And yet another shot at the title (part xxxiv)

Ma Sheila Easton sat stone faced, arms crossed but tits still out, with the rest of the producing crew. Dick was there, gloomy eyed and staring off into space. Kat was terrified. Because sitting next to her was Jimmy, annoyed and red faced as he usually was.

I sauntered in knowing what this meeting was about and ready to have it over with. “Take a seat,” Jimmy ordered me.

“Nah, I’m good,” I told him. “It was only a minor blowup with me and my former agent. I haven’t alerted the media. I’m just stepping aside and letting my grandson take over.”

“He’s still in high school. You know I can’t let him take over a multimillion dollar production,” Jimmy said.

Dan Gillespie rushed into the production office with his suitcase in hand. “Sorry, I was just in court handing Bret Radner’s latest sexual harassment lawsuit when I got word,” he told everyone.” He sat his suitcase down and laid his hands on my shoulders. “James, are you okay?” he asked.

“I’m fine. But we might have to restructure my deal with the studio.”

“Oh for fuck’s sake!” Jimmy shouted. “We haven’t even shot one frame of film and you’re already causing problems!”

Dan gave Jimmy a raged glance and began wagging his finger. “Jimmy, I can have your ass on a spike!” he warned.

“Relax everyone!” I said. “I don’t understand what the big deal is! Let’s not pretend that we’ve forgotten all the other crazy shit I’ve done!”

Jimmy rubbed his face. “Alright alright,” he calmly said. “Can we have some privacy please? I want to talk to James alone.”

All the producers happily got up left the room. Only Dan stayed behind. “That includes you bucko!” Jimmy warned Dan.

Dan shook his head. “I don’t think so,” he said. “James is my client.”

Jimmy threw his hands in the air. “So be it,” he surrendered.

Kat was the last one out and she shut the door behind her. Dan and I stood at one end of the table with Jimmy on the other. “So,” Jimmy began, “I guess this is how it’s going to be.”

I was puzzled. “This is how it’s always been Jimmy,” I said.

He nodded. “True. But we’ve know each other a long time my friend. I’ll be 80 next month. I was hoping to be retired by now, living the rest of my years with my dear Darla in the Hamptons. Instead, I’m in Burbank trying to reason with a lunatic.”

I shrugged. “What’s your point?”

There was a long uncomfortable silence as Jimmy pondered. “I guess I don’t get it,” he finally spoke. “What is it that you want?”

“I dunno,” I thought. “Money, drugs, sex, booze…”

“No no, that’s not what I meant,” he interrupted. “I mean, you’ve achieved everything that can be achieved. How old are you? You look 90 if you were a day. Why bother with this obvious studio cash grab?”

TO BE CONTINUED…

Good fucking riddance 🫡

So according to RedLetterMedia, along with the rest of the internet, movie theaters are dead.

Thank GOD, am I right?

I know that theater-going has been a religious-like experience for cinephiles for nearly 100 years. It sucks peen to some extent with the implication being that movies no longer hold the cultural relevance they once did. But with the supposed “death of theaters” something good is happening, I think.

Hear me out.

This is of course easy for me to say considering I’ve only been to the theaters maybe three times in the last decade. Many filmmakers would argue that movies are meant to be seen on the silver screen. This is of course an antiquated argument. With advancements in home theater technology, the theater is almost a hassle. Depending on which market you live in, going to the movies could cost nearly $50 with concessions. This is to say nothing about having to sit in a room with people who have no respect for the sanctity of watching a movie. To be honest, I never much understood the “communal experience” of the theater. I simply don’t give enough shit about other people’s raw emotions regarding a picture. My best experiences at the theater have been at matinees with maybe one other person in attendance; so in other words, it’s mostly me and my OWN thoughts. THAT’S how god intended movies to be watched. And if that’s the case, then the home theater has nullified the movie theater.

