Credits: May 2005 Archives
Even though I suspect most of you haven’t been in a credit arbitration, it’s never too early to start thinking about it.
You do plan on being successful in the business, right? Well, one of the true costs of success is credit arbitration. It’s emotional, it’s harrowing, and when it doesn’t work out in your favor, the result can be the indignity of sharing credit with someone you don’t think deserved it…or even worse, getting no credit at all for the work you did.
Actually, I think the worst thing is knowing that someone else is getting credit for the work you did, but that’s a tangent.
When you are involved in a credit arbitration, you are asked to write a statement. This statement is the only input you have in the process. Your statement and the scripts you wrote are it, baby. You can’t plead your case in person to the arbiters. You can’t call them. You can’t email. You will never know their names (and theoretically, they’re not supposed to cheat and figure out your name through IMDB).
It’s no surprise, then, that with our dignity, recognition, residuals and credit bonuses on the line, our one shot at making our case suddenly takes on mythic importance.
Having been on both sides of the arbitration process, and having spoken at length with a number of fellow writers who have been arbiters, some common “best practices” have emerged for a good arbitration statement. Take heed—I offer these not as an official WGA recommendation, but as my own personal opinion of what’s best.
Keep the statements short. No, really. I know how difficult it is to be economical when you feel like the other guys are probably submitting volumes of evidence against you. Besides, you have a thousand line-by-line arguments for why the credit ought to be a certain way. The problem is that the arbiters are writers with lives. They have to read three, four, ten…occasionally twenty drafts as part of this unpaid task! Burdening them with an additional novella isn’t going to help your case. How short is short? If the statement is more than two pages, you’re entering the red zone. More than five, and you’re in danger of seriously annoying the reader.
Do not badmouth the other participating writers. This is crucial. Going negative will never help you. The kind of guy who volunteers his time for his fellow writer, aka your arbiter, is precisely the kind of guy who doesn’t like seeing one writer crap on another. Furthermore, it’s a weak move. It’s all-too-easy to assume that you’re battering the other guy because the argument in favor of you ain’t that compelling.
Talk about what you contributed to the final screenplay, and nothing else. Who hired you, what you had to put up with, the bad notes you got, the fact that you didn’t deserve to get fired, the producer who pushed you around and made you do things…honestly, no one gives a good sweet damn. The readers have been given one simple assignment: determine the proper credit for the final screenplay.
Avoid the percentage trap. I must admit, I wrote a terrible statement earlier in my career, and serving as an arbiter and reading other writers’ statements made me realize it. My major error was a common one. Given that our arbiters are supposed to assign credit for contributions of a certain percentage to the final script, it’s awfully tempting to try and do your own mathematical analysis of the writing and help “guide” them to a number. “See, by following my logic and spreadsheet here, you can see that I’ve objectively contributed 58%!” No, no, no. The arbiters don’t want you to throw numbers at them. They want to make up their own minds by reading the scripts, and since they’re going to…why attempt to sway them with groundless arithmetic?
Thank them for their service. This one doesn’t help you win anyone over per se, but you ought to do it nonetheless. These people are giving their time, and they want to be spoken to nicely at the very least and gratefully at the very best. Don’t be a sycophant, but offer appreciation.
Cite the rules. The arbiters are going to have to cite the rules when they write their decisions. You’d best cite them as well. No, don’t quote the whole damn manual. Simply cite the one or two rules that you feel are most relevant. It will help frame the debate. If you have a slightly subtle point (God forbid), you must cite a rule to support it. Otherwise, it will simply flutter away into a cloud of ignored rhetoric.
Accept your fate. Some writers are tempted to look into the future when they write their statements. They say things like, “If I don’t get credit, then I’m just going to lose my mind.” Avoid this. In fact, it’s best to simply say, “I’m glad the decision is in the hands of my fellow writers. I trust you, and I will accept your answer whatever it is”. No, you don’t have to actually believe this. You might really want to say, “And seriously, if you blow this, I will track you down and kill you.” Showing the poor guy on the other end a little faith, though, certainly can’t hurt.
In the end, there’s no real way the style of a statement can sway an arbiter to decide in your favor. I do believe, though, that a bad statement can really hurt a writer’s chances. If you’re a writer who deals with one of these every year or two or three, then I highly recommend becoming an arbiter (call the Credits Department and let them know you’re ready and willing), because it will inevitably make you a better statement-writer.
If you’re a rookie or unproduced, bookmark this. Put it in your “when I make it big” folder. It’s going to happen to you sooner or later. The last thing I’d want is for any of you to repeat some of the mistakes I’ve already made.
