Damn. I wondered if you would eventually tell of that infamous period. I don’t know how you kept your sanity. True artists are cattle to so many of these ethical derelicts. It’s not about representation, anymore, it’s about building illusory castles with disreputable behavior and narcissism mixed-in with the mortar. And about machinations and stealing opportunities outright from their own clients … when the fact has always been: a proper agent is the artist’s client, the artist’s employee.
How does one ever reclaim even a shred of trust again? I don’t blame you. What hulking dysfunction. Good on you for not naming names, Cintra, but anyone who was remotely sniffing around NYC agencies in the Aughts knows who the Dastardly Mess was/is. That was his goal, apparently, to bake a Shit-Pie with a flaky crust of irony. Insufferable.
Hilarious. Hideous. What on earth or in hell is the nature of the network that keeps these mindless, malicious fiends employed? I'll never figure it out.
I am having a vision of your next play: a series of creative types: painter, writer, musician, etc., stand at the edge of the stage, declaring a list of their reps' misdeeds and perversions, while in the background their agent/gallery owner/manager is subjected to the torturer's handbook; Bastinado, strappado, The Iron Maiden, The Comfy Chair- at the hands of mimes, leather daddies and IRS agents. In NYC that could run for months with just the business from unproduced screenwriters enjoying a cathartic evening.
Is it weird that this gruesome story made me envious? Also, is there such a thing as a “good” agent? <asking for a friend> Seems like a despicable way to make a living... off of others talent. I really love your writing and wouldn’t hesitate to represent you if I hated myself enough to actually work as an agent. Lastly, more proof that ‘agent’ is a role nobody ever actually wanted for themselves... happy well adjusted folks don’t sexually abuse people or drink themselves to death.
hmmmm disturbing for sure...and JUST when i was beginning to think NYC might be worth one last visit before i wxit stage left... this makes Train Wreck look like a Hallmark friggin movie
Good Lort. I can’t believe people put up with that kind of harrassment. I owned an important little agency in those years and NEVER #metoo’ed anyone or even suggested it. And none of my staff did as they would have been fired. Discovering how common this was, the question becomes, why were we different? Just makes me so angry even to think about.
I've never felt more grateful to be unrepresented.
Damn. I wondered if you would eventually tell of that infamous period. I don’t know how you kept your sanity. True artists are cattle to so many of these ethical derelicts. It’s not about representation, anymore, it’s about building illusory castles with disreputable behavior and narcissism mixed-in with the mortar. And about machinations and stealing opportunities outright from their own clients … when the fact has always been: a proper agent is the artist’s client, the artist’s employee.
How does one ever reclaim even a shred of trust again? I don’t blame you. What hulking dysfunction. Good on you for not naming names, Cintra, but anyone who was remotely sniffing around NYC agencies in the Aughts knows who the Dastardly Mess was/is. That was his goal, apparently, to bake a Shit-Pie with a flaky crust of irony. Insufferable.
Another gem of a story ( although the comparison to agents is a disservice to pets)... Stay subversive, wild and free.
Kinda like the real estate biz. The bar for entry is set really, really low.
Hilarious. Hideous. What on earth or in hell is the nature of the network that keeps these mindless, malicious fiends employed? I'll never figure it out.
I am having a vision of your next play: a series of creative types: painter, writer, musician, etc., stand at the edge of the stage, declaring a list of their reps' misdeeds and perversions, while in the background their agent/gallery owner/manager is subjected to the torturer's handbook; Bastinado, strappado, The Iron Maiden, The Comfy Chair- at the hands of mimes, leather daddies and IRS agents. In NYC that could run for months with just the business from unproduced screenwriters enjoying a cathartic evening.
They treated convicts like product, met quite a few disillusioned ex-employee's.
Is it weird that this gruesome story made me envious? Also, is there such a thing as a “good” agent? <asking for a friend> Seems like a despicable way to make a living... off of others talent. I really love your writing and wouldn’t hesitate to represent you if I hated myself enough to actually work as an agent. Lastly, more proof that ‘agent’ is a role nobody ever actually wanted for themselves... happy well adjusted folks don’t sexually abuse people or drink themselves to death.
hmmmm disturbing for sure...and JUST when i was beginning to think NYC might be worth one last visit before i wxit stage left... this makes Train Wreck look like a Hallmark friggin movie
THIS would make a compelling book - an inside look at agentry
Mortifying that you went through this. Yikes.
Good Lort. I can’t believe people put up with that kind of harrassment. I owned an important little agency in those years and NEVER #metoo’ed anyone or even suggested it. And none of my staff did as they would have been fired. Discovering how common this was, the question becomes, why were we different? Just makes me so angry even to think about.
After listening to Cintra's 6 min audio of her William Morris experience, I feel like I just lived through an intense episode of "Entourage." aka NSFW
Fabuloso! What a tawdry marvel of a tale!