But I did mention that this is a good thing right? Because this is evolution; and cinema is evolving into a higher stage of art appreciation. It’s idiotic to associate the death of theaters with the death of cinema as a whole. We can piss and moan about the Internet and streaming services all day, but the fact is those two things have contributed to an even greater appreciation and interest in movies. Even in the shitty ones! Crap that was pumped out in the 70s and 80s and were largely forgotten for 30 years are finally having their day in court! I thought I was all alone in the world when I balled my eyes out while watching The Deer Hunter at 11 years old. Now, 106 years later, every dick and titty swinger on this planet has got opinions about that film! So contrary to popular opinion, I think movies are more popular than ever.

It’s just a couple of things have happened that has led to this paradigm shift in movie going experience: 1) movie theaters have become obnoxious and expensive. 2) wide scale releases have been limited to big-budget tentpole films. 3) competition from television and streaming services have likely contributed to more refined tastes (this one is more speculative). And 4) it’s cheaper to stay home and wait for the movie to hit Netflix or Amazon Prime.

And yet another shot at the title (part xxxviii)

“Ass,” Cornelius spoke.

“Pardon?” I ask.

“Men’s asses. Everywhere. You said there’d be tits on set.”

“Ohhh…,” I replied, “I understand your confusion. You see Cornelius, when you make movie, you have to put things in to make everyone happy. Sure everyone likes to see a luscious pair of tits, but men’s asses have their value too. They’re very funny to look at. And that’s the first thing you should know about filmmaking.”

Out of the production offices, Pee-Wee rushed up and coward before me. “Please don’t hit me sir,” he begged.

“Why would I strike you?” I questioned. “Sure you’re a weak little man that I despise but I’m not a monster ya know?”

“But I’m here to inform you that I will no longer serve as your assistant.”

“But Pee-Wee, after all we’ve been through?”

“Yes sire. I am defecting from your team to join Greta’s.”

My first instinct was to ball up my fist and scream obscenities at the poor fellow. Yet I understood things were changing. Besides, moments before I relinquished my directorial duties to Cornelius. So I lifted up Pee-Wee and put my hands gently on his face. “I just want to say thank you Pee-Wee for all the horseshit I put you through,” I told him. “Sure, you were never worthy of working in my presence, but you performed admirably. I wish you godspeed.”

“Really?” he cried.

“Not really. I’m just being professionally courteous.”

“But I must tell you sir, as one last act in your service, Jimmy and Kat told me that they wish to see you.”

All the rage that normally boiled just beneath the surface nearly spilled over. But I didn’t lash out at Pee-Wee. “Pee-Wee,” said I, “today I grant you a reprieve. Unfortunately I’m no longer the director of this picture. Those responsibilities have fallen to my grandson Cornelius. And I am sure as a primary director, his first order of business will be to beat your ass. Have a good day sir.”

TO BE CONTINUED…

A look back at 2022 NFL season predictions

Sorry folks. I’m in an undisclosed Eastern European black site. My hands are tied, both literally and figuratively, so I haven’t been able to write much. But to keep you entertained, I was going through some of my unpublished drafts and I came across this doozy. Clearly I’m a Nostradamus at predicting NFL seasons. Need proof? Well read and weep my friends. EVERYTHING came true:

***

Since I was absolutely 100% correct in my Super Bowl predictions, here are my predictions for the upcoming NFL season:

-Mike McCarthy will get fired less than six games into the season. Kellen Moore is named HC. Dallas Cowboys make the playoffs. Moore is named Coach of the Year.

-Jared Goff will be Comeback Player of the Year.

-Buffalo Bills, Los Angeles Chargers, and Las Vegas Raiders will all fall below expectations.

-Kevin Byard will be named Defensive Player of the Year.

-Tom Brady will have another 5000 yard season. Will NOT win MVP. Despite playing at a high level, he WILL retire at the end of the season and this time he’ll mean it.

-NFC Championship: Los Angeles Rams/Green Bay Packers

-AFC Championship: Kansas City Chiefs AND….The DENVER FUCKING BRONCOS!!!!!

