I wrote the lowest grossing film of all time.

Sep 14, 2023

Hi Friends,

I just got back from two weeks in Europe, during which my buddy David Gandelman and I led a weeklong retreat just outside of Barcelona in Spain. The retreat was really powerful for all of us there. Along with heart-opening meditation, breathwork and writing, we shared meals, local adventures, some tears and so much laughter. I was reminded yet again how much we humans are wired for connection and how transformational community can be. I’m committed to finding more community in my daily life, and I encourage you to seek out ways to bring more into yours as well. David and I are leading our next retreat in May, in Bali, and I expect it to be every bit as wonderful as this one was in Spain. Join us if you feel the call and are able.

After the retreat, David and I spent a few days on the island of Menorca. We were having coffee and croissants at a local cafe when we got to talking about my experience writing the film, The Oogieloves in the Big Balloon Adventure. I checked this morning and it still holds the title for the lowest grossing wide release (2,000+ screens) in history. Yep: I wrote the biggest flop of all time. I know, impressive.

David told me I had to write a newsletter about the experience. Now, had he read Big Love, he would know I already had written about it. Obviously he’s a terrible friend for not reading my book, but at least I get to shame him here (even though he doesn’t read this newsletter either and will sadly never know). In any case, his excitement about me writing the biggest flop of all time has me wanting to share with you the chapter from Big Love called Flop, in which I detail the experience, as well as the ways in which it had we look at success and failure through a different lens. I hope you enjoy it! And if you’ve read it already, I hope you re-enjoy it!

FLOP

I peed my pants in second grade. On Valentine’s Day. Just after lunch in Mrs. Brown’s class. She was strict, and I was afraid to ask her for a bathroom pass, because, “You could have gone during lunch.” So I tried to hold it, until I couldn’t. Luckily, I was the class mailman that week, so I walked to the back corner of our classroom and filed Valentine’s Day cards into everyone’s mail slots. As Mrs. Brown talked basic math- ematics, I peed my pants. What relief! Warm and immediate. My classmates sat at their desks, oblivious to the wet stain on my pants and the yellow puddle on the floor. I hurried back to my desk without anyone realizing what I’d done.

Success!

Ten minutes later, however, Jenny Stein, the clever girl I had a crush on, yelled from the mailboxes, “There’s water all over the floor, and it looks kind of yellow.”

Uh-oh.

I slunk at my desk, in my soaked pants, terrified I’d be found out. Mrs. Brown looked at me with knowing eyes but said nothing. A gift I’ll never forget. None of the kids ever knew I pissed myself. Had they found out, they would have never let me forget it. Scotty Potty, all the way through high school.

A few years ago, decades after narrowly escaping that Scotty Potty fate, a very public failure carried me back to that Valentine’s Day. Only in this version, I crapped my pants in the middle of the classroom, and everybody watched. In this version, no kind soul helped hide my secret — it was out there for all the world to see.

It started out as a dream come true. A big dream, too. I wrote a screenplay that got produced and released as a feature film in 2012. Released nationwide, that is, on more than two thousand movie screens across the United States. That’s what the film industry calls a very wide release, an especially unusual feat for an independent film like ours. Even Pulp Fiction made it to fewer than fifteen hundred screens. Take that, Quentin Tarantino. Yeah, I was feeling pretty good, like an up-and-coming Hollywood screenwriter. Like a guy on his way to making it. It was just a matter of time before I got my star on Hollywood Blvd.

A dream come true.
Until the nightmare began.

Said film — The Oogieloves in the Big Balloon Adventure —an interactive children’s musical, bombed critically and commercially. Extraordinarily so. Referred to by critics as a trainwreck, cloyingly unbearable, and akin to witnessing the end of the world, the film found no love with audiences, either. It went on to become the lowest-grossing wide-release film in history. As in ever. It still holds that unenviable title, which makes me, still, the unenviable titleholder: writer of the lowest-grossing wide-release film in history, as in ever.

