Doug typed furiously, the rhythmic clack of the typewriter keys echoing through the small, stuffy room. Sheets of paper already littered the floor around his chair, the casualties of discarded ideas. He was working on the rewrite of one of the key scenes of The Blue Lagoon, and the pressure weighed heavily on him.
Just yesterday, Randal had urged him to hurry, insisting the production was moving faster than anyone had anticipated. The crew was somehow shooting underwater scenes at an astonishing pace. Usually, filmmakers dreaded shooting underwater or on boats, but this production appeared to be the rare exception. No one knew exactly why, but the studio would be thrilled once they heard about the progress.
"Finally," Doug muttered, exhaling a long breath as he pulled the last page from the typewriter. "It's done."
He stacked the page neatly with the others and slipped them into a worn manila folder, its edges frayed from weeks of handling. For a moment, he considered bringing the finished draft to Randal personally. Instead, he leaned back in his chair and decided against it.
Most Hollywood writers stretched their writing process as long as possible, and Doug understood why. Deliver a script too early, and filmmakers would inevitably find mistakes that weren't really there, demanding rewrites even if the pages were perfect. Deliver it too late, and you risk being branded as unreliable. There was a narrow, sweet spot in between, and Doug had learned to live in it.
With the rewrite finished, he decided to turn to his personal project. He skimmed through the last few pages he had written and felt a small surge of pride. The dialogue, the pacing, the imagery, everything was good, maybe even better than good. Satisfied, he rolled a fresh blank page into the typewriter and rested his fingers on the keys.
And then… nothing.
He stared at the paper, waiting for inspiration to strike, his mind as blank as the sheet in front of him. He knew exactly what needed to happen in the next scene, but the words refused to come.
"Ugh!" he groaned, throwing his head back. Thirty minutes passed in silence, broken only by the rustling of palm fronds outside the window. Doug pushed away from the desk and stood, pacing the small room.
Despite being on a tropical island, he had nowhere to go. The beach was off-limits while they filmed, and wandering aimlessly into the dense forest held no appeal. Eventually, he flopped down on the bed, hoping a nap might clear his head.
Sleep never came. He rolled over and found himself staring at a small, spiral-bound notebook lying on the nightstand.
"Wait, isn't this the script Noah wrote?" he whispered, narrowing his eyes. He didn't remember placing it there. Picking it up, he thumbed through the first few pages. "Yeah, right. Like a teenager could write something good in less than a week, all while juggling a full-time day job."
When Noah had handed it to him, Doug had seriously considered returning it unread, claiming he was too busy. But now, with boredom gnawing at him and nothing better to do, the notebook suddenly seemed more appealing.
"At least I'll get a laugh out of it," he said under his breath. Sitting upright, he flipped to the first page and began to read.
As expected of a script written by a teenager, it started with a sex fantasy of said boy peeping on a naked girl in a shower. At least one thing was sure, this scene alone would capture the attention of all those perverts called film executives. And to an extent, Doug understood why such scenes have to be included in many movies today. If a movie is R-rated, it has to have a naked girl or a nude sex scene for it to be approved by any major studio. Many indie filmmakers are even forced to add sex scenes to their otherwise perfectly good movie after they sell it to a studio, for this exact reason.
Even a great director like Martin Scorsese was forced to add one such scene in his debut movie.
For Noah to understand the need for such a scene, and to place it at the very opening of his film, was either luck, genius, or pure adolescent perversion.
Whatever the reason, it caught Doug's attention, and he began reading the script with genuine interest. The deeper he went, the more fascinated he became. The story followed a boy left alone at home, coaxed by his friends into calling a prostitute. What started as a reckless prank spiraled into a lesson about risk, reward, and capitalism, one that the boy would never forget.
The humor was sharp and unrelenting. Some of it was undeniably crude, but that was to be expected from a teen sex comedy. What impressed Doug most was the female lead, the prostitute. She wasn't a throwaway character or just eye candy. She was fully realized, layered, flawed, and human. She had a voice and purpose beyond the role others assigned her.