-A player will expose himself on the sideline.

-Aaron Rodgers will have a bizarre press conference and people will begin wondering about his mental state if they weren’t doing so already. Will win another MVP.

-Aaron Donald will kill a man (non-player) on the field.

-A game will be moved back a day due to “safety concerns” 🤔

-Troy Aikman will cry while calling a game.

-Matt Rhule will pull a Steve Sarkisian, coach a game drunk, and WIN.

Memorial Day weekend

I write stories about people who make fools of themselves in public. Which is why I’m always shocked when I witness people make fools of themselves in public. Mind you, I live in the real life version of Hooterville, which has become an overran, poorly infrastructured suburb of a major US city. So this town is now an ungodly and unbearable mixture of goobers and hispsters. Thank Satan that Green Acres didn’t run long enough to show that.

But fucking old people. I don’t want to be another whipper snapper on the internet shitting on Boomers, but when you set the bar so low for what is publicly acceptable with them…and they STILL fail to hurdle it…then maybe the widespread, multi-generational mocking of them is warranted. I mean, for Christ sake, I’m almost 100 years old, and yet I know not to give out my credit card information over the speaker phone at McDonald’s. You think that didn’t happen? Well it did when I took my great grandson (who is 43) to the playground area. Everyone stared at the old fart in disbelief as he shouted out each number with reckless abandon.

Then I had to go to CVS to pick up my diuretic medications and there was another dipshit pestering the pharmacist over the side effects of Vaseline. When I thought they finally rid themselves of the guy, I went to the front of the store to check out my bag of Werther’s and this mother fucker was bothering the check out girl over the quality of Twizzlers he picked out. I could contain my anger no more. So I tapped him on the shoulder, grabbed him by his flannel shirt, and threatened him. “Listen asshole!” I told him. “I fought in World War II AND World War I. I gleefully torched the Germans on the front line and watched their faces melt off like butter! Goddamn I never felt more alive! So let me tell you something PAL: life is fragile! Life is short! Life is almost totally meaningless! Do you really want to spend what few years you have left agonizing over candy?!”

I mean, the fucking nerve of some people!

The madness of max

So I was just minding my own business while jackin off to porn on the work computer when the errand boy ran into my office. He was ecstatic with news akin to the Allied victory of World War II. “Did you hear that Furiosa bombed at the box office?!” he beamed.

I thought it was weird to be excited about that, but different strokes for different folks ya know? But I can’t say I was surprised. I sorta thought the studios overestimated the excitement for the Mad Max intellectual property. And that’s largely because George Miller hasn’t made a good movie since The Road Warrior.

You read that correctly: I didn’t like Fury Road. Personally, I felt that it relied too heavily on CGI when the previous Mad Max films were cheaply made and used practical effects. That was what made those movies cool. Fury Road was doing something else entirely so I couldn’t connect with it. Perhaps I came into it with different expectations so maybe Fury Road requires a second viewing. But that’s where I currently stand. Red Letter Media suggested that Fury Road made The Road Warrior obsolete and I thought that to be an absurd statement. The stunts in those original Mad Max films felt real. Lives were at stake. And that came through in the viewing experience. I would go so far as to say that those original Mel Gibson films are an entirely different franchise from the current Mad Max iteration. As a result, Fury Road might’ve been the box office equivalent of lightning in a bottle, the success of which cannot be easily replicated. Perhaps that’s why Furiosa bombed.

But this made me think about why I love the James Bond franchise. Despite 20+ films, they’ve largely stuck to their guns. The Broccolis found a formula that worked and they’ve never gotten away from practical effects and real stunts. That’s provided a sense of continuity and audiences know what to expect when they go see a 007 picture. Maybe that’s why, at least as far as I know save for one, each film has been successful at the box office.

Just a thought.