I feared I would forever go down as the guy who wrote the biggest flop of all time. A laughingstock. My potential screenwriting career would disintegrate. People would point and snicker at me in restaurants, and industry folk would fake- cough “loser” in my presence. My friends would secretly pity me, and some would be embarrassed to hang out with me, lest the truth of my script came out at dinner parties. I could become president, or find the cure for cancer, and I would still be the dude who wrote that disastrous Oogieloves movie. Cue the snark. Of course, the film was so unsuccessful that most people still don’t know it even existed, and even fewer have any clue who I am. And, a cure for cancer obviously outshines any box office disaster. Our minds are masters of worst-case scenarios, though, and my mind locked onto a future of overwhelming humiliation.

My sister, in a genuine attempt to comfort me when it became clear the film had epically bombed, proclaimed, “Your movie will probably be an answer on Jeopardy someday!” Thanks, sis. As far as I’m aware, no answer from Alex Trebek has elicited the question, “What are...the Oogieloves?” Though I think that’s what moviegoers themselves were wondering, both the few who saw the film and the many who avoided it. I still have trouble accurately answering that question: giant, lovable, freaky puppet-like creatures that exclaim a lot?

The film opened on August 29, 2012. Oogust 29, according to the posters. I spent the day with a friend at the US Open tennis tournament, unsuccessfully trying to keep my mind off the film’s first day. A solid opening weekend would have guaranteed many years of Oogieloves income — from ticket sales, merchandising, and sequels, two of which I had already written and would only be produced if the first film did well. The Oogieloves were not only going to entertain children for years to come; they were going to earn me a shit-ton of cash in doing so. That was the hope, anyway. Life had a different plan in store.

Many of us gathered at the producer’s apartment that evening, to celebrate what we hoped would be a successful opening. None of us expected blockbuster numbers, but we couldn’t have predicted the degree to which the film would flop. When the box office receipts started to trickle in, they made it clear the movie had bombed. We’re talking nuclear. Several of the screens reported zero admissions. As in no one bought a single ticket. Have you ever been alone in a movie theater? If so, you would have been one person more than my film had in some of its theaters. The celebration quickly turned into a wake, as we all mourned, among other things, our reputations and whatever futures we had tied to the success of the film.

The disappointment and embarrassment hit instantly and profoundly, like realizing you had thrown out a multimillion-dollar lottery ticket and discovering the entire country had seen video footage of you making love to a burrito. I think I went into shock. I had no control over the fate of the film, yet its fate had immediately and irrevocably squashed my dignity, and my writing career. Or so I thought. My partner, Goran (G), took one look at me and called in sick to work for the rest of the week.

I can laugh about the bruising experience now and write this lighthearted chapter about my most public failure, but not before feeling the pain of it. Not before questioning my worth, as a creative and a human being. I tried to ignore the barrage of criticism and attempted to remind myself that other people’s opinions in no way define me. But it stung. All of it. Every negative review, every mean tweet, every uncomfortable conversation with friends who had seen the film and stuttered through some awkward version of “good job” or “congratulations.” I knew better than to ask, “What did you think of it?”

I felt like a fraud, a hack who had no business believing he could write anything, let alone movies. Like a disappointment, to the production team and investors who had put their faith in me, to my family and friends who had rooted for me, and to G, who had been by my side throughout and who, like me, had seen the potential success of the film as a means to a financial security neither of us had ever known. I felt like a joke. Worse, a punch line. Even though the script is just one component of a film, I took all the negative criticism personally.

The film failed. Therefore I failed. Therefore I was a failure.

I fell into a depression for a couple of weeks. The sting lasted much longer, but the shock and despair subsided. I ached for the entire cast and crew that had worked so hard on the film, only to see it ridiculed mercilessly. The film’s failure brought out even more bullies, all salivating at the opportunity to punish it, and the team behind it even further. Criticism gave way to cruelty; kindness fell to cynicism. I responded to the backlash with an essay I posted on my Facebook page. In it, I wrote, “You’d think we were trying to turn three-year-olds on to the crack pipe.” I understood hating the movie, but I couldn’t make sense of the venom. One hater suggested the creatives behind the film should be beaten to death. Needless to say, comments like that only strengthened my feelings of failure.

