Bottom Feeders

A Lance Preedy Short Story

The other day, I came across a short story I wrote in 2012. Two stories, in fact, but I’ll get to the second one shortly. I’d completely forgotten about them. It’s always a strange and interesting feeling reading something you’ve forgotten you’d written. And I thought, as this is a Substack about working on the lower levels of the Film Industry, it might be good to publish them here as that is what they are about - the very bottom level of filmmaking.

Below is the first one - ‘Bottom Feeders’: the story of a young wannabe filmmaker taking his first “professional” meeting in London. Now, as I said, this was written in 2012 and as such captures a moment in time. A moment when I was first seeing some of the antics that happen on the lowest level(s) of the British Film Industry. It also means the references in the story date it to that period.

In 2012, I’d just made my first feature, A Reckoning, which was, by all accounts, a baptism by fire. I’d spent years networking, making connections, making shorts, writing scripts, and generally laying the groundwork in the run-up to directing A Reckoning (originally called ‘Straw Man’ - a far better title). In those years, I met some very interesting people - interesting being a polite way of saying very questionable people.

And questionable people in this industry, particularly on this low level, are legion.

This story features a protagonist named Lance Preedy. The second story I found, dated a year later in 2013, is also a Lance Preedy story. I wanted him to be kind of my Pat Hobby (Hobby is a creation of F. Scott Fitzgerald, and his character was a lazy, womanising, hack screenwriter for the Hollywood studio system in the 1940s. The Pat Hobby Stories are brilliant, I’ve read them three or four times. Check ‘em out). My character, Lance Preedy, is a hapless, attention-seeking, hack filmmaker. Someone totally out of his depths in the shark-infested waters of the UK film scene.

Unfortunately, I never got any further than writing ‘Bottom Feeders’ and the sequel story, ‘Summer Massacre’, which I’ll publish in a few days.

Preedy was an amalgamation of a few characters I met while trying to make my first film(s). He isn’t any one person, but he certainly has aspects of a few people I crossed paths with back then. Interestingly, or perhaps just inevitably, the people I’m thinking of have all fallen by the wayside.

Also, if I’m being honest, there is some of me in the story too. Certainly, as I was back then, and certainly in the setting and situation of this first story. Myself and regular co-writer Matthew Waldram took a meeting at a cafe in Soho with a guy from Icon Productions around this time. Probably 2011. I remember that Terry Gilliam walked by the cafe window seconds before the meeting was about to take place and I was torn between what to do - go talk to him or stay for my meeting. I stayed for the meeting.

I haven’t changed a word of this story, however tempted I was to tinker. I just thought it best to present it as written. I suppose I want to kind of document where I was as a writer 13 years ago. I’ve done the same with ‘Summer Massacre’, which is also based on a real event I once found myself in.

Just one final thing. In 2016 or 2017, somewhere around then, back when Twitter was a very different landscape, I put ‘Bottom Feeders’ out in a series of tweets. I’d seen David Mitchell do the same with one of his short stories (the novelist, not the comedian), and I tried to do the same. The one person who picked up on the story back then was none other than Stephen Volk, who got in touch to tell me how much he enjoyed the story and how true to life it felt. That led to us talking a lot over the years, and to me eventually directing his short story Baby on Board.

You see, you never know where these things will lead.

Anyway, hope you enjoy the first Lance Preedy story.

Thank you.

(Warning: does contain swearing - once again! - and adult themes.)

(Second disclaimer: The actions and events in this story are how NOT to do things!)

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Bottom Feeders

By

Andrew David Barker

By the time Lance Preedy arrived at London Marylebone he was already fucked off. He’d tweeted throughout his journey that morning and no one had responded. Not one person. He hadn’t even been retweeted. 3,456 followers and no one seemed to care that this was the most important day of his life. Wankers.

To add to this, the train was fifteen minutes late arriving in London due to some work on the line past Princes Risborough. Still, he’d left plenty early to make his one o’clock meeting with ease.

He bought some ciggies at the newsagents and then checked his phone. His Twitter feed remained uncommented on. He took the escalator down to the underground and waited for the tube to Piccadilly. He stared at the posters splashed around the platform. He read the blocks of credits and memorised who did what on each film. The tube arrived and he got on. It was very crowded and he had to stand.

~

Once at Piccadilly Circus, Lance bought a Big Mac and sat eating it beneath the statue of Eros. A group of girls sat near him, so he pulled out the script from his bag and began flicking through it, being careful to position the title page in their general direction. He found yet another spelling mistake and took out a pen and marked it up. The group of girls walked off into the thick throng. Not one of them had noticed Lance or his screenplay.

He put the script back in his bag and lit a cigarette. He looked at his phone and saw that @scriptgirl85 had retweeted him. She very often did, but he didn’t follow her. With half an hour still to go before his meeting, Lance decided to make his way over to Café Blue, so to be there nice and early.

~

He walked through Soho. All neon sex and women stood in doorways. He tweeted while walking, telling the world he was now heading to his meeting with a film company. He didn’t specify. By the time he got to Café Blue, @ellisworld had wished him good luck. This lifted Lance’s spirits and fuelled further tweeting while he waited for his contact from Source Films.