And yet another shot at the title (part xxxvii)

“I just don’t want you to kill me like you killed Christian Bale,” Ryan Duckling told me before start of shooting. He put on about 100lbs for the role, per my instructions of course, which naturally caused him to like shit.

“Don’t worry about Chris Bale,” I said to comfort him. “You see, Chris had an Oscar before he died. But you, you’ll never win one. And that’s because you’re afraid to take risks. That’s what I’m trying to change, you see. Look what happened to Brandon Frasier. He became a fatass and they handed him an Oscar. That’s what it takes. That’s what I want for you.”

I figured that I had him convinced when Greta rudely interrupted my pep talk. “Goddamnit James,” she screamed, “Pablo told me that you threatened him with physical violence when he dropped me off this morning!”

“Ohhhh yeah, I did,” I told her. “Sorry about that Greta. Don’t worry about it though. That’s how I usually end meetings with agents.”

“He said that you threatened him over me!”

I nodded my head. “That’s true.”

“And you banned him from the set?!”

“Sure did.”

Greta rubbed her forehead, likely due to an impending tension headache. I’ve seen this look hundreds of times from Kat. After taking a deep breath, Greta finally told me “James, I’m telling you this for your own good: we will never be together. And Pablo is no longer your agent. If you’re going to get upset over us dating, then this will be a long shoot for you. If you want, Kat can meditate between the two of us if you think that will make things easier.”

“Yeah, sure,” I said. “I agree with you Greta. I should be an emotionless automaton. That will make me suck as a director and the film will suffer as a result. But you’re right…”

“I didn’t say that you fool…”

“…I heard you loud and clear Greta. In fact, I’m not gonna say shit for the rest of production.” Then I looked to Ryan. “Sorry Ryan,” I told him, “if you want any more direction, go talk to my grandson Cornelius. He’ll know what to do.” Then I directed my ire back towards Greta. “You’re a great problem solver Greta,” I said sardonically, “you’re gonna make a wonderful picture!”

Then I shouted over to Cornelius who was scratching his ass by the women’s bathroom. “Cornelius!” I said, “Have you ever directed a movie before?!”

TO BE CONTINUED…

Moreover…

It just suddenly hit me.

“Fuck!” I shouted at a New Orleans gas station while getting a bowl of delicious boiled peanuts, “maybe Harve Bennett did write a good screenplay!”

“Yes suh,” an old Cajun man said as he patted me on the back. “Ah Ben sayun tah fo 40 ye-ahs. Dat ol Harve Bennett a dat udder boy Nicholas Meyer sho re-vived dat der Star Trek wit The Wrath of Khan n The Search for Spock. Yessuh. Dat there turd movie is definy da bes un do. A’ve been waitin yeahs fo summon to say so.”

“The fuck did you just say?” I asked. “What are you? A stupid moron?! I’m talking about Star Trek. What would you know about that you fuckin hillbilly?!”

So anyway, my vacation was ruined because I couldn’t help think that maybe I was wrong. Maybe Harve Bennett didn’t write a bad screenplay for Star Trek III; maybe he wrote a pretty decent one. It has its flaws, sure. But then I remember Kirk surrendering to Kruge at the Battle of Genesis. This is a great scene on multiple levels: the Enterprise is being held together by duct tape when it goes into battle with a fully armed Klingon Bird of Prey. Naturally the Enterprise is knocked out. But instead of surrendering, Kirk attempts a bluff; and a pretty good one at that. Yet the ever intuitive and aggressive Kruge sees right through it. Moreover, the Klingon commander shoots down the high minded morality of the Federation and accuses Kirk and company of being the true aggressors with the development of the Genesis Device.

That last point might seem minor but it occurred to me that that might be the first time the Federation is criticized in Star Trek. What’s shocking is that the audience is sort of expected to agree with Kruge. But this is also a great scene when viewing the film as a character study of James T. Kirk. While Kirk faced his ultimate foe in the previous film, Khan doesn’t appear to be the space-faring tactical and strategic genius that Kruge is. No doubt Kirk made plenty of gambles (all of which paid off) throughout the series up to that point, but when Kruge calls his bluff, it felt like Kirk was finally beaten at his own game…perhaps for the first time ever.

