Oh, it’s nothing that a clever screenwriter would call his defining
characteristic, there’s a lot more to him.
It’s just that in the movie business, it’s not every day you meet a
fellow who’ll make reference to Stan Getz and Joao Gilberto just as easily as he
will Ted Elliott and Terry Rossio.
But if the phrase “jazz buff” brings to mind pointy-headed intellectuals
too high-minded to relate to the common man, you may be pleasantly
surprised.
Like anyone who would successfully
represent screenwriters, Marc has varied tastes. He likes broad comedy, breakneck action,
thrillers and horror. His favorite
films of recent years have names like Titanic and Legally Blonde,
box-office successes, not subtitled soporifics. He can wax rhapsodic on the beauty of
the high concept in Liar, Liar, or on the difference between a working
screenwriter and “someone who just wrote a script.”
And then there’s his primary claim to
fame: Marc Hernandez may well be the Internet’s best-known literary
manager.
Last year, when he was still working for Zide-Perry, Marc sent around an
email asking for submissions from screenwriters. Such a simple idea, it’s a little
surprising no one had done it before.
He posted it indiscriminately, at film schools, on screenwriting
messageboards, and those who read it passed it on to their friends. It spread everywhere, and the result was
that he became known all over the Web, and beyond; articles appeared in the L.A.
Times, Variety, The Hollywood Reporter, Scr(i)pt magazine.
Since then, he’s founded his own
company, Crescendo Entertainment Group, and increased his Internet
presence.
“It’s been like having my
own sales force,” he says. “I get a
response from it all the time. And
not just from new writers. I’m
hearing from established writers looking for new representation.”
Which fits right into his goals as a
manager. He wants not only to
introduce “breaking, edgy talent,” but also to reestablish existing
writers.
“There are some big names
out there whose careers have, for whatever reason, slowed down. I’d like to help them get the exposure
they deserve.”
The benefit of having a manager, he
says, is one of personal attention.
“I started out as an assistant at an agency, UTA. It was my grad school. I learned a lot, and provided service
to
some really big names.”
But there
were a whole lot of those names, and he found that an individual artist might
get lost in that roster. Not so
with a manager; Marc has a more intimate connection with his writer-heavy
clientele.
“I can afford to be more
hands-on, develop a talent, get assignments, steer relationships with agents,
lawyers and production companies.”
So he expects his writers to be in it
for the long haul?
“My clients all
work towards being a screenwriter full-time. Sure, at the beginning you have to put
food on the table, you keep that day-job.
But you need to be working at it all the time... A writer who puts out one script and
waits for the lottery isn’t a writer.
You have to read up, take classes, learn your craft, network.”
Network? How can a writer outside of LA do
that?
“It’s tough. Not to say a writer in Kansas isn’t
talented, but it definitely helps to be in the mix. You need to be available for meetings,
you need to be someone producers and development people can see on a regular
basis. If a client lives outside of
California, you have to do a lot of work just getting them here.”
Any hints for the writer who cannot make
the West Coast move?
He does look
at online script postings, like Jerrol LeBaron’s Writers’ Script Network.
And his opinion of online script
consultants?
“Hey, if you can
afford it, sure.
It might help.”
Ask him what he looks for in a new
writer, and the jazz buff emerges.
“A voice, they need a voice.
Say you’ve got ten saxophone players, and they’re all doing ‘The Girl
From Ipanema.’ Same song, but each
one is going to sound different.
That’s voice.”
He wants to
be entertained when reading a script; a good story is a must, but if the
writing’s not interesting, too, he’ll never get to the story. He searches for professional writing
told in a unique manner.
The two most important elements of a
good screenplay are action and movement, by which he doesn’t necessarily mean
car chases and exploding oil tankers.
“Every day, I see scripts about three people sitting around talking.
There has to be movement, with drama and
emotion and strong character arcs I can recognize as realistic, human
experiences. Smart, movie-maker
ideas... whatever the opposite of cliché is, that’s what I
want.”
While the stories about “first-time
screenwriters” are enticing, he doesn’t find youth all that important a
trait. In fact, he likes a bit of
experience. “One of the first
questions I ask a prospective client is ‘how many scripts have you
written?’ If it’s just one, no
matter how good it is, I know we’re a long way from working together. It’s like a musician who wants to be in
a band, but he just bought his horn yesterday. You’ve got to learn your
instrument.” What’s a more
appealing number?
“If you can show
me five or six scripts, we’re getting closer. Eight or ten of good quality, now we’re
talking!”
And like any Hollywood professional, he
looks for scripts with that notoriously ambiguous “high concept.”
“I guess it can be hard to figure out,”
he admits. “And it’s true, you do
know it when you see it. But I can
define it. It’s an idea that’s
bigger than life, bigger than the script.”
One reason agents become
managers is that there are fewer legal constraints on a manager’s role. Managers can become producers, and too
often attach themselves to their clients’ scripts. Marc has no intention of letting that
happen to his writers.
“I am not a
producer. It could organically
develop someday, but not now. I
don’t want any baggage attached to a script that could keep it from
happening.”
You’ll hear that sort of thing a lot,
talking with Marc, a dedication to the final product, and the writer’s
vision. He has a youthful
enthusiasm about his clients’ projects that’s infectious.In the course of casual conversation,
he’ll stop to pitch a script. “Won’t that make a great movie?” he says, and he
makes you believe it. Not because he thinks you might be a
producer, not because he wants something from you. But because he’s genuinely jazzed about
it. Which is all a writer can ask
of a manager.
