It has been my long held opinion, as borrowed from old friend Alex Drouin, that Vince Vaughn improves everything he’s in. I have, however, occasionally wondered why he always ends up in pictures that need more improvement than he can reasonably offer. I wouldn’t want to imagine him at the mercy of the Hollywood tide. I prefer to think that Mr. Vaughn is in complete control.
Vince Vaughn Didn’t Do Star Wars.
by Michael Scott
“Let’s do it,” said Vince Vaughn. “Tell them I’m in.”
“Vince,” Ildiko had been Mr. Vaughn’s agent for twelve years. It was always the same. “I strongly recommend you do not take this project.”
“It’s a sports movie,” said Mr Vaughn. “I love sports movies.”
This is how it always went. Someone would give Ildiko a script. It wouldn’t be any good, but she would tell her client about it anyway. Mr. Vaughn wanted to know about everything he was offered… Mr. Vaughn accepted every role he was offered. Ildiko would advice against it, but her client would say, “it’s a (romantic or Christmas or slapstick or abstract or scary or animated or cowboy or independent or in this case sports) movie, I love (romantic or Christmas or slapstick or abstract or scary or animated or cowboy or independent or in this case sports) movies.”
“It’s not exactly a sports movie,” said Ildiko. “It’s an expedition to the Himalayas. They want you to lead it.”
“An adventure?” Asked Mr. Vaughn. “I love adventure movies.”
“Did you read the treatment I sent you?”
“It was long,” nodded Mr. Vaughn, smiling enthusiastically.
“It’s not an adventure movie,” said Ildiko. “It’s an expedition to the Himalayas. Actually an expedition to the Himalayas. There’s no character, no script. It’s just you. . . leading an expedition to the Himalayas.”
It took Mr. Vaughn a moment to process this. “But I’m an actor,” he said at last.
“I know,” said the over worked agent. “It’s ridiculous right?”
“I’m an actor. I do movies,” said Mr. Vaughn importantly. “Why would I memorize all these lines if there isn’t a movie?”
It was then that Ildiko made the crucial mistake. For once, she and her client were in agreement. Perhaps it was shock, or perhaps a misguided sense of duty; whatever the reason, Ildiko clarified. “They want a celebrity. Preferably someone whose never done mountaineering before. Herzog’s going to film it. I think he wants to film someone dying in the wilderness.”
“A documentary,” exclaimed Mr. Vaughn. “I love documentaries.”
“We can’t just keep doing every script we’re offered, it’s bad for your image.”
“I’m not doing every script I’m offered,” Mr. Vaughn corrected. “I didn’t do Star Wars.”
“You weren’t offered Star Wars,” Ildiko was growing frustrated.
“There you go with that Star Wars again,” Mr. Vaughn was growing frustrated. “Always with you and Star Wars. How many times do I have to tell you, I am not doing one of those loony, horse pleasuring Star Wars movies?”
“Vince, there’s no Star Wars,” Ildiko didn’t like being yelled at, but sometimes it was part of the job. She tried to keep her cool. “There’s no script for Star Wars. There’s no treatment for Star Wars. I don’t even think there’s a Star Wars project being made right now.”
“Ildiko, baby, please, you’re killing me here,” Mr. Vaughn was approaching the short end of his wit. “Get Lucas on the phone.”
“I’ll call him this afternoon.”
“I’m sorry Ildi, we’re beyond that now,” said Mr. Vaughn reproachfully. “Apparently I can’t trust you to do your job, so I’m going to do it for you. Get Mr. Lucas’ office on the phone. Right. Now.”
There was no talking to him when he was like this.
Several minutes later, after a complicated search of her outdated directory system, Ildiko was sitting uncomfortably with a ringing phone on her ear.
“LucasArts, Mr. Lucas’ office,” said the over-worked, male secretary on the other end of the line.
“Hi, my name is Ildiko Fyrana. I’m Vince Vaughn’s agent?”
“Oh Ildi, hi it’s Peter,” said the secretary. “Been a while since I’ve heard from you guys. You want me to deliver the usual message?”
“No,” said Ildiko. “I’m afraid not. Vince is here with me, he’d like to speek to George if he could?”
“Give me the phone,” said Mr. Vaughn quietly.
“Now you know, Ildi, George isn’t taking Mr. Vaughn’s calls anymore,” Peter said patiently. “They were becoming quite a disturbance.”
“Give me the phone,” said Mr. Vaughn with increasing insistance.
“I know Peter,” Ildiko’s tone was apologetic. “I just had to ask that’s all.”
“Give me the phone,” said Mr. Vaughn, now holding his hand out, waiting.
“Look Peter, Mr. Vaughn wants to talk to you personally,” Ildiko was calm under pressure. “Have you got a second?”
“Give me the phone!”
“Sure,” said Peter, amused. “Put him on.”
Ildiko handed Mr. Vaughn the telephone, which he did not immediately put to his ear. He stared his agent, queerly, in the eye. A second passed. Then two. “Thank you,” he said at length. Then into the telephone: ”Hi, whom am I on with? Peter?”
“This is Peter, Vinny. How’ve you been?” Peter didn’t care what the answer was. He asked as a matter of course.
“Fine, fine,” said Mr. Vaughn. “Look George isn’t in right now, is he?”
“I’m afraid he isn’t.”
“I thought not. Look, if you could just take a quick message for me?”
“Anything for you, Mr. Vaughn. I’ll pass it along today,” lied Peter reassuringly.
“Great,” said Mr. Vaughn, satisfied. “If you could tell that pathetic, simpering, overrated blow hard that I’m flattered he keeps calling me, but I am absolutely not doing one of his air-headed, culturally bankrupt, loser Star loser Wars movies. I’m just not, okay?”
“Okay Mr. Vaughn,” said Peter casually. “I’ve got that down word for word. Was there anything else?”
“Oh, yeah, yeah, yeah,” said Mr. Vaughn. “I almost forgot. Ask him if he’s had a chance to look at my script for Graffiti 2 yet.”
“I will sir.”
And Mr Vaughn hung up without saying goodbye. “Wow, do I feel better,” he said. “What were we talking about?”
“I honestly can’t remember,” said Ildiko. And she couldn’t.
by Michael Scott