Sleepless In Hollywood: Tales From The New Abnormal In The Movie Business - Plot & Excerpts
My lunch date had to cancel because he had to evacuate his parents from their burning gated community in San Diego. The crazy Santa Ana winds were kicking carbon dust into my face from the thirteen fires that were raging out of control up and down the coast, and that’s not counting the one that was about to consume the entire town: the writers’ strike. The 1988 strike was Vesuvian, lasting six months and costing the industry half a billion dollars. It is remembered as “the Bloodbath.” The financial consequences had been so dire that neither side had fought again until now. But the sides were redrawn as a new revenue frontier was opening up—the virtual one—and if the past was prelude to the future, the future was grim. The trace memory of that strike had the town shivering in the ninety-eight-degree heat nineteen years later. Both camps were entrenched as the Writers Guild of America (WGA) contract was expiring that night. The ghetto was hyperventilating. In Hollywood at times of industry-wide stress, everyone is a ghetto Jew.
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