By Andrew Robinson

When I was around eight or nine years old, nearly twenty years ago now, I was home sick with one of the worst bouts of the flu I’d ever had. I rarely get sick (knock on wood) but when I do it puts me down for the count and I can still remember this particular bug to this day. I couldn’t get up, move or even sleep for long periods of time for just about the time I would become comfortable I’d go into a cold sweat or hot flash making sleep, let alone comfort, fade into memory. I was about two days into my bout when my mom returned home from a trip to the store with a bag of “get well” mementos to help take my mind off things. In the bag was a movie, an Disney VHS tape I believe, an album and three books; “Hatchet,” “The Island” and “Dancing Carl.”

All three books were written by the author Gary Paulsen, who up until that point I had never heard of, frankly because he didn’t write “Batman” or “Transformers.” Hey, I was young. Truthfully, at the time, I would’ve preferred a few more movies or comics but anything was better than nothing for I’d burned out on bad cartoons and The Price is Right. I started with “Hatchet” for no other reason than the cover of the book had a picture of an axe on it. It was because of “Hatchet” I learned what a hatchet was. The book was exciting and extremely visual, so much so that it was the first experience I’d had with a book where it felt like watching a movie in my head. The experience of reading “Hatchet” wasn’t just a collection of words that were assimilated in my head and understood, but moving images complete with sounds and smells. It was awesome. I couldn’t put “Hatchet” down and read it in less than two or three days. By the time I was done with the book I had begun feeling better, though the fear of still being contagious kept me from returning to school for the rest of the week. Darn.

I immediately dove into “The Island,” which was a departure from “Hatchet” though equally beautiful and engaging. I remember thinking to myself “how does Gary do it?” How was it possible for a writer, whom I assumed was an older gentleman, write stories about kids my age and their adventures so successfully, yet no two (granted I’d only read two of his books at this point) are ever alike. I was hooked and I finished “The Island” faster than “Hatchet.” The weekend came and I was back to my old self again, but instead of venturing outside I hunkered down to read “Dancing Carl.”

At this stage in my life it was pretty much my Mother and I. My Mother had me when she was a teenager and she raised me with the help of my Grandma and Grandpa. Grandpa was in the Air Force based out of Offut Air Force Base in Nebraska and we would take frequent trips to the base where my love affair with planes, especially bombers and fighter jets, was born. Until I was about 15 I was convinced that I was destined to become a pilot, which may come as a shock to people who know me since I am somewhat terrified of flying commercially or in small aircraft. I don’t know what it was but something inside me wanted desperately to fly an F-15 or B-52. I would frequent air shows, meet pilots and even steal time in the cockpit of some of these wondrous machines, while parked of course. When I wasn’t dreaming of flying or being in the Air Force I would often prod my Grandfather for stories about his early days in the military. He usually saved his war stories for long car rides to Minnesota where we’d fish in the summers or for trips to the local Dairy Queen where we’d often end up after getting “lost.”

Apart from my Grandfather, I didn’t really have a father figure in my life until my Mother married around the time I began reading Gary’s work. Luckily, the man my Mother married, my Dad, shared my love affair for aviation and also got me interested in space flight. Aside from my love of aviation, I didn’t really have a great deal of friends growing up, save one. My friend Mike and I had been friends since elementary school where we met, though he was a grade or two above me, we’d always find ways of getting into trouble and turning even the most routine day into an adventure, just like in Gary’s books. There was a park between our houses with a large ravine that literally split it in two. Despite our parents’ collective warnings Mike and I would explore the ravine returning each night covered in mud and smelling of stagnant water and pond scum. We’d play Indiana Jones and dig up various pieces of trash only to be convinced we’d found something truly valuable.