Hours passed in a blur as Doug devoured every page. When he finally reached the end, he leaned back in his chair and exhaled slowly. It was, in his opinion, perfect. A classic Hollywood finish. The protagonist's daring venture, his "risky business", paid off, earning him a small fortune and a coveted spot at Harvard. The villainous pimp received his just deserts, while the boy and the prostitute parted on hopeful terms. They lived in different worlds, but they promised to keep in touch, leaving the door open for something more.
A perfect Hollywood ending.
"Holy shit," Doug whispered, his voice low with awe.
He hadn't expected to enjoy it so much. The script's structure and character work needed refinement, but that was to be expected from someone as young and inexperienced as Noah. With a few redrafts and the input of a seasoned writer, this story could be exceptional.
This was gold. Absolutely brilliant.
Doug rose quickly, gripping the script tightly as though afraid it might vanish. He stepped out of his temporary quarters into the blinding sunlight. The heat pressed down on him as he made his way toward the beach, where the crew was in the middle of a shoot. Voices shouted over the hum of cameras and the crash of distant waves.
"What happened!?"
Doug froze at the sound of Noah's panicked voice.
Up ahead, inside a shadowed cave, Julie lay on her side, her pale skin damp with sweat, her lips trembling faintly. Noah knelt beside her, worry etched into his face.
He yanked off his torn shirt, now left in only a fraying loincloth that barely preserved his modesty, and dabbed Julie's forehead with the fabric.
"I stepped on one of those fish that looks like a rock," Julie whimpered, her voice weak.
"Oh no." Noah's head shook quickly, almost frantically. "Don't go to sleep. Please, you can't do this to me."
"God," Julie whispered, her eyes half-closed. "Please. Take me to God."
Noah's face twisted with anguish. "But the law…"
Julie's eyes fluttered shut, and she said nothing more.
He hesitated, caught between what she was asking and what he feared it meant. "Take me to God" could just as easily mean she wanted to die.
This, Doug realized, was one of Noah's strongest scenes. The protagonist, Richard, was being forced to make a life-or-death decision. He chose to interpret her words literally. With a fierce expression, he scooped her up in his arms and sprinted across the island, desperate to save her.
Wait. There was no cut?
Doug frowned, realizing the camera was still rolling. One of the cameramen trailed Noah and Julie with a handheld camera. No, Doug noticed the setup; it wasn't handheld at all. It was a Steadicam.
And then it clicked.
Steadicam was still a relatively new innovation in the film industry. In the past, whenever a shot required the actors to move, the camera would be mounted on a dolly, gliding smoothly along tracks. While it gave control over speed and motion, it came with countless limitations. Any change in terrain, like a staircase, a slope, or even uneven ground, would break the illusion, forcing cuts or complicated setups.
But Steadicam changed everything. It freed the camera. Now, the only real limit on the length of a shot was the cameraman's endurance and the amount of film loaded into the magazine.
Noah was proving just how powerful a scene could be when allowed to breathe in a single take. Carrying Julie in his arms, he climbed a steep hill without faltering, his muscles straining under the weight. Sweat gleamed on his bare shoulders as he plunged into thick jungle undergrowth, vines brushing against his skin, before crossing a shallow brook with the same determined pace. The Steadicam operator kept up, never losing sight of his expression, capturing every flicker of fear and anguish on his face.
Finally, Noah reached the stone altar, the same one where his character had previously witnessed a man sacrificed to the island's god. He knelt, placing the unconscious Julie carefully upon the cold stone slab.
"God," he whispered hoarsely, looking up at the weathered statue looming above him. "Please don't make Em never wake up. I didn't mean it earlier."
His voice cracked, and then he broke down completely. He lowered his forehead onto Julie's bosom, his breath heavy and ragged, his shoulders shaking with raw emotion.
Doug blinked, unsettled. That wasn't in the script. He specifically remembered writing a half-remembered prayer at this point, not this quiet plea or the breakdown that followed.
