I like John Maginnis. He seems a sensible observer of Louisiana politics: smart, level-headed and, if not impartial, at least capable of seeing both sides of an issue. Here he explains, among other things, why Louisiana's nascent status as "Hollywood South" isn't the great economic boon it masquerades as:


Through its Movie Production Tax Credit Program, the state, in effect, covers 25 percent of a film company's in-state expenses and 35 percent of its in-state labor. This has brought producers flocking and has catapulted Louisiana to the third leading movie-making state, behind California and New York.

A state-commissioned economic study released last week counted $462 million in direct spending on movie production in 2007, including 3,000 direct jobs paying on average about $35,000 per year, a $105 million payroll.

On the other side of the ledger, the state paid out $115 million in tax credits to investors, who purchased them at a discount from the movie producers. Minus state taxes paid on film projects, the net cost to Louisiana was $101 million -- or about equal what those 3,000 direct jobs paid.
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It's a new, clean, glamorous industry, but not cheap. A bunch more economic development like it would break the state.


I know people who have gotten some of the jobs created, and if these jobs helped them for a little while, then I am happy that they were helped even if the state as whole wasn't. But I still want the movies out of my city, out of my state, and most especially out of my pocketbook.

It bothers me tremendously that young people these days don't seem to think Catcher in the Rye is a good novel. I could write a treatise about all the reasons it bothers me, but one of the main reasons is that I think Holden Caulfield was absolutely spot-on about how the movie industry is a sort of fecal King Midas, turning everything it touches to shit. However, my hatred is probably best summed up by Ray Bradbury's little-known short story "Sun and Shadow." The story's protagonist, Ricardo, is all het up about a fashion shoot in his small Mexican village, but the basic principles remain the same.

*Reprinted in Golden Apples of the Sun, a collection which is itself reprinted in its entirety, along with A Medicine for Melancholy, in the Bradbury omnibus Twice 22.

In other news, the EXQUISITE CORPSE movie project may be dead. The producer and writers haven't been able to secure any financing and don't have the money to extend their option, which actually expired about two months ago. Apparently no one in Hollywood is panting for a movie about HIV-positive, cannibalistic serial killers. I got a bad feeling about the project back in March, when one of the writers told me they'd met with some executive who wanted them to rewrite the script to make Andrew more like Hannibal Lecter.

I can't say I am entirely sorry. The script they showed me was quite good and very faithful to the book (something I think readers have worried about rather more than I have - several people have declared the novel "unfilmable," as if every drop of gore and assfucking must appear onscreen to preserve the story's integrity), and I believe their hearts were in the project. Still, there is something I find distasteful about the idea of having my work filmed. I've often quoted Stephen King, who was quoting someone else, I don't recall who: when a journalist said Hollywood had "ruined" his books, the writer pointed at the bookshelf and said, "No it didn't. They're all still right there." This is true. Even so, there are a lot of people who associate Stephen King with the movie versions of his books, most of which aren't very good. I don't want to be associated with bad movies. Even if the movie was good, though, I suspect it wouldn't feel right to me. Those wouldn't be my characters up there. I would feel as if I'd sold them - with good reason, because I would have. Though I'm no longer close to my old characters, I don't particularly like the idea of selling them, just as I wouldn't betray an old friend I'd lost touch with or grown apart from.

Having said all that, if more film offers should come along I will probably accept them, because I'm not in a financial position to be as sentimental about my characters as I am about my friends. But I suspect I'll always take a small comfort in knowing the film will probably never be made.

There is an unintelligible notation for today in my day planner. It looks like it says "Mail Choad." If anybody gets a choad from me, I apologize in advance.