While most of Kosberg's pitches are self-generated, he occasionally teams with writers who might need the help of a professional salesman. Kosberg also speaks at several screenwriting seminars each year. Afterward, the audience is invited to pitch him. If he hears one he likes, he'll help the writer bring it to a studio with the understanding that he'll be a producer. And then there's his website, moviepitch.com, where he solicits pitches from any schmo with an idea and a modem.
In each case, Kosberg is a middleman between the great unwashed and the studios. ''I have this democratic attitude that a good story can come from anywhere,'' he says. For example, Kosberg tells the tale of one woman from Ozark, Ark. ''She called me one day and said, 'Bob, I'm interested in doing a story about a man who lives in the Statue of Liberty.' And immediately I'm imagining The Phantom of the Opera or The Hunchback of Notre Dame, but maybe as a romantic comedy. Maybe Meg Ryan comes over every day and has lunch with this Nic Cage character living up in the torch and it's the beginning of a very odd romance.''
Kosberg took the Statue of Liberty idea to the production company Working Title Films and sold it with the title Keeper of the Flame. He says the woman got a check for between $10,000 and $15,000, with another $50,000 coming to her if the movie ever gets made. For his efforts, Kosberg will get a producing credit.
Of course, his job isn't always this easy. One of the frustrations of being known around town as the maestro of the one-line pitch, he says, is that people overlook how much spadework goes into what he does. Yes, sometimes he'll rake in 25 grand for ripping out a newspaper article. More often, there's months of legwork. One of his biggest successes was as an executive producer on Bruce Willis' 12 Monkeys. Kosberg had been a fan of the black-and-white French short it is loosely based on, La Jetée, and he persuaded its reluctant director to let him pitch the project to Universal, which then bought the remake rights. This time, his role couldn't be reduced to a cutesy one-line sell.
One of Kosberg's secrets is pitching to the studios on Mondays. That's when executives with eyes bloodshot from reading scripts all weekend need to have something to show their superiors. He makes their job easier by going in that morning and pitching them a simple, high-concept nugget they can then take into the afternoon meeting and polish off for their bosses.
When I ask Kosberg for an example of a Monday-morning pitch, he takes a sip from his glass of 10-dollar lemonade and says, ''Okay, here you go: They're young! They're in love! And they're on their honeymoon!... Destination Earth!!! As soon as they hear that title they say, 'Wait a second, so it's not a honeymoon movie! It's a honeymoon with aliens!' And pretty soon you're doing a movie called Alien Honeymoon.''
But here's the catch. Bob Kosberg's career has always been highlighted more by potential than by tangible success. He makes a very nice living with Nash Entertainment and from the pitches he sells (last year, one even sold to Steven Spielberg). But he's hardly a Scott Rudin or a Jerry Bruckheimer. And there has to be a lingering unease in the back of his mind that 99 out of every 100 ideas he pitches will never get made. It's an oddly masochistic way to make a living. Why does he do it?
