Forget Magazine. Remember, Remember, Remember.

Whichever One You Are
by Craig Battle

September 22, 1994

Dear Glen and/or Les Charles,

I am an admirer of your vast body of work – particularly “My Fair Clavin” and “Pitch It Again, Sam” (if I had to choose two) for their wit, charm and vision – and have been since September 30, 1982. Your contributions to network television single-handedly made Thursday night my favourite night of the week for over a decade. They have also filled the 5:30 timeslot on Channel 11 with big laughs each weekday since the invention of syndication.

As such, with my broad knowledge of your writing and executive production efforts, I feel I have written a screenplay close to your own hearts and ideals. I would like to submit it for your approval.

Sweet Home Indiana, a working title, is the big-screen Cheers comeback special we fans have all been waiting for. The script brings the old gang from Sam to Diane (minus, of course, the Coach) back together again in the strangest of places and circumstances – not Boston, Massachusetts, but Hanover, Indiana! Norm always said, “Before I die I gotta see that town,” and now he gets his chance. And on the big screen!

I’ve enclosed a self-addressed stamped postcard, which I picked up last fall in a gift shop at the Grand Canyon. [FYI. There is a helicopter tour that actually sets you down right inside the canyon, which I highly recommend, complete with finger sandwiches and champagne on land bought from an ancient Indian tribe for the specific purpose of the tour. Do I hear the sound of sequel material? From Indiana to Indian? Yes!] Glen, Les. I look forward to your comments.

Respectfully,

Guy

November 17, 1994

Mr. Charles,

This is the second letter I am sending you, or your brother, whichever of you handles the mail. Someone, maybe my mother (God rest her soul, she is in heaven with Nicholas Collosanto and, I think, Rhea Perlman’s dad) once told me something about perseverance. She said, and I remember the wording specifically, “If at first you don’t succeed, try try again.” Come to think of it, Mom died long before I think I first heard it. Whoever it was, he or she or they had a point. This is me persevering.

I have read suggestions on how to write perfect query letters and what I’m doing now (and what I’m about to do more of) is called, in the business, a no no. I shouldn’t tell you about my personal life or anything beyond the fact that I have something for you to read (which I do, and it is good. It is very good and you would be very foolish, if you don’t mind my saying so, to go on about your business without curiosity).

Here it is. I live in a three-bedroom house on the Upper East Side of You Know Where. Two of the rooms I rent to runaway high school students, who allow me a unique window into the lives of young people today. Loose not tight. Pepsi over Coke. It is all about grunge. Here is a conversation I had with the high school students recently (they were watching something called Friends) and recorded for your specific benefit:

INT. LIVING ROOM. THURSDAY NIGHT.

ME
There was this episode.

THEM
Shut up. Please.

ME
There was this episode, you should’ve seen it, and Cliff was a comedian. It was like, only Lilith got his jokes, like, “Ding dong. What’s up with that?” And Lilith was laughing so hard.

THEM
(Not looking up, sipping on bottles of Rolling Rock I bought for them, reaching for potato chips, also my purchase)

We seen it.

ME
Not live. You had to see them live. Thursday nights. Nine o’clock.

- 30 -

Mr. Charles, you can see my concern. It has only taken a year. Kids today don’t know. Sam and Diane and their brand of almost love, almost hate are history. No one remembers the chase scenes around the bar, the nose pinchings, Sam’s “Have a good life,” as Diane walks up the stairs and out of his bar forever. These days it is all about “Will Ross and Rachel get together?” and tomorrow, who knows? My point. The time for a Cheers comeback special is now, now, NOW! The world is in your hands, Mr. Charles. Don’t let us down.

Yours truly,

Guy

March 2, 1995

Mr.(s) Charles,

This is the third letter, six months later. By now I can only ask, just as Cliff did in Cheers episode #234, “What’s up with that?” Why, Mr. Charles, have you not returned my cordialities? Are my typing skills sub par? Has the postal service obscured my return address? Have I not been clear enough with my objective, to get you to write me back? If not, here you go: Write me back.

Don’t get me wrong. I am not trying to be a whiner, here. Nor a stick in the mud or a total downer or a cry baby. Not in the least. I don’t want you to write me back (don’t stop reading now, or you will not get my point) simply because I am asking you to. I want you to write me back because I have good ideas, which I do. But I don’t get a response. And I don’t know how else to get your attention. Well, that’s not true. I know several ways, all of them illegal. Keep in mind, Mr. Charles, I grew up in the East End. I have seen things explode.

This is not a threat. If you knew me (which I am offering you the opportunity) you would know that this is not a threat (know me! Take the chance. It is a fun ride!).

