This is a Sean Connery story. 2004. Before @davidlevien and I wrote Ocean's Thirteen. Long before Billions. We had a VERY modest office--a tiny studio apartment off second avenue in Manhattan.

We were hired to re-write a movie for a director and movie studio. And the day we were set to turn in the rewrite we got a panicked phone call. "Wait, you have to start over. The main character is now Sean Connery."

"Okay, " we say, "what are the instructions?" "Sean will tell you himself." "Great!" we say, "Is there a conference call with the director and studio and Sir Sean and us?"
"No." Sir Sean is in New York. He will come to your office and give you his notes."

"Great! Is the director coming?" "Nope. Just you and the great man."
We play it cool on the phone. Hang up and lose our fucking minds.
We have to tidy up, of course. But this is really not a place that tidying fixes.

We do what we can and then get the call. He's coming at 9AM the next morning. So we do what you'd have done--we get a sliced fruit platter and put it out with some paper plates.

9AM on the damn button, a knock at the door. And there he is, wearing a hat similar to the one from The Untouchables. "I'm Sean. Throw a Sir on that and watch me walk out the door."
"Yes, sir, I mean Mr. Connery, I mean...would you like some fruit? A slice of pineapple maybe?"

A smile comes to his face. He sees what this means to us. "I'd love some fruit. That's kind of you." He sits down and we go to work. He has incredibly smart notes on every page. These are not notes from our draft. They are from the prior draft. He's telling us the movie he wants.

"Should we get the studio or director on the speaker phone?' "No. Youse'll tell em what we're gonna do."
We spend the day working. He then says one of our favorite line ever.
"that's about half the thing. Let's have a shit, shave and shower and back at it."

Next day, boom, 9AM he's there and we keep going. He shakes our hand goodbye and tells us to get going. He's headed back to the Bahamas and will await pages. No emailed draft. He wants paper.

He also rips up his notes. We are the only ones who know what version he wants. The studio wants us to start. But we say, we've already done a whole draft. "yeah, but that's not the movie anymore" they say.

Right, we say, but, look, we can't do this work for free. It's a complete rewrite. They say "tell us what he wants. Give us the notes." We say "you understand why we are reluctant. You could have been there. The director could have been. But you weren't."

They check with Sir Sean. He backs us. We're his guys. The studio agrees to pay. Off to work we go. Quickly. We had agreed to send him the first act of the script. And we do. To the Bahamas. And then we set a phone call for the next morning.

As we walk into our office, the phone is ringing. "Where are the pages? I don't have a delivery." We give him tracking information. He calls us back. "The damned customs office is holding onto it. I am gonna go round there and straighten them out."

"You're going to walk into customs and demand the package?" "call youse fellas in an hour or so." He does. He gets the thing, extracts a promise from them to hand deliver all future packages. And gives us the best notes on our pages. We spend the next couple weeks working w him.

One of the very best working relationships we ever have. And then, the director gets involved. There's a tricky action sequence, under water, that the director wants to do. We set a call to discuss how to write it, what it should be.

Sean asks the director how he's planning to shoot it. Director says "I'll use movie magic." You could hear the silent anger on Sean's end of the phone. "I started making movies before your daddy started pleasuring himself. I want to know, shot by shot, how you will execute this?"

Director says, "let's talk on Friday. 11AM. I will run you through my story boards and shot list. And for that call, it can just be me and you, Sean, we don't need the writers." We are fine with this. Let them sort it and tell us what they need.

11:15AM Friday rolls around. Our phone rings. Sean says "where the fuck is the director?" We say, we don't know. And then, suddenly, we hear a sigh. "Ahhh fer Chrissakes! I just turned on the tele and there he is!"

"There who is?" "(Director's name). He's in a goddamned female player's box at the fucking French open. "I'm afraid, boys, I agreed to do a movie directed by a fraud. You've done very well. But I am quitting this thing. Today."

A few months later Levien is in The Bahamas. He calls Sean, who comes to the phone and is a total gentleman. When the director's name comes up, Mr. Connery gives us one last great line, "Ah, him, that guy, he's a bucket of smoke."

Long before we met Sean Connery, we were enormous fans. That adventure with him, even though it ended without a movie, remains an all time highlight. He was brilliant, honest, suffered no fools, and never missed a call, meeting, conversation. Rip to one of the all time greats.

@DavidLevien, if I messed up any details, set em straight. This is how I remember it.