Dear Di,
Gee, it was terrific to see you at the tribute last week. You and Roger both looked great, and it was good to hear the new screenplay is coming along so well. Tell Marty he’s a fool if he doesn’t shoot the third act as written.
The enclosed notebooks are sent to you in strictest confidence for reasons you’ll understand as soon as you read them. They’re the diaries of Cady Roth, the dwarf we hired for the additional movement sequences in Mr. Woods. Remember? They were delivered to me, at her instruction, by one Jeff Kassabian, who turned up here several days ago in a T-shirt that depicted Clark Kent and Dick Tracy kissing each other. (All will be explained in the manuscript.) Cady’s very ill—in a coma at a hospital in the Valley—if she hasn’t already passed away.
Bear with me. I’m sending you this because I value your opinion more than any other and because your own brilliant mythology looms large in the story that (I hope) you’re about to read. I could be way off the deep end here, but I think this material could be the basis for an important film. That may surprise you when you read it, since I’m cast as kind of a heavy, but I’m sure you’ll understand my excitement over the chance to reflect ironically on the ramifications of my own work—of our work. This could be a “small film” that would stand as a wise and elegant companion piece to a mainstream classic without detracting from it in any way. No director in my memory has ever done this, so I’d like to be the first to try. Of course, certain elements of the story would have to be altered for legal and dramatic purposes, but the central idea is extremely appealing to me. See what you think, anyway. Look at this as raw material and go from there. You’re obviously the only one to write the movie.
Lucy would want me to send you her love.
Philip