Tag: Burbank

And yet another shot at the title (part xxv)

Kat’s cold and sterile office on the third floor faced Burbank International Airport. I liked to go there, drink bourbon, puff on cigars and pray to god that those Boeing 737s would make it off the ground. This would always annoy Kat. But if I pestered her during her busiest hours that’s usually when I could pry a yes from her. So that’s what I did on that particular Friday afternoon.

“What do you think about Casper Van Diem?” I asked her while she busily signing paperwork.

“I liked him in that Star Track movie,” she replied, not looking up.

“Star Track?” I ask. “Don’t you mean Starshit Troopers?”

“No, he was in a Star Track movie. The one with all those space zombies.”

“Oh! I think you’re referring to Neil Dylan McDermott.”

“You mean Dermot Mulroney?”

“No, McDermott was in Star Track. Diem was in Starshit Troopers. I don’t think Mulroney was in anything.”

Kat continued to thumb through papers. “Why are thinking about actors no one has thought of in 30 years?”

I took another drag off my cigar. “I think he’d be good for the lead in Chatty Cathy.”

“Dermot Mulroney?”

“No! Casper Van Diem!”

Kat took off her reading glasses and leaned back in her chair. “I’d be fine with whoever you and Greta agree upon,” she said. “But wouldn’t someone with more, ya know, star power be better?”

“Star power?” I shrugged. “If we wanted to power a star, we’d need an untold amounts of energy compressed together to create nuclear fusion. But we’re not physicists. We’re filmmakers! Do you think anyone ever heard of Harrison Chevrolet before War of the Stars came out? Or what about Leonardo DeVincio for that movie about that boat sinking! Star power means nothing in today’s Hollywood.”

“Fine,” said Kat. “But why Diem?”

I turned back to the window to watch the latest plane depart. “I’m not sure,” I said thoughtfully. “I guess in my later years I want to be more like Quittin Tarantino. Ya know. Give actors a second shot at fame. I want to feel like I’m leaving behind a legacy.”

Kat was puzzled. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard you be this reflective,” she said. “In fact, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you show an ounce of self awareness at all.”

“Yeah well, you get soft in your old age,” I said as I puffed. “You’ll learn that eventually.”

“We’re the same age James.”

“Whatever,” I said then tapped out the cigar. “There’s something else I need to talk to you about. I need to bring on another producer. Now don’t worry. He’s only going to be a creative consultant.”

She started rubbing her temples. “Who is he James?”

“Dick Warburton. He’s my spiritual guru I guess you can say.”

“Fuck me!” Kat yelled as she threw up her arms.

“What? This isn’t any weirder than all the other things I’ve done. In fact, this one’s kinda mild.”

“No it’s not that,” she explained as she tried to think. “It’s that Greta is also bringing her guru on as a consultant!”

TO BE CONTINUED…

And yet another shot at the title (part xxii)

In its nearly 22,000 years of existence, the city of Burbank sat as a barren heap on the Los Angeles basin. They say that the natives used it as a staging ground for child sacrifices, senseless slaughtering of enemies captured in meaningless disputes lost to history. Since man began sowing the fields of Eden, Burbank remained a godless land where even the most savage beast dare not tread. When the white man came, those conquistadors found acres of cow shit and rivers fouled with the funk carcasses rotted. There it remained for another hundred years before a movie executive saw fit to build a studio there. Nothing has changed in the time since. Still the stench and ghosts of men long dead shout aloud in its halls. At the very center of this ghastly haunt is Trainwreck Productions which sits as a Caesar watching over its forsaken wasteland. No one dares challenge him. For what king would be foolish enough to lay claim?

That’s when I graced its halls. Perhaps for the last time I thought.

Pablo was waiting on me in the lobby. He was more alert than usual. “I don’t know why but Kat and Jimmy aren’t talking to me,” he explained.

“That’s okay. Dan is taking care of contract negotiations,” I said.

He was flummoxed. “Well, am I still your agent?”

“I haven’t fired you yet,” I shrugged.

“Goddamnit,” he said. “Then let’s get this day over with.”

Kat joined us moments later. “Great news fellas!” she exclaimed.

“What’s that? I’m finally getting back pay for my work on This Tastes Like Ass?” I ask.

She cocked her head. “No. The elevator is finally working. So no more crawling up the air ducts.”

It wasn’t much but it was something. Perhaps a sign of things to come. After all it only took 30 years. So the three of us crowded into the cramped elevator, Kat more chipper than usual. “Did you remember to bring your script notes?” she leaned forward to ask me.

“You should know me by now Kat,” I told her. “When have I ever taken notes?”

TO BE CONTINUED…