The Three Burials of Some Assh@le Named Cole Haddon
A trilogy of screenwriting horror stories about what can happen when you expect Hollywood agents to keep their promises
1.
The first time it happened, I had only been represented by the agency for a few months.
When I signed with my new team of super-agents, a whole host of them promising to turn all my myriad creative ambitions into a fortune, I asked them to agree to three rules if they wanted to get into business with me.
One, I was only interested in pursuing prestige television projects going forward. Which meant no more network.
Two, I wasn’t interested in pursuing any opportunities that would result in a TV season longer than thirteen episodes. Which, at the time, meant no more network.
Three, they had to make sure I never got into business with anyone like the dreaded Mr. Smiley, my producer on “DRACULA”, ever again.
Everyone said, “Great, love it, love you, let’s do this!”
I then informed the other four agencies I’d met with that I would unfortunately not be signing with them, but I appreciated their time and consideration.
Three months later, I got a call from my new agency. There was a CW project my senior TV agent wanted me to consider.
“But you know I don’t want to do network,” I told them, confused.
The agent asked that I just look at it. I did. It was a spin-off to a series I wouldn’t watch if there was nothing else on television that night. “Thanks,” I said, “but it’s not for me.”
My agent advised me to take the meeting, implying it would be a favor to them. I’m a team player, or like to think I am, so I reluctantly took the meeting. I quickly discovered the project was not just a network series, but it would’ve also required me to showrun more than twenty episodes in a year.
I called my agent back afterward. “It’s still a pass.”
The agent’s voice changed. Their patience had been spent. “Cole, this is a great opportunity.”
“I told you when you signed me, I wouldn’t do network and I wouldn’t create or showrun anything that was more than thirteen episodes long,” I reminded them.
“Everybody says stuff like that when we sign them,” they told me. “Then, we tell them to take the money. Take the money, Cole.”
I did not take the money. My TV agent never got on the phone with me or replied to an email from me again. Our relationship was over, though every year afterward for close to a decade, I inexplicably received a Christmas card from them.
2.
The second time it happened, I signed with an agency that made me three promises:
One, they would fully support my decision to move to the United Kingdom and help me build an international career between Hollywood and Europe. This was necessary because after the 2016 election, my wife and I had decided to leave America. It was time to start over abroad, but I wanted to continue to build on my career in the States. After all the effort I’d already put into it, it seemed insane to abandon it completely.
Two, they had a U.K.-based agent that would represent me there and help facilitate projects between the U.K. and Hollywood. I was going to develop “international TV series” now, or so was the pitch.
Three, I would be represented by senior partners in both film and television – TV being the most important as it had become my primary bread and butter since “DRACULA”. The market had changed, and I had changed with it.
One week later, I contacted my manager and asked why my TV agent wasn’t responding to emails or returning my calls. Over the next two weeks, the situation did not improve.