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“It’s Survivor With Apes and a Robot…”
Can any moron get a TV show made? Our moron did. Stuff sent a reporter, posing as a hot screenwriter, to pitch ludicrous television pilots to Hollywood studios. Did they bite? Some sucked the whole pole.
Stuff,
2/24/2003
By Harmon Leon
First off, let me tell you something: This is a true story. Any similarity to actual people, places and events is entirely intended. Names have been withheld to protect these idiots from getting fired.
So here's how it unfolded: I flew to L.A. to pitch some TV shows that the Stuff staff had thought up earlier while drinking heavily. The only way I could get any studio to listen to me was to tell everyone that I was a Spelling. Taylor Spelling, actually—the favorite nephew of Aaron, executive producer of Beverly Hills, 90210 and father of Stuff cover girl Tori. Watch the magic unfold as I pitch away.
Pitch #1 Little Sister
The premise: Think of Big Brother, only with teenage girls. Fifteen of them live in a house for 10 weeks, completely shut off from the outside world. Hidden cameras capture their every move. Each week, viewers get to vote one of the girls out of the house and off the show. But here's the twist: The only guy in the house is me, who gets to hang around with them and stuff. And there's also a lovable robot named Seth that does the dishes.
The meeting: Arrangements are made through my phony manager, Chandelle, to have me meet with three executives in the development office of the family division of a major TV network. Posing as Taylor Spelling, I'm rumored to have a hot new sports show in development at the FX network called Monday Night Foosball.
What happens: I'm in the 16th-floor waiting room of a large office building
in the belly of L.A. Wearing a pathetically cheap suit, I look like a guy trying to get
a reduced prison sentence. The associate development executive emerges in well-tailored Armani and wire-rimmed glasses. “Taylor?” he inquires.
“That's me.”
We walk into his spacious office, making small talk. The head of development is sitting at a desk, awaiting our arrival. More small talk. Bottles of water are offered. Nobody drinks anything but water in L.A.
“So, are you a Spelling?” the head woman asks.
“I'm a nephew.”
“You're a nephew of Aaron Spelling?”
I nod. “Yeah, but I don't really like to brag about it.”
She thaws. We talk about my uncle's classic show, Beverly Hills, 90210—especially the college years. We're laughing. We're hydrating. It's like we're long lost friends. But enough of this Sunday cotillion crap: I get down to business.
“Reality television hasn't been focused on a younger audience,” I say. “Big Brother and Survivor are really adult shows. I want to try to get a younger demographic by featuring younger people on the show.”
Both execs nod in agreement.
“My show is called Little Sister. We get the same sort of Big Brother compound, but with a bunch of teenage girls—and we film their every move.” I pause for effect. “Their only contact to the outside world would be me,” I conclude.
There's an awkward silence. The perky woman finally speaks: “How long do you keep them there?”
I tell her most of the summer break. Then, pulling out a piece of crumpled notebook paper, I show them a scrawled diagram of the Little Sister compound, showcasing the areas where the girls will have the pillow fights, comb one another's hair and exercise. I pass it around the room.
Believe it or not, the network already has an actual show in development that's very similar to mine.
“Our show has parental chaperones and a bunch of physical challenges,” the head of development explains.
“Yes, but does it involve a robot?”
I interrupt. “Little Sister features a lovable robot! That would be a huge point of difference.”
“No, but it has a rat,” she says.
“A rat?”
“There are two teams. They stand in a circle. At the end of the day, they meet a rat. Whichever way the rat walks, that team has to decide on one person to leave.”
I'm baffled. They already have a reality show, and it's way stupider than anything
I could dream up. I leave.
Pitch #2 Robotic Friends
The premise: Seven Gen-X friends live together in a New York City apartment. One
of the friends is a lovable robot named Matt, who's really good at card tricks.
The meeting: It takes place in the conference room of a major cable network in the Valley.
What happens: I'm sitting with a lone well-dressed development executive. There's more bottled water.
After my pitch, he pauses reflectively. “Is this robot anything like the one from Lost in Space?” he asks.
“Yes.”
“Does this robot have a job?”
“He's just a robot,” I explain. “Robots are pretty self-sufficient.”
The development exec takes off his glasses, gets up and walks to the window. “We're going for bigger, broader concepts than that right now,” he says, purposely avoiding eye contact. “And we're targeting an older crowd. Your idea seems more suited for the Cartoon Network or Nickelodeon than us.”
I don't even shake his hand when I leave.
Pitch #3 Planet of Survival
The premise: A cross between Survivor and Planet of the Apes. Contestants are placed on a deserted island and hunted down for sport by people in ape masks. The last to remain on the island wins $1,000,000 and the services of a lovable robot named Bret.
The meeting: This time it's at a sprawling studio in North Hollywood.
What happens: I meet a woman in the lobby from a production company. I tell her about my “property,” Little Sister. “Let me give you my card,” she says, fumbling for her bag, “because that kind of show is all we think about.”
I'm networking.
The associate and senior development executives interrupt. “Mr. Spelling?” they ask.
I am escorted to a conference room. We all sit around a table and drink water.
“Taylor is doing a show at FX,” says one of the execs. I assume he's the leader.
“Yes, it's called Monday Night Foosball.”
“I think I heard about that,” says the second in command. “That sounds cool.”
“We're getting about 1,000 foosball tables donated to us,” I boast.
“You're kidding,” says the leader.
I give my pitch. When I finish, everyone looks at the big guy.
“What do the apes do after they capture you?” he asks.
“You're kicked off the island.”
“Do you have anything written on that?”
“Yes, I'll have my manager, Chandelle, send it over.”
“That would definitely be something
I would like to see.”
“That is hysterical,” states the second in command, looking to his leader for approval. “What do you call this?”
“Planet of Survival!”
“It's like Paintball with apes!” says the second in command. “I like that.”
“Very cool,” agrees the leader. “I like that idea a lot.”
“And you'd never know when the apes are going to come!” I say.
“That's interesting,” he says.
“And the apes would steal things from the people,” I add.
“That's very cool,” says the second banana.
“You'd not only be competing against one another, but you would also have to band together to ward off the apes.”
“So we'd get a behind-the-scenes of the two teams,” the leader says. “And we'd also see the behind-the-scenes of the people who put on the ape masks?”
“No!” I say. “They wouldn't be putting on the ape masks—they would be characters. Like Planet of the Apes.”
“Oh, so we see them plotting and planning a little bit?” the leader says.
“Yeah, like in Planet of the Apes—we'd see the console.”
“That's very fun,” the second in command says enthusiastically. “You should certainly send something over.”
“Do the contestants attack back?” the leader asks.
“They can, but not maliciously,” I reassure him. “They would plan things to counterattack them. They would have traps to build.”
“Aaah!”
They're into this, but I'm not finished. “I'd also like to add a lovable robot,” I say.
“Maybe they can go to the robot to find out answers,” suggests No.2.
“Yeah, the robot is like the wise mentor,”
I explain, “providing them with answers on how to ward off the apes.”
“That's neat. That's interesting,” he says.
At press time: I had “Chandelle” do a follow-up call. The executives claimed that they liked the show's concept. They said they were very interested in either buying the show or bringing me on as a consultant on another show. Panicked that I would actually have to produce this crap, I never called them back.
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