Tuesday, May 18, 2010
Dangers of 3D: Avatar
Officers responded to a call at 8:32 p.m. this evening at the Century 16 Theater. A man attending the 7:00 p.m. showing of the 3-D film "Avatar" was struck in the chest by a wooden arrow that left the screen during one of the movie's action sequences. The theater staff had roped off the seating section, declaring it an unsafe zone. The man willfully stepped over the ropes to obtain his seat, which he told friends provided him a better viewing angle. The man was alive and conscious when officers and paramedics arrived on scene. The arrow had pierced one lung but had caused no damage to the heart. Paramedics initially declared the man in stable condition, before learning that the film's alien Na'vi race apply a potent neurotoxin to the tips of their arrows. The man's death was declared while en route to the hospital. Initial speculation about the man's survival prospects had he reached the hospital sooner was dismissed after the hospital issued a statement claiming that even if the man had still been alive when he reached the hospital, the hospital is not stocked with anything to counteract fictional poisons.
Tuesday, May 11, 2010
Area 51a: Duct Work
Dear Journal,
I’m on my eleventh straight day of working double shift. I haven’t even gotten so much as a lunch break. I keep asking Mr. Aronson when he’s going to hire another evening shift guy, and he keeps telling me that he’s looking at applicants. It wasn’t his fault that the screeching fang worm dragged Ricky into the air vent last week, I know that, but he sure is taking his sweet time getting me some more help.
At Mr. Aronson’s insistence I called another exterminator to try and kill the worm. I told him it would turn out the same as it always does, but he just gave me an earful about legal liability and having to make sure we exhaust all possible blah blah blah. He’s just covering his ass in case Ricky’s family tries to sue. And just like I said would happen, the worm dragged the exterminator into the air shaft, screaming the whole way. The worm was screaming, I mean. The exterminator was surprisingly quiet, mostly just whimpering. Not like Ricky.
Randy from the Creature Research lab told me the worm was purposely designed with a missing protein string, and that it should die naturally within the next week or so, so I’m not going to get too fussy about it. I’ll just tell Mr. Aronson that the exterminator guy killed it, just like I told him that the OSHA guy determined that working conditions were safe. He screamed loudest of all.
I’m on my eleventh straight day of working double shift. I haven’t even gotten so much as a lunch break. I keep asking Mr. Aronson when he’s going to hire another evening shift guy, and he keeps telling me that he’s looking at applicants. It wasn’t his fault that the screeching fang worm dragged Ricky into the air vent last week, I know that, but he sure is taking his sweet time getting me some more help.
At Mr. Aronson’s insistence I called another exterminator to try and kill the worm. I told him it would turn out the same as it always does, but he just gave me an earful about legal liability and having to make sure we exhaust all possible blah blah blah. He’s just covering his ass in case Ricky’s family tries to sue. And just like I said would happen, the worm dragged the exterminator into the air shaft, screaming the whole way. The worm was screaming, I mean. The exterminator was surprisingly quiet, mostly just whimpering. Not like Ricky.
Randy from the Creature Research lab told me the worm was purposely designed with a missing protein string, and that it should die naturally within the next week or so, so I’m not going to get too fussy about it. I’ll just tell Mr. Aronson that the exterminator guy killed it, just like I told him that the OSHA guy determined that working conditions were safe. He screamed loudest of all.
The Pitch: Stillness in the Water
"The Happening"
Studio Executive and Assistant Studio Executive are sitting behind SE's desk, laughing hysterically. M. Night Shyamalan sits opposite them, looking confused.
M. Night: “What is so funny?”
SE: “It's....(out of breath)....the plants.......they.....hahahahaha.”
ASE: “Wow, that is the most fun I've had all day.”
M. Night: “It wasn't a joke. I have the script all ready to go.”
SE (to ASE): “Oh my God, he's actually serious? HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!”
ASE: “You don't really think we're going to make a movie about killer plants, right?”
M. Night (thrusting the script at ASE): “But it's a very compelling read, if you would just...”
SE: “HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!”
ASE: “If they were man-eating plants with teeth, that's one thing. But an invisible toxin? Really?”
M. Night: “But the wind, that's how we generate the fear!”
SE: “Did he just say the wind generates fear?”
ASE: “Yes, he did.”
SE: “HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!”
M. Night: “You guys are dicks.”
SE: “Hold on, hold on, hold on.”
Studio Executive catches his breath and picks up his phone. He punches in an extension.
SE (sarcastically): “Hello, Debbie? Yeah, it's me. I need you to go ahead and make a check out to M. Night Shyamalan for however much money he wants. I know he has lost us a ton of money with his last couple movies, and his overall talent has been on a downhill slide ever since his gimmick-dependent debut film, but I really think he's going to turn everything around by making a twist-less film about giant deadly plants.”
M. Night: “They're not giant.”
SE: “Jesus Christ! They're not even giant? HAHAHAHAHAHA!”
Studio Executive slams the phone back in it's cradle and continues laughing, unable to even look M. Night in the face.
ASE: “Look, come back to us when you have an idea that's a little more.....um......anything else.”
