There’s a saying, which goes like this: “What happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas.” It’s a city slogan R&R Partners came up in 2003 to promote the carefree adult playground atmosphere of Las Vegas. Prior to this, the city’s been known as the “Entertainment Capital of the World” and people have been telling that “Vegas is calling”. Whatever the case, the city has been pumped full of expectations of the naughtier nature and unsurprisingly, the moniker “Sin City” is well earned.
So, it goes without saying that I’m not going into too much detail about what happened on our trip to Vegas because, well, some things really should stay there. What I can share is that it involved countless casinos, a visit to a multi-millionaire’s mansion, and one of us—me or my producer Tero (I’m not saying who)—vomiting all over our Airbnb. We explored dingy bars tucked away in the side streets beyond the flashing lights of Fremont Street, dined at Robert De Niro’s restaurant, downed multiple bottles of ridiculously expensive sake, and embarked on long road trips through the Nevada desert, nervously wondering if our driver’s unpaid speeding tickets might catch up with us.
But we made it through in one piece, weirdly so. We returned back to Los Angeles from where our journey to Vegas’s American Film Market begun a few days prior and arranged a bunch of meetings with business associates we knew, to pitch our horror film projects. We met with Marvel writers, Netflix casting agents, independent producers and such likes, in places such as Roosevelt Hotel, where they had held the first-ever Oscars almost a hundred years ago.
Second to last night, we went downtown to a cool little Asian joint, to catch up with someone I knew from before.
This guy was late—not just 10 minutes like he claimed, but a solid 45. His excuse? “Traffic in LA, man.” Sure, maybe he came from some congested part of town, but it didn’t seem likely. When he finally showed up, he strutted in like he owned the place, talking nonstop about himself, his projects, and even griping about Finland after a brief visit there months ago. It was an odd start to an evening that was supposed to be a thank-you dinner for helping him connect with some important players in the business.
Over Asian food, the guy, a visiting talent agent from Europe with a few projects to pitch, did what he does best: sell himself. He promised “dinner’s on me” earlier in the week, but when the bill came, he didn’t touch it. Instead, we ended up splitting it three ways while he griped about tipping in LA. Sure, tipping culture can be annoying, but that’s hardly groundbreaking. After some nudging, we convinced him to leave a tip, though it felt more like babysitting than dining with an industry professional.
The real train wreck came when he revived an old dispute with a business associate, refusing to drop the subject despite our efforts to steer the conversation elsewhere. He kept digging until we’d had enough, and we left in frustration. He ran after us with half-hearted apologies, trying to smooth things over, but it was clear – he was his own worst enemy.
Honestly, I couldn’t stay too mad — he has to live with himself, and luckily…
I don’t.
The trip ended with one of us—no names, of course—vomiting all over our LA Airbnb. It had to be the Norovirus, taking us down one by one. A lovely souvenir to bring home to your girlfriend, as someone might have done. Not naming names.
So, did we succeed? Did our little horror film secure funding, cast, and production dates? Absolutely not. (Not yet, at least.)
But was it a good trip?
Mos def!
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