Albert didn’t look good. His face was covered with bruises and he sported a huge bandage under his chin. I asked him what happened.
“I was t-boned. I was making a left on Ventura when this lady ran a red at 70 miles an hour.”
“How’s your car?”
“Totaled.”
“How’s the lady doing?”
“Not good.”
“Was she insured?”
“Kind of. She had Geico. They cap claims at $25,000. That won’t even cover my car let alone my hospital bills.”
“Sorry man, that’s rough.”
“At least I’m alive,” he said.
He revealed the airbag bruises on his arms, shoulders and chest. He showed me iPhone image of his crumpled car.
“The worst part is I was almost done writing the final episode. That’s why I was on the road. I was driving around trying to come up with an ending.”
He pointed to a pile of printed screenplay pages in front of him.
“I never should’ve taken the gig.”
Albert and I were coffee buddies. I encountered him monthly at Starbucks where I stopped for espresso before my Encino writing class. He was writing a five-part streaming series about Janis Joplin for Netflix. I read the script for the pilot episode. The opening scene features Joplin as a school girl trying to make friends. She’s overweight with severe acne and ratty hair. She’s ridiculed by the popular girls causing her to hide in a school bathroom where she cries to herself. The script was wonderful and filled with scenes that made your heart open for the future rock star.
Albert loved to share anecdotes about Joplin’s tragic life. In college, Joplin had the nickname “ugliest man on campus.” After she became successful, she purchased a headstone for the grave of her musical idol Bessie Smith. The last thing she ever recorded was a birthday message for John Lennon.
According to Albert, a multitude of actresses had been attached to Joplin biopics over the years. They included Michelle Williams, Amy Adams, Zooey Deschanel, Reese Witherspoon, Rene Zellweger and Courtney Love. Each project fell by the wayside for a number of reasons. Albert was hired by a well-known producer to write the five-episode series.
“I wasn’t his first choice,” Albert said.
He told me about the Curse.
“The first writer had several credits under his belt. He was a straight-laced guy in his 50s who didn’t know much about rock ‘n’ roll. He traveled to San Francisco to research Joplin. He got his ass kicked by a couple of homeless hippie dudes while he was walking around Haight-Ashbury. He was so messed up about it, he dropped out of the project.
“The second writer had written a spec script about the 27 Club, all those rockers who died at age 27. He was kind of a method writer and wanted to know what it was like to take methamphetamine and heroin like Joplin did. Stupidly, he took both drugs at the same time. He almost died. When the producer found out, the writer was fired.
“The third writer was a twentysomething out of film school. His college thesis movie was about a homeless busker who blows away people with an amazing voice. The problem is every time he appeared at a formal music venue he froze up and couldn’t sing. It’s like a Michigan J. Frog thing, you know that Warner Brothers cartoon where the frog sings opera on the street but stays silent at Carnegie Hall. Anyway, this kid starts writing the episode one and suddenly he doesn’t feel well. He goes to the doctor and finds out he has cancer. Only 23 years old. Can you believe that shit?
“So that’s why I was hired. The producer said he was starting to believe the project was cursed like a Spinal Tap drummer kind of thing. I didn’t believe in curses and I needed the work. Then my accident happens and the first thing I think about is The Curse. Fucking Janis Joplin, man.”
He reached for a bottle of Advil and popped two pills.
“You know what the worst thing is? I was halfway done with the final script. Now, because of the accident, I can’t think for shit. I have brain fog and my mind’s all messed up.”
“You think you have a concussion,” I asked.
“I was hit by two airbags deploying at 200 miles an hour so yeah, I’m probably concussed.”
A month later, I saw Albert again. His bruises were gone but he didn’t look great.
“How you feeling?”
“Out of whack,” he said with a scowl. “But I have a new car.”
“Did the Lord buy you a Mercedes Benz?”
My Joplin reference went right over his head.
“No, I got a Lucid. I love it. It gets a full charge in a half hour.”
“How’s the script coming?”
“Terrible. The producer doesn’t want the series ending with Joplin’s overdose. He wants something positive.”
“Why don’t you flash back to the first time she ever played live? You know when she was still young and hopeful.”
“That’s not a bad idea but we only have clearance on six songs and I’ve already used them all.”
“So what’s the plan?”
“I’m looking for someone to help me write the final episode. I met with a screenwriter friend last week. We went to El Mariachi Grill and guess what happened. He’s chomping on some chips and salsa and boom, he cracks a tooth. A second later, he bows out of the project. He tells me he doesn’t want anything to do with the curse.”
“That’s crazy.”
“You interested,” he asked.
“Hell no,” I said. “I don’t need any negative mojo in my life.”
“No shit,” Albert said.
In early July, I encountered Albert again at Starbucks. He was smiling and seemed to be in good spirits. He filled me in on the Joplin project.
“The producer liked my scripts but said Netflix wants to go in a different direction. They’re bringing in their own people for a major rewrite. I’m no longer involved.”
“Then why are you so happy?”
“Because I’m no longer under the spell of that damn curse.”
He put his hand up for a high-five.
“I feel bad for those new writers. They have no idea what they’re getting into.”
“Will you still get a writing credit?”
“Honestly, I don’t care anymore. I just hope Janis gets the depiction she deserves. I think that’s what’s behind the curse. She had such a deep need for acceptance that even after death she’s reaching out to the people who try to tell her story. May she rest in peace.”