M. Night: “Screw you guys.”
M. Night marches angrily out of the room. After a few moments, Studio Executive finally catches his breath and ceases laughing.
SE: “Oh man. I'm winded.”
ASE: “I can't believe he was actually serious with that thing.”
SE: “It's just sad, what people think Hollywood will make these days.”
A moment of silence passes between them.
ASE: “Debbie knew you were joking, right?”
SE: “Yeah, of course she did.”
Studio Executive and Assistant Studio Executive are sitting behind SE's desk, laughing hysterically. M. Night Shyamalan sits opposite them, looking confused.
M. Night: “What is so funny?”
SE: “It's....(out of breath)....the plants.......they.....hahahahaha.”
ASE: “Wow, that is the most fun I've had all day.”
M. Night: “It wasn't a joke. I have the script all ready to go.”
SE (to ASE): “Oh my God, he's actually serious? HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!”
ASE: “You don't really think we're going to make a movie about killer plants, right?”
M. Night (thrusting the script at ASE): “But it's a very compelling read, if you would just...”
SE: “HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!”
ASE: “If they were man-eating plants with teeth, that's one thing. But an invisible toxin? Really?”
M. Night: “But the wind, that's how we generate the fear!”
SE: “Did he just say the wind generates fear?”
ASE: “Yes, he did.”
SE: “HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!”
M. Night: “You guys are dicks.”
SE: “Hold on, hold on, hold on.”
Studio Executive catches his breath and picks up his phone. He punches in an extension.
SE (sarcastically): “Hello, Debbie? Yeah, it's me. I need you to go ahead and make a check out to M. Night Shyamalan for however much money he wants. I know he has lost us a ton of money with his last couple movies, and his overall talent has been on a downhill slide ever since his gimmick-dependent debut film, but I really think he's going to turn everything around by making a twist-less film about giant deadly plants.”
M. Night: “They're not giant.”
SE: “Jesus Christ! They're not even giant? HAHAHAHAHAHA!”
Studio Executive slams the phone back in it's cradle and continues laughing, unable to even look M. Night in the face.
ASE: “Look, come back to us when you have an idea that's a little more.....um......anything else.”
M. Night: “Screw you guys.”
M. Night marches angrily out of the room. After a few moments, Studio Executive finally catches his breath and ceases laughing.
SE: “Oh man. I'm winded.”
ASE: “I can't believe he was actually serious with that thing.”
SE: “It's just sad, what people think Hollywood will make these days.”
A moment of silence passes between them.
ASE: “Debbie knew you were joking, right?”
SE: “Yeah, of course she did.”
The Pitch: A Sudden Dissonance
"Battlefield Earth"
Studio Executive is on the phone, while John Travolta waits silently in a chair near SE's desk.
SE (into phone): “She's taking the house? Where am I supposed to live?”
(pause)
“What about all my...”
(pause)
“So there's nothing I can....”
(pause)
“They're my kids, too! Where are they supposed to sleep when they're with me?”
(pause)
“WHAT?! NO NO NO NO NO! We agreed! I would get to see them on weekends and we'd split the holidays. How the fuck did....”
(pause)
“That makes me a bad husband, not a bad father! The judge already granted me...”
(pause)
“Well it sounded pretty fucking final to me!”
Studio Executive holds the phone away from his ear for a moment, closes his eyes, and sighs deeply. He puts the phone back to his ear.
SE: (into phone) “Okay, look what's the bottom line here? Where do I stand once this all goes through?”
(long pause)
“I....I....I don't..........”
Studio Executive stares off into nothing, letting the phone slowly fall away from his ear, eventually just letting it rest on his desk, still off the hook. Tears begin to form in the corners of his eyes, as he continues staring into his own private abyss. He slowly begins panning his eyes across the room, for no apparent reason, just a desperate attempt to find something worthwhile to occupy his view, and perhaps momentarily distract him from his pain. His eyes fall upon John Travolta, still sitting silently, awaiting his turn to speak. Studio Executive seems startled, as if he had completely forgotten that another person was in the room.
SE: “Yes, John. I'm sorry to have interrupted you. What were you saying again?”
JT: “I want to make a movie based on a novel written by the same guy who founded my religion.”
SE: “What religion?”
JT: “Scientology.”
Studio Executive stares blankly at him.
JT: “The one with alien ghosts.”
SE: “Yeah, now I remember. Fine. Whatever. Just tell Sharon on your way out that it's greenlit and she'll get all the.....details......worked.....whatever. I just need a few moments alone.”
JT: “Sure thing.”
John Travolta walks happily out of the office, as Studio Executive cradles his forehead in his hands and slowly begins to sob. Somewhere between the sobs, the off-the-hook phone starts beeping.
Studio Executive is on the phone, while John Travolta waits silently in a chair near SE's desk.
SE (into phone): “She's taking the house? Where am I supposed to live?”
(pause)
“What about all my...”
(pause)
“So there's nothing I can....”
(pause)
“They're my kids, too! Where are they supposed to sleep when they're with me?”
(pause)
“WHAT?! NO NO NO NO NO! We agreed! I would get to see them on weekends and we'd split the holidays. How the fuck did....”
(pause)
“That makes me a bad husband, not a bad father! The judge already granted me...”