So now that I got all that out of my system, my apologies to Harve Bennett (RIP). And I can finally enjoy bar hopping blind drunk across New Orleans.

And yet another shot at the title (part xxxvi)

“Now Cornelius, those Twinkies are for everyone,” I shouted at my grandson. We were standing around the break table. It was the first day of shooting and the crew was waiting for Greta to arrive on set. Casper approached me with questions about his wardrobe.

“Are you sure I should wear this raccoon tale hanging out my ass?” he asked.

“Casper, I spent 7 months in pre-production preparing this shithole of a movie. Now’s not the time to be calling audibles,” I told him.

Minutes later, Greta and Pablo waltzed on set like they were Richard Burton and Elizabeth Taylor. Pablo handed her a lunch bag and she leaned forward to peck him on the cheek. Rage boiled in my veins as she jogged over to the production offices.

“I just don’t feel comfortable acting with something shoved up my rectum,” Casper kept bitching.

“Shut the fuck up Casper,” I said then shoved him aside. I approached Pablo, grabbed him by the lapels, and pushed him up against the wall. “Kick his ass, Pops!” I could hear Cornelius shouting a few feet away.

“Goddamnit Pablo,” I yelled. “You knew how I felt about Greta! How dare you betray our friendship like this!”

“Like what?” Pablo cowardly asked with his hands raised in the air. “I swear James, I didn’t mean to fall in love with her! It’s just that we started talking and my penis got hard! I didn’t mean to piss you off!”

I let go of his shirt as I came to my senses. His back remained squared up against the wall of the studio. “As co-director of this project, I hereby ban you from coming on set,” I ordered.

“But James, I’m her agent!” Pablo pleaded.

“Take it up with Dan Gillespie…my NEW agent.”

Pablo whimpered and ran away. Dick Warburton walked up behind me and patted me on the back. “Well done, well done,” he said, “but don’t let him off so easily. You must penetrate that knife deep into his bowels and let him watch the entrails bleed out. Then he will know your wrath.”

TO BE CONTINUED…

I’ve reached a radical conclusion

I often bother people in line at the post office about the complexities and nuances of Star Trek II: The Wrath of Khan. “Won’t any of you listen to reason!” I scream as I’m being dragged out by security. I’ve always said that Star Trek II is the best screenplay in science fiction history.

But after rewatching Star Trek III: The Search for Spock, I’ve reached a startling conclusion: maybe we’ve had it all wrong. Sure Harve Bennett’s screenplay for the third film isn’t as strong as it is in the second. It’s not that it’s bad per se. It’s just too economical. Case in point is the phenomenal “stealing the Enterprise” scene. That sequence is saved by the acting, Leonard Nimoy’s direction, and James Horner’s score. And it’s really a simple scene of the main characters backing up the Enterprise out of space dock and being lightly perused by another ship. If it were written today, it would be far more complex. But what III does better than II is in its staging. Nimoy directs the film like it’s a stage play. When news reaches Kirk that his son has been killed, it is quietly the most tragic moment in Star Trek history. Of course, Nimoy is careful to not let it outshine Spock’s death in II, but the doesn’t minimize how much it stings. Kirk is able to quickly recover because he had a job to do, but you can see that pain linger. And this pain is only made more tragic by the destruction of the Enterprise moments later. In short, in just a matter of a few minutes, Kirk lost his ship and son to save his friend. While the film is about “the search for Spock”, it’s really a character study of Admiral James T. Kirk. Nimoy’s direction expertly balances out the scope that a big screen science fiction film requires and the little moments that make us bond with the characters. So while III might have a relatively weak script, it might be the best directed movie in the Trek franchise. And as I result, I say it’s the best Star Trek movie.

It’s just a shame that Nimoy didn’t direct more pictures 😔