"Alright! Cut!" Randal's voice echoed through the clearing. "That was great, guys. Let's move on to the next one!"
As the crew bustled to reset equipment, Doug approached Nestor, the director of photography.
"Was it your decision to make it a long take?" he asked.
Nestor shook his head with a small smile. "Noah suggested it, but the final call was Randal's. He asked if my team could pull it off, and I said, 'Hell yes, we can.'" Nestor's eyes lit up as he glanced toward Noah. "That kid has incredible instincts for filmmaking. Mark my words, one day he's going to be a great director. He's a natural."
That was… unexpected. Doug knew Noah had been observing and learning on set, but he hadn't realized the boy was actually good.
"Was he also the one to suggest altering my script?" Doug asked, trying to keep his tone even.
"Initially, we shot it exactly as you wrote it," Nestor explained. "But Randal and I both felt something was missing. Noah asked if he could try a bit of improvisation. Randal greenlit it, and what you just saw was the result. Don't worry, we have both takes. We can use either in editing, or maybe even cut between them, taking the best part of both versions in the final cut."
Doug nodded, but deep down, he knew this version of the scene was far superior. Audiences connected with actions far more than words. Watching a male protagonist break down and cry always hit like a gut punch, and Noah carried that weight beautifully. Besides, what was the point of a long take if it ended up being chopped into pieces in the editing room?
"Hoof!" Noah exhaled dramatically as he and Julie walked back toward the crew. He flashed a grin. "You need to lose a few pounds, Jules. My back's about to snap from all those reshoots."
Julie stopped in mock outrage, her eyes wide. "Did you just call me fat?"
Noah lifted his hands in an innocent shrug, but the teasing spark in his eyes betrayed him.
"I'm not fat. Maybe you're just not as strong as you think," Julie shot back with a smirk. "Forget about the Olympics, you're never getting there if you can't even lift me."
"Take that back!" Noah lunged forward and, with a burst of energy, hoisted her over his shoulder like a sack of flour. Julie let out a startled squeal, kicking lightly in protest.
"Put me down, Noah!" she cried, trying to keep the laughter out of her voice.
"Not until you take it back," Noah said, grinning as he held her firmly in place.
The nearby crew members chuckled at their childish antics, a few shaking their heads as they prepared equipment for the next setup.
"Noah," Doug called out before the playful wrestling could go on any longer. "Can I talk to you for a bit?"
Noah immediately set Julie back on her feet and walked over, wiping sweat from his brow.
"Man," he said with a lopsided grin, "I don't know if you have the best timing or the worst when it comes to Julie and me."
"He definitely has the worst timing," Nestor chimed in teasingly as he passed by, bumping Noah's shoulder. "Always coming between young love."
Doug chuckled and shook his head at the jab.
Noah smirked but then turned serious, his tone shifting. "So, what's up, Doug?"
Doug smiled at the question, his excitement bubbling up. "I just finished reading your script, [Risky Business]."
"Oh?" Noah's eyebrow arched in curiosity. "So… is it any good?"
"It's great," Doug said honestly, the enthusiasm clear in his voice. "The story is exactly what Hollywood loves. The screenplay could use a little polishing here and there, but other than that? It's as good as you could hope for from a newcomer like you."
Nestor, who had overheard, looked genuinely surprised. "Wait, you wrote a script?" he asked Noah. "When did you find the time for that?"
"I'd been working on the story for a while," Noah explained with an easy shrug. "I just put it into script format after we got here on the island."
Doug jumped in, feeling the need to vouch for him. "It's a fantastic story. Some of the humor is a bit juvenile, but that's exactly the sort of thing teens want these days. And it's got every single element that makes a film stand out."
Nestor raised his brows, clearly impressed. "Really?"
"Yes," Doug said, nodding emphatically before turning directly to Noah. "So here's what I suggest. I'm leaving for the States in a few days. While you finish filming here, I can present this script to a few studios I'm already in contact with. The truth is, studios rarely give the time of day to an unknown writer, but I can open those doors. I'll even register the script in your name with the WGA to protect it."