(pause)
“Well it sounded pretty fucking final to me!”
Studio Executive holds the phone away from his ear for a moment, closes his eyes, and sighs deeply. He puts the phone back to his ear.
SE: (into phone) “Okay, look what's the bottom line here? Where do I stand once this all goes through?”
(long pause)
“I....I....I don't..........”
Studio Executive stares off into nothing, letting the phone slowly fall away from his ear, eventually just letting it rest on his desk, still off the hook. Tears begin to form in the corners of his eyes, as he continues staring into his own private abyss. He slowly begins panning his eyes across the room, for no apparent reason, just a desperate attempt to find something worthwhile to occupy his view, and perhaps momentarily distract him from his pain. His eyes fall upon John Travolta, still sitting silently, awaiting his turn to speak. Studio Executive seems startled, as if he had completely forgotten that another person was in the room.
SE: “Yes, John. I'm sorry to have interrupted you. What were you saying again?”
JT: “I want to make a movie based on a novel written by the same guy who founded my religion.”
SE: “What religion?”
JT: “Scientology.”
Studio Executive stares blankly at him.
JT: “The one with alien ghosts.”
SE: “Yeah, now I remember. Fine. Whatever. Just tell Sharon on your way out that it's greenlit and she'll get all the.....details......worked.....whatever. I just need a few moments alone.”
JT: “Sure thing.”
John Travolta walks happily out of the office, as Studio Executive cradles his forehead in his hands and slowly begins to sob. Somewhere between the sobs, the off-the-hook phone starts beeping.
The Pitch: Pilot
"Silver Bullet"
Studio Executive: "OK, what have you got for me?"
Pitchman: "I'm going to throw some words at you. You just sit back and let them rain down upon you like orgasmic snowflakes."
SE: "Hit me.'
PM: "Busey."
SE: "Love it."
PM: "Haim."
SE: "Yes."
PM: "Werewolf."
SE: "Yes!"
PM: "Stephen King."
SE: "YES!"
PM: "You ready for the title? You ready to hear the sweet voice of the almightly
Lord himself?"
SE: "I've never wanted anything more in my life!"
PM: "Silver Bullet. Bam!"
SE: "Greenlit, right here right now! I'll print the script on gilded paper. We are going to run this town by the time this thing is through!"
PM: "That's why I get paid the big bucks."
SE: "I'll get accounting on the phone right now. But first, give me one more. One more little taste of the goldmine to come."
PM: "You want one more? You think you can handle the awesome might of one more?"
SE: "Sock it to me!"
PM: "Wheelchair."
SE: "That's brillian.......wait, what?"
Studio Executive: "OK, what have you got for me?"
Pitchman: "I'm going to throw some words at you. You just sit back and let them rain down upon you like orgasmic snowflakes."
SE: "Hit me.'
PM: "Busey."
SE: "Love it."
PM: "Haim."
SE: "Yes."
PM: "Werewolf."
SE: "Yes!"
PM: "Stephen King."
SE: "YES!"
PM: "You ready for the title? You ready to hear the sweet voice of the almightly
Lord himself?"
SE: "I've never wanted anything more in my life!"
PM: "Silver Bullet. Bam!"
SE: "Greenlit, right here right now! I'll print the script on gilded paper. We are going to run this town by the time this thing is through!"
PM: "That's why I get paid the big bucks."
SE: "I'll get accounting on the phone right now. But first, give me one more. One more little taste of the goldmine to come."
PM: "You want one more? You think you can handle the awesome might of one more?"
SE: "Sock it to me!"
PM: "Wheelchair."
SE: "That's brillian.......wait, what?"
Introduction to the "Shows"
I'm going to run with this whole TV analogy and refer to the crap I'll be writing as "Shows," since I do intend for them to be a set of ongoing series. Right out of the gate, these are the shows I'll be writing:
The Pitch: how I imagine the studio pitch session went for actually-released movies and TV shows.
The Dangers of 3D: a series of police reports documenting the terror and destruction caused by cinema's latest technology.
Area 51a: a diary detailing the day-to-day troubles of an assistant manager working in the food court at the United States' most secretive military research complex.
And just like a real TV station, I'll add and drop shows often, sometimes in the middle of a maddeningly complex plotline that will be left with absolutely no sense of closure. Because I don't answer to you, Anonymous Internet Reader, I only answer to my heart. Which is why I am going to go get some McNuggets right now, because the sooner I can stop my heart, the sooner I won't have to listen to it anymore.
The Pitch: how I imagine the studio pitch session went for actually-released movies and TV shows.
The Dangers of 3D: a series of police reports documenting the terror and destruction caused by cinema's latest technology.
Area 51a: a diary detailing the day-to-day troubles of an assistant manager working in the food court at the United States' most secretive military research complex.
And just like a real TV station, I'll add and drop shows often, sometimes in the middle of a maddeningly complex plotline that will be left with absolutely no sense of closure. Because I don't answer to you, Anonymous Internet Reader, I only answer to my heart. Which is why I am going to go get some McNuggets right now, because the sooner I can stop my heart, the sooner I won't have to listen to it anymore.
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