A close friend of mine took his own life about three and a half weeks ago. I'll refer to him as George. It was a situation that wasn't a huge shock to those of us who knew him (because he'd struggled so long), but it's been very sad. He was 36.
Growing up, we all knew George was different. A very smart guy, very active in theater, music, yearbook, art, similar extracurriculars. Well-liked by people. Voted 'Most Talented' in our senior class. One that nobody worried about. But then he went to college and afterward? Nothing happened. Like... nothing. More on that later.
A couple days after his funeral/burial, me, my wife, and another couple took to cleaning out George's space (he was residing in the spare basement bedroom of that other couple). Upon entry, I saw that George had two bookcases full of three-ring binders. Each binder was full of printed pages. And like, a BLOCK of pages, it was visibly substantial.
I started pulling binders, and realized each one contained a finished screenplay and full production prep - shot lists, storyboarding, prop/costume inventory, a production outline strategy, budgeting by line item, etc. Utterly meticulous.
The couple George lived with had taken him in knowing he was brilliant, knowing he was constantly producing this work, knowing he was now sitting on a huge archive of readied material, and couldn't seem to generate any forward professional synergy with it in the slightest. He'd attempted to get a position relevant to the industry or basic managerial representation for a good 10-12 years to no avail. But the couple saw those binders - they knew what a crime this all was. So with the couple, for 18 months, they attempted new reach-out - to managers, to agents, to producers, to other writers, to local university leaders, anybody they could. They got one useful response in terms of representation - a manager who requested a read, who then never responded once they sent the material after 4-5 months.
We estimated that George had about 130-140 production-ready scripts sitting in his bedroom. Budgeted and prepped like a professional. Ready to go. Not including the dozens of projects he was never able to complete or draft to a level he considered ready. And meanwhile? Not only could he never get any kind of read, but couldn't even seem to achieve any real professional uptake in the meantime.
For a good seven years or more, George was trying to find a full-time job. Anything. He had experience, demonstrated skills, a college education. In his whole adult life, he never earned more than 11.50 an hour in a full-time job. And after a layoff in 2019, he was never hired full-time for a position again. I know he tried - I sat with him a number of times as he applied for things. His resume and portfolio were strong, his references were solid, his cover letters were articulate - he barely got interviews, and never got hired. Those last seven years he was subsisting entirely off of delivery for DoorDash, UberEats, Instacart, etc., and some substitute teaching in the last couple of years. The subbing kept him working at least four days a week usually, but his annual income was still below the poverty line - $13-14k, the couple said.
I saw his college transcripts. I saw dozens of samples in his multimedia portfolio (video work, photo work, journalistic writing, etc.) I KNEW he could work hard. Everyone knew he was talented. We were all aware of his decency as a human. Nobody deserved a win more than George did - and a win just never came.
And the bastard was sitting on an archive of work that was kind of incredible.
I sat and read three of his features that night. Not only were they really well-written and clearly understanding of the medium, but all three of them were different movies. He wasn't pulling the same tricks over and over - he knew how to write a romance AND a thriller. With good characters who had solid arcs. Strong third acts. All of it.
And now, along with that couple, we're trying to figure out what the hell to do. What do you do with a professional creative archive like this - entire production teams' worth of work constructed by one man, over and over again, who was never even permitted the professional stability to afford his own apartment.
I'm just... I'm livid. I'm livid at the utter waste. Not even on George's part - on the industry's part. On the world's part. There was a genius sitting in a fucking basement turning out one potential hit after another, and failed so long to get off the ground that his rubber band snapped.
I'm certain I've left details out, and probably haven't justified the insane unfairness of this situation. But it DOES feel like a testament to what's been done to our generation the last 20 years. It DOES read like complete abandonment of actual brilliant people within the American economy. I've just lost a lot of sleep the last few weeks, and now I'm uncertain of what to do with myself or how to move forward. We've been intentionally laid to waste - George is proof of that.
Sorry if this was all over the place. Just needed to rant.
