“I didn't like the ending,” my dad said of my “Atlanta” episode, “The Big Payback.” I had just given birth to my first and only child about a month earlier, and it would be the last time I would physically sit in a room with my dad while he was still lucid. I was not disconcerted; I laughed. That script got the most personal attention I had ever received in my career at the time, but this was my father, an outspoken man who meant no harm with the unwavering honesty of his. Not an ounce of bull ever left that man's lips. He paved the way for huge gains and even bigger losses in his 76-year life.
I admired his chutzpah and I admired his authenticity. In many ways, my relationship with my father prepared me for Hollywood. He had thicker skin and approval was never the dangling carrot that attracted me. My dad was infinitely proud of me, but he never understood my choices or my creative instincts. “Why don't you write to Dick Wolf and see if he can get you a job? … Now that guy knows how to make good television.”
When Donald Glover called me to create a “Mr. & Mrs. Smith,” I went on record saying that he thought he was joking. I felt it like a suggestion that my dad would put into orbit for my profession. “Mr. & Mrs. Smith,” brought to you by the writers of “Atlanta“? I couldn't see it. Still, no one better than Donald could engage me in a challenging brainstorming session; he made me understand how could Look at it. What if, instead of pulpy actions, we focused more on the raw vulnerabilities of marriage? What if these spies were not superheroes but lonely dreamers? Could we enjoy the moments in between while making an action-espionage thriller? What would be the effects of taking a predominantly male genre and telling it through a female gaze? A daunting but exciting task.
When I was sitting in the room with my dad while he criticized my writing, “Mr. & Mrs. Smith” had already endured enough, and in turn so had I. Ebb and flow, up and down – all the things that come with trying to take something from mental mush to something tangible and collaborative. The first real victory was the opportunity to be part of a writers' room with some of the brightest women I know, along with Stephen Glover and Donald. This will always be monumental for me; his fingerprints on the Smiths are extravagant, generous and irreplaceable. But we also made public the fact that we were bringing in one of my biggest heroes, Phoebe Waller-Bridge. When that ended up not being a creative alignment, after months of both sides trying hard to make it work, I was devastated. I was nervous. And I was also very, very pregnant with a mild case of hyperemesis gravidarum, which meant I was sick for nine months straight. when maya [Erskine] Joined as Jane, things started to completely fall into place.
That day I said goodbye to my dad with a tower of suitcases and a 2-month-old baby and flew to New York City to begin physical production. From the beginning I was clear that, no matter how much I thought I knew, the series showed us what it wanted to be, and not the other way around. My biggest headache was getting the tone right. Is it doing all the things we want it to do? It is a love story? Is it a spy story? It's a love story and a spy story! How do you make something seem big in terms of scope but still be small in terms of intimacy between our two characters?
Donald Glover and Maya Erskine star in “Mr. & Mrs. Smith.”
(David Lee/Prime Video)
Things were beginning to improve; We were going by truck. But life has a way of making you stay humble. I found out that my father had fallen in Los Angeles. “I'm fine,” he said over the phone. A wave of relief washed over me until he continued, “I just…can't find myself…outside of myself.” His words became garbled. It was clear that he had suffered a stroke. But here I was, my first job as a showrunner, a newborn, an international shoot to complete. My sisters came to his aid and I continued with the production, fighting with myself not to run towards him.
Overcoming jet lag and being totally amazed by Lake Como outside the villa windows, we set up a full-blown chase sequence through the cobblestone streets of Italy. In a way, my father-in-law, Ron Perlman, was going to play some kind of baby who forced John and Jane to become father figures to him while protecting him from killers. We did motorcycle stunts. An explosion waiting in the wings. I kept insisting that I wanted to make sure the smallness was still maintained; Let's not forget, this is a little story about two people. And then, a phone call, one that made everything as micro as stardust. “Very sorry.” A pause. “You have to come say goodbye to dad. He had another stroke. Is the time.”
When I got to his bed, Dad wasn't talking, he was in a lot of pain, and he wasn't fully present. I hugged him tight. He lasted all week, my sister and I sat with him. Coincidentally, a new episode I co-wrote of “Atlanta” aired. I watched as he snored next to me in a morphine-fueled sleep. I loved how it turned out. I would have hated it. I wish he could have told me that. I had to return to Europe to join the crew, which devastated me. He died an hour later. He saved me from seeing him die. I miss him every day.
Now that the show has aired, I'm amazed at the response. I'm surprised anyone is watching, but I'm surprised people relate to it. When I was younger, I liked being niche. Isolating people from my “craft” was satisfying to me, because it meant it was just for me. But this project, a title I was so resistant to at first, was strangely affecting a wide range of people. That seems like something magical to me. And you know what? I think my dad would have liked this one. It's not “Law and Order,” but it has value.
