that wasn’t enough to finish the film, and with half of the script in the can in 1993, they had to turn to a film completion fund for the rest of the money.
To save money, Russell had made a deal with a motel in upstate New York to make a promotional video for them in exchange for letting the crew live there during the shoot. The crew was grumpy and suspicious. Russell recalled, “They’ve all made more movies than you. You’re like, ‘How do we light that?’ And they’re like, ‘Grumble, grumble …incest guy …he’s making us pay attention to this disgusting piece of shit.’ So that was really arduous.”
For the filmmaker, the experience felt dangerous and thrilling. “There was something in me that compelled me to do it. It was autobiographical, except the extremeness of it, and the literalness of it was not. I remember feeling very liberated when I wrote it,” Russell said. “And there were still great feelings of liberation in makingthe movie, reclaiming something that she appropriated, by making your own point.”
Fine Line executive Ira Deutchman and a few colleagues saw an early screening of
Spanking the Monkey
at the DuArt Film Laboratories’ office on Fifty-fifth Street and Eighth Avenue in Manhattan.
He didn’t get it. Neither did Bob Shaye, who wasn’t happy with the way the film turned out. “I expected a twisted drama,” Shaye said. “It turned out to be a black comedy. I was disappointed. Dismayed.” Deutchman passed. “We didn’t see what the hook was,” said Deutchman. “We didn’t know what it was. Would this subject matter attract an audience?”
They thought not. But then the film was accepted at the 1994 Sundance Film Festival, and Deutchman went to see it again in Park City, this time in a room with an audience. At the much-anticipated first screening, with most of the major distribution executives present, Miramax’s Harvey Weinstein got up and left after the first few minutes of the film. You could count him out of the running for any bid on the film—and anyone who happened to see him leave. But the audience laughed, rather than recoiled. They cheered, they hollered. At a party at the River Horse Café later that night along Main Street, Deutchman told New Line chief Bob Shaye that he wanted to buy
Spanking the Monkey.
Shaye replied, “Over my dead body.” Deutchman bought it anyway, though he knew that if the movie failed Shaye would use it as a chit against him.
Shaye wasn’t happy about the deal, but neither, it turned out, was Russell. Deutchman had made a low-ball offer (it just covered the cost of the negative, $155,000), the day before the film festival was to end, and told Russell the offer would expire by the end of the award ceremony the next day. Russell and producer Dean Silvers knew that if the film won an award—as was buzzed at the festival—the asking price would automatically rise. But if it didn’t, they’d run the risk of losing the New Line offer altogether. Russell decided not to risk losing the deal and shook hands with the executive backstage before the awards started. Minutes later
Spanking the Monkey
won the audience award. Russell felt like New Line hadheld him up. (Russell does not remember being anything but happy with the
Spanking
deal.)
Spanking the Monkey
performed more than respectably for an indie movie, taking in $1.3 million. The investors got their money back. Russell won critical acclaim and the Independent Spirit Award for Best First Feature and Best First Screenplay.
But his rancor toward New Line would later contribute to Deutchman’s demise at the studio, and to the end of Grillo’s career there.
T ARANTINO RETURNED FROM THE 1992 C ANNES F ILM F FESTIVAL a changed man. He’d gone to France an unknown; he returned as the most talked-about filmmaker in America. His pal Scott Spiegel had an attic filled with articles about him from the
Hollywood Reporter, Variety
, and
L.A. Weekly.
He was rich: TriStar Pictures and
To save money, Russell had made a deal with a motel in upstate New York to make a promotional video for them in exchange for letting the crew live there during the shoot. The crew was grumpy and suspicious. Russell recalled, “They’ve all made more movies than you. You’re like, ‘How do we light that?’ And they’re like, ‘Grumble, grumble …incest guy …he’s making us pay attention to this disgusting piece of shit.’ So that was really arduous.”
For the filmmaker, the experience felt dangerous and thrilling. “There was something in me that compelled me to do it. It was autobiographical, except the extremeness of it, and the literalness of it was not. I remember feeling very liberated when I wrote it,” Russell said. “And there were still great feelings of liberation in makingthe movie, reclaiming something that she appropriated, by making your own point.”
Fine Line executive Ira Deutchman and a few colleagues saw an early screening of
Spanking the Monkey
at the DuArt Film Laboratories’ office on Fifty-fifth Street and Eighth Avenue in Manhattan.
He didn’t get it. Neither did Bob Shaye, who wasn’t happy with the way the film turned out. “I expected a twisted drama,” Shaye said. “It turned out to be a black comedy. I was disappointed. Dismayed.” Deutchman passed. “We didn’t see what the hook was,” said Deutchman. “We didn’t know what it was. Would this subject matter attract an audience?”
They thought not. But then the film was accepted at the 1994 Sundance Film Festival, and Deutchman went to see it again in Park City, this time in a room with an audience. At the much-anticipated first screening, with most of the major distribution executives present, Miramax’s Harvey Weinstein got up and left after the first few minutes of the film. You could count him out of the running for any bid on the film—and anyone who happened to see him leave. But the audience laughed, rather than recoiled. They cheered, they hollered. At a party at the River Horse Café later that night along Main Street, Deutchman told New Line chief Bob Shaye that he wanted to buy
Spanking the Monkey.
Shaye replied, “Over my dead body.” Deutchman bought it anyway, though he knew that if the movie failed Shaye would use it as a chit against him.
Shaye wasn’t happy about the deal, but neither, it turned out, was Russell. Deutchman had made a low-ball offer (it just covered the cost of the negative, $155,000), the day before the film festival was to end, and told Russell the offer would expire by the end of the award ceremony the next day. Russell and producer Dean Silvers knew that if the film won an award—as was buzzed at the festival—the asking price would automatically rise. But if it didn’t, they’d run the risk of losing the New Line offer altogether. Russell decided not to risk losing the deal and shook hands with the executive backstage before the awards started. Minutes later
Spanking the Monkey
won the audience award. Russell felt like New Line hadheld him up. (Russell does not remember being anything but happy with the
Spanking
deal.)
Spanking the Monkey
performed more than respectably for an indie movie, taking in $1.3 million. The investors got their money back. Russell won critical acclaim and the Independent Spirit Award for Best First Feature and Best First Screenplay.
But his rancor toward New Line would later contribute to Deutchman’s demise at the studio, and to the end of Grillo’s career there.
T ARANTINO RETURNED FROM THE 1992 C ANNES F ILM F FESTIVAL a changed man. He’d gone to France an unknown; he returned as the most talked-about filmmaker in America. His pal Scott Spiegel had an attic filled with articles about him from the
Hollywood Reporter, Variety
, and
L.A. Weekly.
He was rich: TriStar Pictures and
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