Honeymoon Horror was eventually distributed as a video by Sony, and the local Blockbuster stores have one copy of it--available at the Garland store at I-30 and Belt Line. For some reason, as of last week it was checked out.
When you ask film-industry people in town about Harry Preston, a man who without a doubt has devoted his life to their chosen field, they have only the vaguest notion of what he's ever done.
"He's sort of a mentor and runs a screenwriting workshop and therapy session," says Roger Burke, director of the North Texas Film Commission. "Right?"
Preston believes he plays a valuable role guiding young talent. Two writers who attended his Friday-night sessions--an outgrowth of a noncredit screenwriting class he teaches at Richland College--recently won the first Lone Star Screenplay Contest, in which more than 800 people entered.
One of those writers is Sean Stewart, who teaches developmental writing at Brookhaven. He applauds Preston for "being so generous with his time" helping screenwriting neophytes.
So how did Preston help him?
"Actually," Stewart says, "Harry didn't like much of what I gave him."
Preston's detractors say he is someone trading on his past accomplishments, the merits of which they say are questionable. "He has a lot of people snowed," says one local screenwriter who recently gained some national recognition. "Writing can be a lonely craft, and just having someone open their home can be a nice thing. I'm just not sure how beneficial he is."
Ed Brickell has a more charitable view of Preston. A public-relations person for Lennox Air Conditioning and Heating, Brickell took Preston's Richland course five years ago after having completed his first screenplay.
"It was like being thrown into the deep end of the pool," he says of Preston's seminars. "He wasn't interested in teaching theory and structure. He wanted you to write, to turn out 20 pages a week. That was pretty intimidating. But Harry found out pretty quickly who had writing skills and who would work to develop them. By the end of class, only two out of 15 or 16 students were left...Harry minces no words. He invites everyone and spares no one."
Brickell recently won a playwrighting competition; his screenplay called Common Sense, a romantic comedy about a poet who comes to America on the eve of the American Revolution, received a staged reading at Theater Three. He recently sent the screenplay to 80 Hollywood agencies and studios, but only six have looked at it. One has actually asked for a second draft.
Brickell still occasionally attends Preston's screenwriting sessions and is grateful for his help. "People think he's a joke," Brickell says. "They laugh at the mention of his name. But he's done some things that have really helped people. I wonder, if I hadn't found him, would I still be writing now?"
There is something both pathetic and heroic about Preston, Brickell believes. "Here's a man living in a little house in Garland with dreams much bigger. What has he accomplished? The short answer is nothing. But he has never given up. He gets by doing what he loves doing. And I get by just wishing."
Preston does not deny he still hungers for genuine recognition, for a major success. Maybe Omar will be his ticket to the big time, he says. Or maybe his idea for a talk show for senior citizens--which he will host, of course--will catch fire.
"I would love a big success," he sighs, draining a cup of tea.
But what if it doesn't come?
"Well then," he says, "the next time around, it will.
