An award-winning actor finds healing from his trauma as a World War II bomber by portraying an everyman in the greatest Christmas movie of all time. It’s like Top Gun meets White Christmas. Now That Should Be A Christmas Season Movie Release [Note: There is currently a biopic in pre-production from Burns & Co. I …
Short Pitch
It is called The Battle of Blair Mountain
It is a historical drama
In the vein of Peterloo
It is like Newsies meets Hatfields & McCoys
It follows educated but aggressive coal miner Frank Keeney
And deliberative, restrained widower Fred Mooney
As they fight for their fellow miners’ justice, human dignity, and constitutional right to unionize.
Problems arise when a sheriff who is a friend of the miners is murdered, a corrupt sheriff begins locking up miners without due process, and an army of 10,000-armed miners marching on Blair Mountain turns into a disorganized mob, the largest civil insurrection since the Civil War.
Together they will use their power of persuasion and patriotism to diffuse a tense situation.
The idea came to me while watching a documentary on The History Channel about hillbillies when I was visiting the Appalachian foothills.
My unique approach would be several different nuanced perspectives as individuals navigate a brutal world set against the beauty of the West Virginia mountains.
A set piece would be when Keeney and Mooney have convinced the marching miners to turn back just 12 miles from Blair Mountain and meet in a ballpark. Guards at the entrances to the park ask for the password. “I come creeping,” reply the miners. Soon, the field, dugouts and bleachers are full of miners, armed to the teeth, seething with anger, ready to hear what their leaders have to say. Keeney and Mooney stand before them in fancy suits, but their faces and hands are worn and haggard like theirs. “Just over that ridge is Chaifn and Logan County,” says Keeney. He points to the south. Then he points to the northeast. “And coming from that way is the US Army.” There are murmurs in the crowd. “Some of ya’ll fought in France,” says Keeney. “The army you fought with defeated the Hun, a professionally trained army. So, you darn well know you can’t fight it here.” There are a few angry retorts from the field. “ Put it plainly,” says Mooney, motioning for Keeney to step back. “They’ve sent the entire U. S. government and Army to stop us. We are patriotic men who will not fight our government. Go home. There are trains coming, promised to take ya there.” There is silence. Some murmuring. Finally, an old black man stands up from the bleachers. A white beard barely hides a R branded into his cheek. “Boys, he’s right,” he softly says. Men continue to speak, drowning him out. A giant, red bearded hillbilly next to him stands up. “Shut up! Pappy here is talking!” The old man smiles. “You ain’t foolin’ no more. This is your daddy talkin’. It’s your real Uncle Sam.” Slowly men stand, begin dispersing. Keeney and Mooney smile, relieved.
Target audiences would be men and women 30-90, history buffs, bluegrass, folk, country and western music fans, citizens of Appalachia, coal miners and their communities and blue-collar workers and their communities.
Audiences would want to see it for its universal themes of standing in the face of adversity, action, adventure, community, fighting for human dignity, liberties, and constitutional rights, the bluegrass soundtrack, honoring the working men and women of America and the beauty of the Appalachian Mountains.
The train ride to Elberon, New Jersey was peaceful. All the engineers and conductors in the region switched off their engines and waited for the president to pass so that no sound of bell or whistle would disturb him. Along the train tracks thousands of ordinary men and women stood in silent respect. When the train reached Elberon it continued on 3,200 feet of track laid by two thousand people the night before so the president could be taken to the door of where he was staying, Franklyn Cottage. However, the train could not reach the cottage due to its steep hilltop location.
A crowd had been waiting all day for the president’s arrival. As soon as the problem became apparent, two hundred men ran forward. They grabbed ahold of the train cars and silently rolled them up the hill.
Immigrants looking for the gold of the American Dream become the forgotten victims of the largest mass lynching in American History. Now That Should Be A Movie.
A blind man and his dog offer comfort and guidance as they escape from the North Tower on 9/11. Now That Should Be A Movie Hello and thank you for reading today’s post of That Should Be A Movie. Today’s book I would like to pitch as a movie is Thunder Dog: The True Story …
“That should be a movie.” “They need to make a move about that.” “This book would make a great movie.” “That ought to be a film.” I’m sure we all heard these phrases growing up. For me, the reasoning behind these statements became clear at a young age due to the power of media to …




