“But, James,” you say, exasperated, while you wait in vain for the newly reborn Harvey “Phoenix” Weinstein to return your call. “You incessantly bitch about the poor quality of the films in the running for the Oscar this year. If you’re so good, how come you’re not up there yourself? And, by the way, OMG! I loved The Artist, you are so wrong about that!”
And you are quite right, except I take exception to one part of your comment in particular because it reminds me of a spat I had with an Indian director I rewrote a script for back in the latter part of the last century. “If you’re so good,” she hissed, “Why aren’t you in Hollywood?”
“You really don’t get it,” I hissed right back. Defending script rewrites is a blood sport.