Each day I get up before the first school bell and meet the postman (his name is Jim, by the way. He is from the Caribbean and knows very little trivia. We pass the time) at the mailbox on the corner, because I fear the high school students would burn your letter, advance and all, should they find it before me. But each day, as you can probably guess, I receive nothing.

So I am pulling out all the stops. I am breaking all the rules.

Enclosed is an unabridged version of the script, now tentatively titled, Getting Away From it All. And, while we’re at it, since that was the last rule of query letters (not to send the screenplay without request) here is a scene from the first act:

INT. PLANE. AFTERNOON. NORM PETERSON emerges from bathroom and squeezes past STEWARDESS, who shares a glance with SAM MALONE.

NORM
Afternoon, everybody.

COACH PASSENGERS (in unison)
Norm!

SAM
looks confusedly about the plane, before returning his interest to STEWARDESS. NORM half waves as he squeezes past CLIFFORD CLAVIN into his window seat.

CLIFF
How does Pennsylvania look to you, Normy?

NORM
Better than it would if they decided to empty that bathroom right now.

(laugh track)

NORM
What does a guy have to do to get a beer around here?

Mr. Charles, if that doesn’t wet your whistle, I don’t know what will. I expect Jim will have something for me (something that is not a bill or a Publisher’s Clearing House cheque someday soon, and I can take him out for a celebration Mocha at the Starbucks on the corner soon after) with your name on it. Very soon.

Very sincerely,

Guy

May 11, 1995

Dear Mr. Guy,

Thank you for submitting your screenplay, Getting Away From It All. We very much enjoyed your work. However, we believe that CBC Productions is not situated to give your manuscript the editing, distributing and promotion it needs.

We wish you every success with your endeavors. We are sorry we could not be more positive.

Sincerely,

Charles Burrows Charles Productions

May 18, 1995

Chucks,

We live in a world. This is in italics for a reason, Mr. Charles, whichever one you are. The reason is I am quoting myself. I have been sitting here staring at these, what, four or five words now for the past hour and I cannot get past them. I have had, “We live in a cold world,” and “We live in a cruel world,” and even added, “Which is why Cheers is so important.”

But nothing. I got nothing. I have been drinking. I have taken my shirt off and now I am drinking beer with my shirt and the lights off. Take that. This is what you’ve done.

We live in a world full of hard bastards (that’s it!), of which you are two, I am sorry to say. Your work on Taxi and Mary Tyler Moore and of course M*A*S*H and Cheers, have filled my nights and early evenings with happiness, and given me a common experience with millions of other viewers I could otherwise have not attained, but that does not excuse your behavior.

When did my stomach grow this much hair? Mr. Charles, I don’t remember my stomach having so much hair this morning. Also: it appears to be salivating.

I hope you both… [Note to self: Fill with mean things].

Did I tell you about the high school students? When they think I am not at home, they do an impression of me trying to pick up chicks in a bar. One of them says, “Hey, baby. My cock makes Norm’s bar tab look like Paul’s,” and the other one says, “You’re a suit-full, aren’t you?”

See? Do you see? They’re using you against me. They’re using Cheers, which you created, against me. Otherwise I would be cool.

As for my screenplay, I have retitled it, Cheers: Slouching Toward Bethlehem. No longer will Norm discover his test results were actually switched with those of a cancerous rat in Lilith’s lab, and that in fact, it is the rat and not him who is dying. He will not discover that. No:

EXTERIOR. MORNING. HAYFIELD. SAM, DIANE, REBECCA, CARLA, CLIFF, WOODY, FRASIER, LILITH and ERNIE PANTUSO’S GHOST push NORM in a wheelchair. A combine rumbles in the background.

NORM
You guys hear that?

CLIFF
Hear what there Normy?

WOODY (to Sam)
Poor Mr. Peterson. Same thing happened to my Uncle Tyrone.

SAM
Woody...

WOODY
He was sick for a week and by the end of it he heard my Aunt Sally talkin’ to him from his cereal. All she would say was, “Too much milk. I’m drowning,” over and over again. He didn’t last long after that.

NORM
You guys can’t hear that? Well, what about this? Afternoon, everybody!

ALL
(rumbling, rumbling lots of rumbling, the field behind them begins to shake)
Norm!

The End

Thank you, Mr. Charles. And Mr. Charles, thank you as well. Thanks. Really. Someday when I am old and I am accepting my Oscar for lifetime achievement I will say, “Thanks to you and thanks to you and the Academy and my beautiful wife, her over there, and especially to Glen and Les Charles.” This is sarcasm. Like saying, “Oh, yeah. Carla’s a virgin.” In other words: I am dumping you. Don’t call me. Well, okay, call me if you want to. Or, you know, write me, whatever. I have a steady date with the mailman. I will be waiting.

Always and forever,

Guy

Craig Battle is a contributing editor of Forget. Not funny.