Writers of the World, Unite ... Sort Of

The entertainment world’s chronic malcontents are assembling this week, which is generally not something that chronic malcontents do often or particularly well.

Indeed, last year’s planned installment of the biennial Writers Guild Foundation’s “Words Into Pictures” conference was postponed until now, as the strike threat that loomed over the industry fostered concern no self-respecting writer would want to sit on a panel beside executive types.

The truth is many of them probably still feel that way, but more than 1,000 people are nevertheless expected to attend this year’s symposium in Universal City, which kicks off Friday and continues through the weekend. If the schedule (available at www.wordsinto pictures.org) is any indication, the event will provide writers another chance to fret about Hollywood’s preoccupation with the bottom line, which has exacerbated feelings of contempt and powerlessness toward the industry that employs them.

The elements that mingle at “Words Into Pictures,” however, are more complex than that. Easily identifiable, for example, are enterprising agents and managers, who roam the halls trying to poach clients from competitors. Some talent reps pursue this aim subtly, but others might as well be pushing a shopping cart.

Aspiring writers, meanwhile, pay more than $500 (WGA members and students receive a discount) to be told that they must persevere, that they need to keep honing their craft, that there is a dire shortage of talent out there, and that truly gifted writers will find a way to penetrate the industry’s barriers, no matter how firmly the gates appear to be locked.

The hunger in the air at such gatherings is palpable. After moderating a “Words Into Pictures” session a few years ago, I was chased halfway to the parking lot by an agitated fellow who was irate that the talk didn’t focus on how he, personally, could sell his script. I have no doubt he is hunched over a computer somewhere, clacking away between rants about how he created “CSI: Crime Scene Investigation” in 1988 before some scoundrel stole it.

Although the festivities are billed as a writers’ forum, not a how-to seminar, wannabes will always be drawn to such affairs seeking their break, prompting the WGA to remind attendees not to pitch material to the 175 panelists donating their time.

Yet if the goals of those with their nose pressed against the glass remain constant, the prevailing mood among gainfully employed writers does appear grumpier than ever. What promises to be the program’s most intriguing panel, titled “The Writer as Subversive,” underscores that mind-set, with a group of A-list scribes being asked to discuss if it’s possible to “do personally important work that serves their conscience and pays the mortgage” in a business run by global conglomerates.

Granted, writers have always had a love-hate relationship with Hollywood, one that mostly involves loving its money and hating its practices. Their sense of unease has mushroomed, however, as studio moguls gave way to corporate muckety-mucks who speak of movies and TV shows as “product” or “software” to feed their distribution machinery.

The guild remains so apprehensive about this shift that it petitioned the government this year to reexamine rules on media ownership, maintaining that the public has as much cause to fear these media behemoths as writers do.

Network executives are obligated to downplay such concerns, but they have tacitly acknowledged that concentrating creative decisions in too few hands might not be the wisest policy. ABC officials admitted in hindsight that they may have overdosed on “synergy” by letting network parent Disney’s production unit supply 26 out of 30 new-series candidates for next season.

Similarly, NBC announced plans for autonomous “pods” to develop programs--an attempt to nurture independent thinking in a business environment that seems antithetical to the term.

While it’s hard to criticize companies for a commitment to profits and stock prices (yes, AOL Time Warner shareholders, we feel your pain), it’s equally clear that “art” can’t always be made to fit as neatly as a Big Mac in its container. No wonder writers worry about their role when the $100-million movie opening weekend has become a reality, films are called “franchises,” and it’s rare to see less than a half-dozen names affixed to a blockbuster screen- play.

In television, by contrast, the writer--or more accurately, the series creator-executive producer-”show runner”--sits atop the food chain; still, because these demigods double as producers who employ other writers, they often have little in common with their less-exalted brethren.

Moreover, TV’s own version of a fast-food strategy is taking root, placing more emphasis on familiar titles and names to stand apart from the din of competing channels. As a result, you’ll see a fourth series under the “Law & Order” banner later this month and a “CSI” spinoff this fall. While this approach ignores that TV’s biggest hits usually originate from unexpected sources, at least it provides executives a built-in alibi when dealing with their corporate bosses, allowing them to say, “Hey, we went with the guy who created ‘The Practice,’ how did we know he was gonna mess things up?”

These are all frequent laments among writers but thus far haven’t helped them convince the public that movies and TV would be demonstrably better if creative types were afforded greater freedom. Perhaps that explains why this weekend’s conference will open with a bit of science fiction, as a panel of writers ponder the concept “It’s Good to Be King: If I Ran the Industry.”

One can certainly understand why writers feel even more frustrated and unappreciated than usual as they churn out “software” for Viacom or News Corp. Yet as those inside the belly of the beast share their war stories, it’s worth remembering that they will be surrounded and outnumbered by an army of those who view the battle from afar and, for the most part, just want to know how to enlist.

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Brian Lowry’s column appears Wednesdays. He can be reached at brian.lowry@latimes.com.