visit the set. The persistent story is that she punched out James Cameron for going over budget on “Titanic.”

Rule 8: Don’t predict how the project will do.

You don’t have to be a weatherman to know which way others want the wind to blow.

I learn that if you do offer opinions, always predict success. Everyone agrees from watching the dailies that “Slackers” is a hilarious movie. All, that is, except one old crew member who scoffs, “When have you ever been on a movie where the dailies didn’t look great?” No wonder the dude is in a dead-end job.

Rule 9: Never ask for haircuts or makeup.

Measly haircuts? The coolest clothes in my closet come from the “Slackers” set. It’s not whether to ask, but whom to ask for what and when. Don’t just ask for a haircut. How about a three-picture deal?

Rule 10: Never ask for autographs.

Get real. What about asking stars to sign their underwear so you can auction it off on EBay? The only thing celebrities hate more than being asked for their autograph is not being asked.

Asking for autographs is the best way to kiss up to people.

Even the line producer knows there are times when you have to kiss up to others. We spend the last shooting days in the pool area at USC, where the crew continues to complain about his tightness. So he springs for a cappuccino machine and a sushi bar. The caffeine kicks in, and everyone gets giddy and touchy-feely. As the line producer walks around serving cappuccinos and lattes, everyone tells him how much they love him.

After “Slackers” wraps, I go to Dewey’s house to watch a rough cut. I normally sneak into movies, but I’d pay to see this one. I tell Dewey, “Since Kubrick is dead, you have to be the greatest living filmmaker. And, by the way, if you shoot a movie next summer, deal me in.”

Postscript: “Slackers” opened last Friday Parents and graybeard reviewers hate it; kids love it--well I did anyway. I smell teen cult classic.

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Zack Emery is a student at UC Santa Cruz. He co-wrote, with Francis Ford Coppola and Cintra Wilson, the book for the rock ‘n’ roll musical version of “Gidget.”