Noah frowned slightly, his eyes narrowing as he considered the offer. After a few moments of silence, he asked, "Why? What do you get out of this?"
"I'll rewrite it, of course," Doug said, as if the answer were obvious. "It's extremely rare for a first draft to be accepted by any studio. And it's even rarer for just one writer to be involved in the entire process. Usually, it's a group or even a whole team working on a script. Only on rare occasions does a single writer handle the entire thing. Even on The Blue Lagoon, we had three writers working on it back in the States."
"But your name is the only one on the script," Noah pointed out, his tone probing.
Doug nodded. "Yeah, because I did most of the work and penned the first draft entirely on my own, just like you did with Risky Business. When this becomes a film, you'll be credited as the sole writer. I'll still get paid by the studio for my contribution, so it's a win-win for everyone."
Noah hesitated, then glanced at Nestor for guidance.
"This is actually a good idea," Nestor said with a measured nod. "Making a film takes years, and I'm not even talking about the pre-production. Just getting the greenlight from a studio, arranging funds, pulling the crew together—that alone can take ages. If Doug presents it to studios now, the chances of it getting made sooner go up. That's assuming, of course, that a studio is interested in the first place."
Noah nodded slowly, clearly mulling it over. Then he turned back to Doug. "No offence, but what's stopping you from stealing this idea and calling it your own before I'm even done with this film? Or worse, registering the script in your own name?"
Doug smiled slightly at the challenge. "If I had any intention of doing that, I'd have quietly left for LA and you wouldn't even know I had."
Noah didn't have a counter for that.
"Still, it's a valid concern," Doug admitted. "A lot of people in Hollywood pull stunts like that. So here's what I'll do: I'll put it in writing. I'll type up an agreement stating clearly that I took your script, that I'll register it in your name, and that I'll present it to producers I know. We can even get it signed by Nestor, Randal, or whoever you'd prefer as witnesses, so I wouldn't be able to deny it later."
Noah finally nodded. "Alright, let's do it. But if you're going to producers, start with Columbia. Only if they say no should you approach anyone else. I have a three-picture deal with them, and I'd like to get it over with as soon as possible."
Doug nodded. "Makes sense. Anything else?"
"It goes without saying that I'll play the lead role," Noah added firmly. "That's non-negotiable." He hesitated for a moment, clearly wrestling with whether to speak further.
"What is it?" Doug prompted gently.
Noah shook his head, his voice lower this time. "Nothing… It's just that… I was hoping to maybe direct the film as well, but…" He trailed off, leaving the thought unfinished.
Doug immediately understood why that would be an issue. Noah was as new to the industry as they came. He had picked up a lot of knowledge about filmmaking on set, but that didn't mean a major studio like Columbia would hand a $5 million budget to a first-time director. And [Risky Business] would require at least that much to pull off the scale of what was on the page, including the elaborate driving sequences and that one particular moment when a car was plunged into a lake.
"I think you can do it."
All three of them turned at once, surprised by the fourth voice that had joined the conversation.
Randal Kleiser approached, his calm authority immediately commanding attention. He placed a reassuring hand on Noah's bare shoulder. "I've been watching you this past month, and I have to say, you have that spark and passion for films that's missing in most teenagers."
He then turned to Doug, his expression serious. "I'll make sure that by the time Noah leaves the island, he'll understand filmmaking inside and out. And as much as I get the studios' reservations, sometimes, if someone truly wants to be a successful filmmaker, they have to force the studio's hand. You go pitch this to whoever you can, and make it clear that Noah will direct the film. If anyone objects, I'll vouch for his capabilities personally."
Doug was still skeptical, but he nodded slowly, conceding the point.
"Can I read Noah's script in the meantime?" Randal asked, holding out his hand.
"Sure," Doug replied, glancing at Noah for confirmation before handing the notebook over.
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AN: Read up to 40 advanced chapters on my website, or check out my other story, Dreams of Stardom.
Link: www(dot)fablefic(dot)com