Not everyone has an Oogieloves, but we all know failure. It’s never fun to fail, at anything. Have you ever been fired from a job or not hired after an interview? Dieted to lose weight, only to put more back on? Gone on a terrific first date and then gotten rejected before the second one happened? We face variations of failure constantly. Many of us have quit smoking and started up again a few weeks later. We’ve missed our kids’ sporting events. We’ve gotten another parking ticket we can’t comfortably afford to pay. We’ve overslept and arrived late to a meeting. We’ve burned dinner. We’ve undercooked breakfast.

Fail. Fail. Fail.

It sucks when we don’t show up for ourselves, or others, the way we want to. Our minds want us to feel ashamed when we fail, so that we stop taking risks and we stay safe in our comfort zones. My mind has used my failures to convince me I am incapable or unworthy or untalented. “You will fail again,” it tells me, “and it will hurt even more next time.” Yes, it’s painful to fail, and it’s important to feel our feelings, including the disappointment and sadness that often accompany failure. I have yet to heal any aspect of my life through denial. Still, it’s just as important to recognize that our failures don’t define us. You are not your burned dinner, or your smoking habit. I am not the Oogieloves. I wrote a box office bomb. So what? That in no way speaks to the quality of my character. I continued to write and share my creativity with the world, even after failing extravagantly. Now that says something about me.

Most successes arise from a mountain of failures, each one unpredictable and scary. We all fear failure, but that doesn’t have to stop us from working toward success. When we honestly acknowledge our failures and learn from them what we can, we create a path to move forward, and to succeed. We can live our lives determined to avoid failure, but in doing so we’re certain to avoid taking chances that might transform our lives in myriad positive ways. We’re also certain to prevent ourselves from learning how to handle failure when we inevitably encounter it. Sure, we fail less by not trying much, but we succeed less, too.

Of course, when we take an honest look at our definition of success, we may discover we’re finding it more often than we realize. How do you define success? I have too often gauged success by how people responded to whatever I created or achieved, without taking the time to honor the process of creation. I’ve invited disappointment by attaching myself to factors beyond my control. Because the Oogieloves failed both critically and commercially, I believed I failed as a writer. Was it not a success that I completed the script? Or that the screenplay was produced into a film? Or that the film defied every odd in Hollywood and made it into theaters? I bought into the idea that the film failed because it bombed. But what about the journey to get to opening day? It’s so rarely the outcome that speaks to who we are and what we’ve achieved. What matters most are the steps we take to reach that outcome.

I had a blast writing the Oogieloves. I spent nights lost in silliness, thinking up visionary lyrics like “Wobble with your wiggle, with your wiggle wobble too” and “If you want a milkshake, you know what to do. March and moo!” I danced around my bedroom as I imagined Goobie, Zoozie, and Toofie (the actual Oogieloves) romping through LovelyLoveVille in search of magical balloons for their dear friend Schluufy the Pillow’s surprise party. (Don’t worry, none of that should make any sense to you.) I sang the songs to G, until, like me, he couldn’t get them out of his head. He’s still cursing me for “Pineapple upside-down flapjacks, clap clap jack, for the flap- jacks.” I’m still cursing myself for that one, too. It really sticks after the five hundredth listen.

Writing the script brought me joy. And as a guy with folders of incomplete writing projects, finishing the script felt terrific. Like success.

If the standard definition of failure is “lack of success,” let’s consider how we define success before we deem ourselves a failure.

Even though I don’t define success in terms of money, power, and popularity, I see how my mind still gets lost in those false notions of what it means to be successful. My ego wants more cash, more cachet, and more clicks. There can’t ever be enough of any of them. That’s not success, of course. That’s conditioning. Addiction. Desperation.

