Chapter 6: The Weeping of Greystone

The words hung in the air like party balloons. Bingham just stared out the adjacent window, not moving, his mind cycling very far away. Then, after a hard swallow and a blink of his eyes that said, "What do I have to lose?" Bingham turned back to Dr. Daniel and said, "I'm all ears."

V. B. punched up the speaker phone, "Cancel all my afternoon appointments, Jaynell, and refer the emergencies to Doc Miller at Cedars. He owes me."

The doctor talked for the rest of the afternoon. The ideas flowed over Bingham like a soothing bubble bath, and he jotted note upon note. V. B. lectured like a scholar, offering structural reconstruction, casting suggestions, cinematography tips, and more, making references to Eisenstein, Welles, Hitchcock, and Truffaut. He recommended The Haunting of Hell House, Night of the Hunter, Val Lewton's Cat People, and The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari. He told Bingham to gather his crew around and watch the films as a team. Dr. Daniel advised Bingham to stick to his instincts, go for the unexpected, to try to innovate, and reminded him not to just copycat the latest hit. Bingham told him to be kind and fair to his crew but not to accept any lip either. He told Bingham to fire the screenplay committee and ask to the book's author to adapt his own work with the help of a single experienced film writer. And, he told him most of all, to relax and let go of his stress. Bingham's rash was already starting to fade.

At the end of the day, an enthusiastic Bingham flipped open the phone, punched a few buttons and said into the mouthpiece, "Maggie, it's Rob. I'm still in Georgia -- yes, yes, just a stress thing. Call the set, tell them to put everything on hold. Give everybody the day off. Yes, I'm sober. I'll be back on the red-eye in the morning, and I've got big news."

Over the following weeks, Bingham stayed in touch with V. B. soliciting opinions and the occasional consolation. The Doctor took every call, and in turn, gave some sage advice and closed with a movie or two to watch over the weekend. Inevitably, the video "prescriptions" (as he took to calling them) solved Bingham's problems within a scene or two. Bingham's film, The Weeping of Greystone, was trucking along -- under budget and ahead of schedule.

In time, the movie was wrapped and in the sneaks it got glowing audience reports and a stream of critical praise. Then, a week before release, disaster struck. It came to light that the studio had dropped a legal ball, failing to buy the screenplay rights from an option the writer had signed with another production company. The competing studio, fearing the inevitable box office competition of Greystone, tangled up the legalities in a knot and effectively blocked the release. To this day, the film stays on the release calendar at a major studio, penciled in as "TBA", waiting for the day a settlement is reached.

Despite the political turmoil, Bingham was thrilled. His rash was long gone, and he'd rediscovered the passions that had brought him to the film business in the first place. He was talking about dusting off his old unfinished screenplay and looking for financing to direct his own low-budget indie. It was the love of the art that had him going now, not the love of a dollar bill.

Bingham's close friends and confidants, noticing the change, pressed him for his secret. One by one, he passed along a guarded phone number, sending a stream of Hollywood's elite to their cel phones for a touch of wisdom from a country doctor in Georgia.

The results were astonishing. A method character actor returned to leading man success in a movie about germ warfare. A long-mocked Z-movie director made his way to the bigscreen as fodder for an Oscar-winning jewel. A hunky hero reinvented himself with historical detail, receiving critical acclaim and public adoration. A cutesy moppet took the helm of a chopper and got attention for her serious side. Studios stopped optioning napkins and went to the library for ideas.

No, the golden age of film has not yet returned. Mammoth budgets and copycat trends continue. Too many movies go for the gold, but forget about the concrete. Scripts are written in minutes and productions drag on for years. And stars, directors and producers still worry themselves into a rash.

But for those who consult the second opinions of Dr. V. B. Daniel, they get more than advice. They get to hear his history lessons, his seasoned insights, and his passionate opinions about the greatest art form. For those who will listen, they get more than a checkup from a general practitioner. With Dr. Daniel, they get cured by a specialist in his field.