So with all of this in mind I opened up “Dancing Carl” and began to read. While I won’t go so far as to say the book mirrored my life and feelings up until this point, I got the sense that Gary and I were somehow connected. While “Hatchet” was my first cinematic literature experience, “Carl” proved to be the first time I’d felt personally connected to a book. It had fishing, adventure, winter sports and airplanes all packed into a small town, which I could endlessly relate to. But most of all it had Carl. The character of Carl intrigued me for some of the traits and behaviors he exhibited I saw in my Grandfather even at a young age. It was the notion that there was always something, some feeling going on just under the surface that was for the individual to bear that just captivated me. It became my favorite book and I remember thinking once I was finished that someone needed to make it into a film.

I read “Carl” dozens of times over the course of the next few years, so much so that the cover and some of the inside pages had all but disappeared from their binding. Yet each time I read it I got something new from it and it seemed to get better with age, for as I got older I was able to absorb more of the subtext in Gary’s writing. As I grew older I would remind myself of “Dancing Carl” and look for it in theaters or on TV hoping that someday, someone would turn it into a movie. The years went by and I lost touch with “Carl,” I even misplaced my copy of the book, which I’m sure is sitting in a box somewhere in my parent’s basement. Yet, despite having not read the book for nearly 10 years at one point, the memory of it and the impact it had was never forgotten.

Fast forward to fall of 2008, Jenna and I were stranded in an airport in Texas trying to get a flight to Nebraska for a location scout we’d planned for “April Showers.” We were sitting in the airport lounge when out of the blue Jenna asked me “what are your plans after April Showers?” Up until that point I was just happy with being able to make a movie let alone think about doing another one. So I sat for a moment in silence.

Then I told her about Carl.

I don’t think I spoke for very long, nor do I think I had gotten all of the story points right, but at the end of my retelling of “Dancing Carl” Jenna said, “that sounds amazing.” Little did either of us know that a few months later we’d be seriously considering making “Dancing Carl” our next film. I remember when we decided that we had to do it and the resulting confusion that followed for neither of us had any idea of how to go about getting permission to turn someone else’s work into a movie. I was especially anxious for I knew at some point in the process, be it now or later, I’d have to talk and/or explain my vision to Gary, which is kind of like saying to a little league baseball player, “hey, care to take batting practice with The Babe.” For two months we tried to track Gary down, or at least someone working for him, so we could ask the question, “can we do this?”

The call came one afternoon, I was at home working on “April Showers” when Jenna called and asked if I could do a conference call with Gary’s manager. Within minutes I was on the phone and telling him what the book meant to me and why I wanted so badly to make it into a film. I believe I even spent the better part of an hour acting it out over the phone. At the end of the conversation Gary’s manager said he’d be in touch but that he didn’t make any promises or guarantees. A few days to a week later he called and asked to see what else I had done, mainly “April Showers,” which at that point wasn’t even finished yet. We cobbled up the most complete edit of the film we could and sent it over to Gary’s manager and, I think, Gary himself. Another week went by before the phone rang and I received some of the greatest news I’d ever gotten.

“Gary says okay.”

It took everything I could not to jump out of my skin in celebration but as soon as the phone call ended I was struck with panic. I had to turn Gary’s words into a film. I was petrified, for here was a piece of literature that was so important to me, written by a man who I consider to be a master and now I had to essentially rewrite it for the screen. I instantly thought of those Southwest Airline commercials screaming, “Want to get away?”

Yes.

How was I going to do this? I can’t rewrite Gary, who the heck am I? A few days passed and my panic lessened but wasn’t fully gone (even as I write this I can still feel it’s presence) when the phone rang again. It was Gary’s manager, but this time he had something for me. It was a book, I can’t tell you which one because I don’t know if it’s been published yet, but it was from Gary. His manager told me that after speaking with me and sharing our conversations with Gary that he (Gary) felt we had a few things in common and he wanted to share something new with me to see if I’d cotton to it. A simple gesture that even delivered via a third party meant the world to me and put much of my mind at ease. From that moment I allowed myself to truly believe that I could bring “Dancing Carl” to the screen.

Who would’ve thought that nearly twenty years ago a boy looking for someone to turn his favorite book into a film would someday be the one charged with doing it.