This morning I brought a tin cup filled with blogger rage to work over the story about Rebecca Ekler suing Universal Studios and Judd Apatow over the alleged baby-theft of the screenplay for the popular Knocked Up. Because no one has ever slipped on sperm and become pregnant accidentally before. (Thank your lucky stars that it happens–that’s why I’m here.) But then I ate a granola bar, did some stretches and actually wrote some stuff and realized, “You know what? I’m bigger than that.” It doesn’t matter that Eckler is most likely pursuing this because there’s no way they’ll make her movie now (she was apparently holding out for the “Big American Offer.”) Or that I’ve never read anything of hers that wasn’t narcissistic or self-deprecating in that “but I really think I’m fan-fricking-tastic–don’t you?” kind of way. I will even go as far as saying that if everything she says is true–the screenplay graphic treatment used two different colours and a martini glass just like her book, the dude is Jewish-Canadian, just like her man, the lead is a up-and-coming television reporter (ok, that’s not the same) and there are jokes about penis sizes, doctor’s offices and trampolines, just like her book–I would probably be catching tears in the heel of my Manolo Blahnik too. But I’m just not going there.
This article appears in May 31 – Jun 6, 2007.
