I'm working on a screenplay which, as they say in the industry, is "inspired by true events". It's about an actor — let's call him Leo — who at a very early stage in his career co-stars with his idol — let's call him Bobby — who's the most intense and driven actor of his generation.
From that point on, Leo wants to be Bobby. He tries hard, but then he stars in a romance-cum-disaster flick that makes him the pretty-boy crush for every teenage girl on the planet. The movie — a titanic success — captures just about every Academy Award there is, except, pointedly, best actor.
Leo develops a chip on his shoulder, but now he is A-list and fantastically wealthy and can do anything he wants. He calls a director — let's call him Marty — who made a string of acclaimed films with Bobby back in the day. It's a Faustian deal: Leo desperately wants to be taken seriously, and Marty is in desperate need of financing for his non-mainstream films; win-win, right? And yet, somehow it's not the same. Leo, desperate to prove his chops and refute that pretty-boy image, winds up playing a series of nasty, twisted old men such as Howard Hughes and J. Edgar Hoover, performances that are a chore to sit through and still never land him that Oscar.