Topic: The One That Got Away…

Author: Chris Dunn

Did I ever tell you about the time I wrote a pilot for TV? Back in the early 00s, my long-time friend and oft creative partner, Tony Doench – co-creator of our groundbreaking web-comic Galena – had just graduated from animation college. Two years of training under his belt had him itching to ply his new craft, but unfortunately Cincinnati, where most of his friends and family lived, provided little in the way of career opportunities for an animator. We played around with a few other ideas, launched a failed t-shirt company, sketched out a concept for a dungeons-and-dragons / heavy-metal action comedy cartoon, but nothing got far beyond the planning stage until Z-Ernie came to town.

Z-Ernie was a larger-than-life, Flastaffian character. A friend of our mutual friend Frank, Z-Ernie rolled through town in the middle of a cross-country tour bringing with him wondrous tales from the road and a nearly endless supply of some of the best weed I’ve had the privilege to bum. He rolled joint after joint while regaling us with tales of the old days when he and his crew would imbibe near-lethal amounts of everything on Schedule 1 and then proceed to have the most amazing adventurers. The stories fell and the smoke billowed until I had to cry, “Hold, enough!” and retire to a couch corner to stare at the carpet for a long while. Tony stayed in, however, matching him joint for joint, hit for hit, and in due time, he got around to showing Z what he had been up to.

Tony’s talent is obvious to anyone who sees it, and of course Z was no exception. “What are you doing with this?” he asked, and Tony began our long litany of failed launches which Z dismissed with a hand-wave. “Tutt-tutt, my good man.” He didn’t talk like this, but I was too high to recall the exact words. “This won’t do. We need to go bigger! We need to take this to the next level. What would you need to finish this?” By the time Z was ready to hit the road and return to his cross-country journey, sketchy plans had been made to do a pilot for a cartoon to pitch to Adult Swim. Z knew people you see, people he could show this too, people who were even more connected than he was. This was going to be it!

To be honest, I didn’t think much about it at first, assuming it was all just the dream ramblings of a room full of high guys. (Interestingly, “Room Full of High Guys” was a TV show idea our crew had come up with the late 90s. One which, we thought, really had legs.) Even when Tony started having weekly project management calls with Z, I dismissed it as just another dying project, only in its early stages. But there was more to Z than mere puffery. Before I knew what was happening, Tony’s friend from animation school, Dave, had moved into the third floor and Z was sending them both monthly checks to cover living expenses so the pair could focus on churning out a pilot to pitch.

“Shit!” I thought. “This is really happening. And without me….” That would not stand! No way was Tony going to fly off to fame, recognition and (the end-all-be-all) getting paid to create,  without me. I started panicking trying to think up a way into this project. Of course, my panic was unwarranted. Tony wasn’t about to leave me out. Shortly after Dave’s arrival, he came to me and showed me what they had – a pile of very detailed character concepts, complete with powers, backstories and motivations, but that was it. No action. No dialogue. No story. They needed me, and I gladly stepped up. I dove in head first. I read books on screenwriting, comic writing, screenwriting format for animation, and storyboarding. I sat with Dave and fleshed out his vision for show and plumbed his amazing imagination trying to find the hook for each character. I not only finished the pilot, but had a stenciled plot for a good year’s worth of episodes (two or three years by Rick and Morty standards). I allowed myself to get psyched.

I handed over my idea and waited. Every now and then I would break up a light-saber fight and inquire how the project was going, only to be the last guy on earth to discover that pot – while an excellent way to get you to take time off to dream up some crazy shit - is not the best motivational tool. I can’t complain too much. Mine was the shorter part, and I was more than willing to help the guys shirk work when other activities seemed more amusing. Days became weeks, and as the deadline fast approached and the money began to run low, pencils were finally put to paper. We even got some voice recording done and synced with an opening bit, but in the end there just wasn’t enough time.

Tony and Dave took a train to California, armed with a lot of notes, sketches and a brief animated piece where a folder marked CONFIDENTIAL slid across a desk. I was nervous as hell, and crossed my fingers that it would be enough to impress the investor to throw in another bunch of funding, so we could at least complete the promo. A week later, they returned looking guardedly upbeat. “We’re making a video game!” Tony insisted. Apparently, the project had pivoted somewhere during the pitch. I shrugged my acceptance, realizing a game wouldn’t require my input. It turned out the game idea didn’t really have much energy. Tony hadn’t been back a whole week before he declared he wasn’t actually interested. The money dried up, and Dave moved back to New Jersey. And just like that, another big idea bit the dust.

But to this day, I still occasionally stumble across the pitch folder or a blue-pencil sketch and dream about the one that got away…