The café was small and dark, with only a few patrons. Lance bought a coffee and sat by the window. He checked his phone again and saw he’d gained three new followers. A man entered the café, but Lance didn’t think it was Simon Easton, as the man was Chinese. He pulled out his script once again and placed it on the table before him. This way Simon would know who he was. One o’clock came and went with no sign of the man from Source Films.

~

Simon Easton finally arrived at one fifteen. He made no apology as he shook Lance firmly by the hand. He made no eye contact. Simon Easton seemed flustered and distracted. Lance could hear himself stumbling over his words as he tried to pitch his film. Still, he outlined Last Massacre as best he could, even though Simon’s eyes never settled and he kept tapping the table. He seemed more focused on the young girl serving behind the counter if truth be told.

Simon’s phone rang, which he answered right away, cutting Lance off in mid-sentence. Lance took this opportunity to compose himself. He looked through his script, trying to keep the fire in his heart. It sounded like Simon was talking to someone about another meeting he was having later that day. Lance was just another face, he realised. He’d have to step it up if he was to have any chance of getting this guy’s attention.

‘As one door closes…’ Simon Easton said once he was off the phone. Lance asked him what he meant and Simon scoffed.

‘There was this starfucker on the last film we did.’

‘Starfucker?’ asked Lance.

‘Yeah, Alela her name was. She’d attach herself to whichever cock she thought could elevate her career the fastest. Fit as fuck mind.’

‘Did she give you problems then?’

‘Fucking shit loads. First she got the director sniffing around her like a lap dog, then she had one of the main actors, mainly because she’d heard he’d just been cast in some fucking movie Eli Roth was producing… then she made a beeline for me as soon as she heard we’d green-lit three further productions for next year.’

‘What did you do?’

‘What, you mean after I knocked the back outta her?’

Simon laughed loudly in the quiet café. Lance laughed along with him, conscious to laugh as long as Simon did.

‘So I take it she’s not been cast in the next film you’re doing then?’

‘Well, she was for about five minutes, until my wife poked her nose in.’

‘Oh.’

‘Oh, indeed.’

Pause.

‘So you want to shoot your film for what… 35…40k?’

‘Yes,’ said Lance. ‘I reckon what with all the favours I can pull in, and the fact that I’ve raised ten grand already through Twitter, we’re pretty much good to go. I’ve got my crew – really good bunch of people I’ve met over the years doing shorts, and I just know we can shoot the shit out of this, no worries.’

‘How did you raise ten grand on Twitter?’

‘Well, I’ve been living with this project now for over three years, tweeting the fuck outta it. Set up a website, got this real cool gory looking poster done and just kept asking for money. I do these tweetathon things…’

‘A what?’

‘A tweetathon. It’s where I stay up for days at a time and just keep banging out tweets asking for funding – I’ve made shit loads doing that stuff. The longest I stayed up for was seventy-two hours!’

‘Jesus! Well, I can certainly see you’re determined. But what experience do you have actually directing a film, Lance?’

Pause.

‘I’ve made six short films and two music videos.’

Simon laughed. Lance didn’t laugh with him this time.

‘Look, I flicked through your script last night… some nice gory stuff in there and plenty of tit I see – always good for sales – and I reckon we could sell it through Asda or Tescos or one of those chains….’

The words were left in the air to linger. Lance gripped his chair.

‘Have you thought about having a gangster element in there?’

‘Gangsters?’

‘Yeah, like some fucking London hard boys and they have to battle these naked werewolf women, or whatever they are… now that might work. I know Hassan and Dyer and all those reprobates. I reckon they’d been mad for this script.’

‘Really?’

‘Yeah, sure. Do a rewrite Lance and get some fucking London boys tearing these bitches apart and I think we’ve got a film.’

For a moment, Lance was unable to speak. Simon laughed his overly loud laugh and got up to leave. Lance stood up too and offered his hand. Simon took it, this time making eye contact.

‘Thank you, Mr. Easton. I’ll get straight to work on the rewrite this weekend.’

‘Good stuff, Lance. Email me.’

And then he was gone.

~

Lance sat in the café for a further twenty minutes, tweeting that his film had been green-lit. He even tweeted some celebrities. He’d often do this, keeping the likes of John Cusack or Simon Pegg abreast of his latest developments. They never responded, but Lance figured it never hurt to get the word out there to famous people. He also told the world about the possible cast he may have coming on board.

He left the café and went to catch the tube back to Marylebone. Lots of people tweeted him wanting to know more. His avatar was a picture of him looking down the lens of a PD150. He’d had that picture up for over a year now, but this was the first time he truly felt like a real filmmaker.

On the train back to the Midlands, Lance updated his FB page and his website via his laptop. He even found a picture of Danny Dyer and put it on the home page of his site, and with the words Possible Lead!! He always liked to use exclamation marks.

He reworked his screenplay for Last Massacre over the weekend. He always prided himself on how fast he could knock out a script. As soon as he’d finished he emailed it straight to Simon Easton.

~

Simon Easton wrote back a week later. It simply read:

I’m afraid we’re going to pass. Good luck with your project.

BW

SE

Andrew David Barker © 2012

Lance Preedy will return in ‘Summer Massacre’!!