The first ThunderCats script I wrote I left on Jules’ desk for comments. When I returned to the office the next morning it had notes in red ink scrawled all over it. I mean every page. And none of them gentle. He wasn’t in the office to confront or request clarification so I rewrote it, believing that I was addressing all his notes, and left it on his desk again. The next morning there were maybe two pages out of 30-odd without an apparently angry red scrawl. Again, I couldn’t discuss it face to face (was he avoiding me?) and rewrote for a third time. Looking back, I think Lee was avoiding me too!
Finally, I did get to talk to Jules.
It was crystal clear that despite a brusque, often rather rude and sometimes disparaging tone, he really knew his subject. I swallowed any indignation or pride and listened hard. It sounds too easy now but underlying almost every note were one of two adjurations: “Simplify, simplify” and “It’s not on the page.” How very many times in my own career as an editor have I given those same notes because one truth about writing is that we all tend to over-complicate even the simplest ideas or direction; and we so very often reply to any note or criticism with ‘What I meant is… ‘ which is a useless response if you haven’t actually put what you meant on the page.
When I worked with him, I didn’t much rate Jules as a screenwriter though I liked his novel Headhunters. However, I have never met or worked with a better reader of a script. No one has given me better notes. Despite the way our friendship and our working relationship ended, I am forever grateful for what Jules Bass taught me, for how he allowed me to experiment and learn as I went along and how he developed whatever ability I began with.
More next week…