Love invites me to see success differently, as the fullest embodiment of kindness and compassion I’m capable of expressing. When I’m loving, I’m successful. When I’m forgiving, I’m successful, too. I’ve come to view success through a lens of humanity, and the degree to which I’m successful directly aligns with the degree to which I love myself and my fellow human beings. This definition of success fires me up and keeps me striving for more.

I still fail constantly, especially in the arena of personal development. Every time I act cruelly, I fail at being kind. Every time I snap at my partner, I fail at being patient. Every time I condemn someone for her choices, I fail at being accepting. If for me success equals my capacity for love, then it’s incumbent on me to be aware when I fail to find love so that I can succeed in returning to it. Yes, I’m failing all the time, but I’m succeeding even more often. When I smile at a stranger, I’m succeeding at kindness. Connecting with another’s pain is a success at compassion. All moments of forgiveness and authenticity and vulnerability reflect a commitment to love and are therefore successes, too.

I still get turned on by money, power, and popularity, by the way, much more often than I’d like, but accepting rather than denying the reality of those desires also serves my growth. Just as transcending those desires does. I hope one day to wholly embody what I understand to be true — that neither money nor power nor popularity ultimately has anything to do with a life of meaning or joy. Love is where I find my deepest meaning and my greatest joy. Love is what drives me to express myself the most authentically, and to connect with others the most openly, more than money, power, and popularity ever could.

When I think of the Oogieloves now, a strange pride overcomes me. I wrote the Oogieloves, the biggest flop of all time. Li’l ol’ me. No one else can say that. (I realize it’s likely no one else wishes they could say that.) I’ve got conversation fodder till the day I die. Not to mention a much thicker skin, and a chapter in this book. There’s also a certain freedom that comes with writing the biggest bomb ever: you can’t sink lower than rock bottom. So often we keep ourselves from making brave choices because we don’t want to relive the pain or embarrassment of the terrible thing that happened to us before. We don’t want to relive the Oogieloves. But it rarely gets worse than the event that has us so scared to begin with. I’ve already written the lowest-grossing wide-release film in history. Am I really in danger of topping that? If I did, I’d survive. And I’d keep writing.

That’s all we can ever do in the face of failure: just keep doing.

Before starting this chapter, I reread some of the more scathing Oogieloves reviews, which included descriptions like excruciating and ultimately oppressive. I scrolled through pages of Twitter comments, nearly all of which ridiculed the film. If you plop your kid in front of Oogieloves you are an awful parent. I listened to one of the many anti-Oogieloves podcast episodes out there, during which one host suggested the movie was designed to play for prisoners of war while you’re interrogating them. I laughed as I read and listened to the mockery and insults. Then my strange pride disintegrated as my insides heated up, and I broke out into a full-body sweat. Head to toe. I felt horribly judged and embarrassed all over again. Like Scotty Potty, only the pants-crapping version.

And it passed, as feelings always do.

I remembered how one of the PR guys for the film suggested I launch my own Facebook page to announce myself as the film’s writer, to promote the film before its release, and to engage with potential fans. I took his advice and started my author page on Facebook. I did a little prerelease promotion but ultimately didn’t engage with a lot of Oogieloves fans, mostly because there weren’t that many.

After the film flopped, I still had my Facebook page and some time to consider what I wanted to do with it. I started to write posts about the things that mattered most to me, such as kindness, authenticity, compassion, and love. People began to notice my page and share my posts. In a few years, a few hundred thousand were following it, and my posts were reaching millions of people every week. It’s in great part due to the success of my Facebook page that this book even exists. And without the failure of the Oogieloves, my Facebook page may never have existed.

We have no idea what seeds we’re planting as we create our lives, or if and when they’ll be sown. All we can do is continue to create, despite the threat or reality of failure, and be aware and grateful when our courage has made way for a harvest.

I hope the chapter resonated with you in some way. Would love to hear your thoughts on success and failure, and if you’ve got your own story about flopping that you want to share, by all means let us know.

Bigger Love with Scott Stabile

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