As I said in today’s morning note, all this week’s stories are taken from my book, “99 Beers Off The Wall.” While the book was about going to bars, in between the bar reviews were travelogue notes and stories Iand memories that happened throughout the week. Here’s one of them that triggered a memory of my first New York freelance piece that was published way back in 1993. Enjoy!
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3:22 p.m. As I walk up Broadway in the direction of the next bar, I pass the building where I was first published here in New York. The address is 611 Broadway and the newspaper was a weekly called NY Weekly. That first piece I wrote for them is probably my all-time favorite freelance clipping and here’s why.
When I moved here in 1993, the first thing I did was to send portfolios of my writing clips to editors at magazines and newspapers all over town. After sending out dozens of them, I was met with a thundering silence from the publishing world here in Manhattan. Finally I got a response about four weeks later, at the end of September when I got a call from the editor of a weekly paper called NY Weekly. The paper was a thin, fairly new newspaper in the dog eat dog world of this city’s weekly newspapers. I forget the editor’s name, but it was a woman who told me she was impressed with my writing and would like me to do some feature writing for the paper. I was thrilled, finally someone saw my potential and was going to give me a chance. But as always, there was a catch. She said she was in a bind. She had assigned a writer to a piece and at the last minute the writer had backed out. And she needed this piece by the next afternoon. Eager to show her I could meet an impossible deadline, I boldly told her, “Whatever it is, you can count on me.”
“Oh, great,” she replied. “You have done movie reviews, haven’t you?” she added.
“I’ve done hundreds of them,” I laughingly spit back. “I did freelance movie reviews for all the papers in Peoria before I moved here.”
Of course I had never written a movie review in my life, in fact I hadn’t been inside of a movie theater for years, but I figured what the hell? How hard could it be? You watch the movie, you either like it or not and that’s the end of the story. The editor was thrilled and said my name would be on a press list at some cineplex in midtown and I could bring a friend if I wanted. The screening was to be at 6:00 p.m. The movie was called Judgement Night.
So I made my way to the theater, but I was early. I asked a ticket seller where I should go to get my pass and they pointed me to a table in the lobby. I walked over, told some dorky kid my name and I was presented with two exclusive press pass tickets, and a sheath of papers including a synopsis of the movie, an entire credit list and a complete soundtrack listing. As I scanned the movie credits my stomach sank as I read the three words that can strike mortal fear into the heart of any moviegoer: “Starring Emilio Estevez.” As I read further I realized this was one of those action-teen flicks and I really didn’t feel like sitting through it.
I went outside and smoked a cigarette and observed a young couple trying to figure out which movie to go to. That’s when an idea hit me and like so many times in my life I acted on this idea without thinking five minutes down the road. What I did was walk over with my press pass tickets and told them I wasn’t going to be able to use them, I had a late breaking story I had to cover and would they like to see a special screening of Judgement Night? Naturally they were all impressed with the offer and the guy actually pulled out a twenty and shoved it into my hand after taking the tickets. Of course a journalist knows he should never take any money when writing a story, but since I was doing a movie review, I gladly took the dough, pointed the two in the right direction and hightailed it to the closest bar.
I started constructing my “review” in the bar from the press kit. It pretty much detailed the movie and I built my review around that. I panned the movie, but it also starred Denis Leary, who I think is great, so I gave him a good notice in the review. When I finished the review I felt pretty good about it. It actually read like I sat through the movie. And that’s when I decided to push it just a hair further. As I scanned the movie credits, I saw the credit for the “Best Boy.” I always wondered what the “Best Boy” on a movie set did. It always sounded like some porno thing to me. So I included a mention of the Best Boy in the review and while thinking it probably wouldn’t blow my cover, it would surely be edited out by a copy editor who would think I was just being a wiseass. So imagine my surprise after I turn my review in, and then the following week I pick up the NY Weekly and read the following review.
Wrong Turn
By Marty Wombacher
Judgement Night
Starring Emilio Estevez and Denis Leary
Set in Chicago, Judgement Night is a tale of a “boys night out” gone frighteningly wrong. Married man Estevez goes out with his unhitched pals and younger brother to a boxing match in the Windy City. En route, they take a wrong expressway ramp and wind up in a neighborhood that’s crawling with winos, gangs and violence. While trying to come out alive, they crash their van and witness Denis Leary killing a kid execution-style while his henchmen stand by.
What follows is one long chase scene between bad boy Leary and his brood chasing after Emilio’s pack.
While there are some exciting moments in the movie, they seem to be there almost by accident. Another incidental saving grace is former MTV pitchman and comedian Denis Leary. His character is basically an extension of his crazed standup act, but he pushes it to a delightfully manic “Jack Nicholson on crack” persona.
The movie Judgement Night may not forge any new territory, but the soundtrack does. It pairs rockers with rappers inventively—Slayer with Ice-T and Faith No More with Boo-Yaa T.R.I.B.E.
Movie afficionados will also recognize legendary Best Boy, Bobby Neville in the film’s closing credits. Small consolation.
I couldn’t believe it, those idiots printed my fake review, word for word, including the Best Boy line. Unfuckingbelievable. Of course they got the last laugh. Eight months later the paper went bankrupt owing me well over six hundred dollars for features I wrote for them after that review. And my illustrious freelance writing career has spun sideways ever since.
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Tuesday, September 29, 2009 at 1:07PM 
