The Netflix Achewood Series That Almost Was, Part 1

1.

On June 14, 2018 — my birthday, incidentally—Pendleton Ward (Adventure Time, Bravest Warriors) came to Portland to have lunch. We'd known each other ever since he'd come to a The Great Outdoor Fight signing at Meltdown in Los Angeles ten years prior. His new show Midnight Gospel was doing well at Netflix, and he wanted to run an idea by me.

Over a lunch of a watery-looking kimchi ramen (I had really hoped Portland could do better for him that day), he asked if I'd be interested in adapting The Great Outdoor Fight into a six-part animated series for Netflix. Since this was precisely the sort of thing I'd been hoping would happen ever since I began writing Achewood, I assured him that I'd think it over and get back to him if I had the time.

We all know that's not true. I wrestled the frog out of my throat with both hands, threw it against the wall so hard it went BLAT, and said I'd love nothing more than to bring that old chestnut to life together. I'd write, he'd direct, and we'd finally do my baby up proper. We shook hands with great excitement, I patted his pugs Booger and Slug on the tops of their indifferent little heads, and then went off to buy myself an enormous pork butt at Fred Meyer. It was my birthday, and there was exciting news, so there would be smoked meat.

2.

For approximately the next two-hundred and fifty years, my and Netflix's lawyers dickered over how they might excise the GOF portion of the sprawling and cavernous Achewood universe. Apparently they are used to just hoovering everything up in one fell swoop for all of perpetuity and throughout the current known universe and all potential universes "plus radio" (these are actual terms used in entertainment contracts), but, this being my life's work, I wasn't having it. My lawyer Rob, who went to Harvard (Rob somehow mentions this neat fact even sooner after saying his first name than I just did, there), and who costs $600 an hour, went to the mat and, as his price point might suggest, prevailed. Like a pit bull on an ankle, Rob. Worth every penny. 

Okay, that part didn't take two-hundred and fifty years. It took sixteen months, and it sucked up a pretty chunk of change. But that's how you play the game, right? The table stakes are high when you're in striking distance of the stars.

Funny story: during this timeframe, before it made sense to start writing, I took a job as a cook at a grocery store, to get some health insurance (and some new stories). I've written this experience up for a later Author's Tier installment.

3.

The final Achewood/Netflix contract—which I still don't understand, and which contains actual equations—was, at some point in 2021, completed. I was commissioned to write a pilot episode, for which we'd make an animatic (basically, a black and white wire-frame version of the animated pilot, with professionally recorded voices and fairly realistic editing. Pen and I spent countless hours on calls, Zooms, and email, dividing the story up into six pieces and identifying what had to happen in the pilot. Once Netflix was happy with that, we'd start writing the outlines for the rest of the episodes. 

Meanwhile, a talented composer named Joe Wong scored and recorded a half-dozen spec songs for use in the animatic, including a truly rousing incarnation of Everybody Dance Like There's Ass In Your Pants, featuring none other than Pendleton on vocals (which he sang under a soundproofing blanket in a cloth box at home, because this was Covid days and we all worked remotely). 

4.

Further experiences in the "dreams do come true" vein include being given carte blanche to cast the voice parts. We started with bit pieces, like the journalists who wrote about Ray's old hit Ass In your Pants (Tom Kenny of SpongeBob, Mr. Show, etc), the Great Outdoor Fight announcers of various eras (the legendary Phil Hendrie), Sondra and Molly (Maria Bamford), Todd (Drew Lynch), and such. Imagine sitting in your once-normal, boring studio, only to see Phil Hendrie pop up on your screen, and then compliment the writing as "some of the best stuff that's come across his desk in a while." That was my life, and it felt...quite good. For brief moments I would actually not hear the black wingtip of Damocles dangling perilously in the adjoining room. 

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I want to keep these installments less monolithic and more frequent, so I'll be penning the next one up later this week! My parents are in town, so I may type it from the bathroom, with the faucet running, like I used to do in high school when crafting my remembrances. 

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Key to the photos, if the captions aren't showing for you:

Pendleton Ward, Booger, Slug, and Chris Onstad. June 2018.

Pendleton Ward at my house with the Original Cast.

Early artboards for the pilot pitch deck. Artist unknown. 

Starstruck man, and the legendary Phil Hendrie, recording historic GOF announcers.

Starstruck man, and Tom Kenny, reading narrative segments.