Smells Like a Brewery

“The director will be here really soon, guys, really soon!” said Riley Steel with limited conviction as she stared at her watch. Putting on a red cocktail dress and high heeled sandals for nothing wasn’t her idea of a productive day. She tapped her foot while other crew members and actors milled around waiting for their director to come. The stage was all set. Everyone was ready to go. “Where the hell is he?” And then the repugnant odor of alcohol assaulted her nostrils like a boxing champion’s knockout uppercut. “Oh no,” said Riley while shaking her head in shame.

Fashionably late, Director Devon Rollins came staggering into the studio with a beer bottle in one hand and a whole lot of nothing in the other. This was what his cinematic masterpiece Marble Halls meant to him. This was what he signed a contract for: so that he could show up whenever he wanted to in ridiculously baggy clothes, disheveled brown hair, stubble on his face, and a beer stench that could be whiffed from space.

Devon stood in front of his director’s chair and hummed while battering his lips up and down with his index finger. In the most offensively ableist voice imaginable, he said, “Why’s…everybody…always picking…on…me?” He took a seat in his chair and fell on the back of his neck, much to the shock and horror of everyone on set.

“Good God almighty,” said Riley with shock in her eyes as she watched Devon struggle to get up and reposition his chair.

He got an A for effort, but then stumbled over the chair again and just laid on the floor defeated and dizzy. Throughout all of his drunken posturing, he still managed to keep his beer bottle in his hand. Another A for effort for an acting job that was surely an acquired taste, just like the alcohol that he was smashed on.

Riley’s lips curled with anger as she kicked off her uncomfortable heels and marched over to her drunken director. She kneeled down and grabbed him by his Star Wars T-shirt before shaking and slapping the shit out of him. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?! You smell like a goddamn brewery! We’ve been waiting for you since ten-thirty this morning!”

Burping and slurring his words, Devon said, “I can’t do this anymore, Linda” before dunking his head backwards and falling asleep.

Riley growled before grabbing her director’s greasy hair and slamming his head against the floor once just to wake him up. After Devon yelled to indicate he was awake, his actress tore into him some more. “It’s Riley, not Linda, you idiot! Pull yourself together, for god’s sake!”

“Sure thing, Tina!” said Devon with an obnoxious burp and a thumbs up.

Riley shook her head and watched as actors and crew members filed out of the studio, not wanting any more of Devon’s shit. “Are you happy now?” she asked rhetorically. “Look at them! They’re walking out on you and I should probably do the same thing. The only thing keeping me from doing so is a little something called a contract. You know, that thing you sign which legally binds you to work on Marble Halls. This is your project, Devon! You have to do it professionally! Otherwise, we’re screwed!”

Devon took a few moments to catch his breath, which still reeked worse than a frat boy’s asshole after doing a tampon chug. “Divas…you’re all divas…”

“What are you talking about?”

“Nobody will do what I say, Tiffany. I give them one direction and they tell me no like they’ve got a choice. I’m the director. I call the shots! If I have to be a North Carolina dictator, then so be it!” Devon ended his rant with another burp, this time with liquid bubbling up in his throat.

Riley made a disgusted face. “So that’s why you started drinking? Because nobody will do what they’re told? In case you hadn’t noticed, Marble Halls is a team effort. It’s not just a bunch of people doing what they’re told. We have input. We have feelings. We have reservations. For example…do you remember that day I refused to do a nude scene for you?”

“Yeah…I remember…you’re a diva too, Rebecca. It’s part of the script. If the script says take your clothes off, then you take your clothes off.”

Riley folded her arms. “Yeah, the script does say that. The script, by the way, that you wrote from beginning to end, by yourself, with no criticism from others. If anybody has the power to negotiate with his own actors, it’s you. Besides, why does that script even need a nude scene anyways? How does it advance the story? Are you sure you didn’t just put it in there because you don’t know how internet porn works?”

“…Ouch, Ronda. Very, very ouch…”

“Truth hurts, doesn’t it?”

“No, I actually mean ouch. Get your knee off my gut!”

Riley stood up and backed away just in time to watch Devon spit up a fountain of barf, covering his own face and chest in biological sludge. He breathed heavily after that while his lead actress could only look on in pity. She shook her head. “Go home, Devon. You’re drunk. Nobody wants to be around you right now. Just go home and sleep it off. We’ll pick up again tomorrow and hopefully you’ll be sober by then.”

“But…what about that contract thingamabob? Isn’t the executioner producer going to be pissed?” Another burp erupted from Devon’s mouth as did a wad of bile.

“To be honest, I’ll take my chances with the EXECUTIVE producer. I’m sure he’ll give me a way out of my contract after what you did today. Besides, if anybody is getting blamed for all of this, it’s you, Mr. North Carolina dictator!” She picked up her heels and tried to leave the studio.

“Wait!” mumbled Devon as he clutched his actress’s ankle. “Don’t go! I…I…”

“You what? You want me to convince the cast and crew to come back? You want me to convince the executive producer not to blacklist or sue your ass? Let go of my damn ankle, Harvey Weinstein!”

“No, that’s not what I meant!” Devon coughed and got some acidic spittle on Riley’s bare foot. “I mean…I need someone to drive me home.”

“I’ll call you a taxi.”

“No…I want you to be the one who drives me.”

Riley scoffed. “Yeah, like I’m going to let you stink up my nice Volvo with your beer and vomit breath. You can sleep on the floor for all I care.”

“Wait! Wait, please…I’m not looking for a way home…I want you to take me to Paradise Rehab.”

Riley’s expression softened as she kneeled down beside her director. “You want to check into rehab?”

“I do…I really do…listen to me just for a moment. I know I’m blitzed right now, but I still have something to say.” Devon took a while to catch his rotten breath. “This drinking problem has been going on for a long time now. This is really the first time I came to the set drunk. All the pressure from upper management…all the arguing with the crew members…the deadlines that are impossible to meet…the beer was the only way I could manage my depression.”

“You’ve been depressed this whole time and you didn’t tell any of us?”

“What do you guys care? I’m just another pig who demands nude scenes, which are totally part of the plot, by the way. I don’t give these orders because I want a bunch of brainwashed slaves. I give them because…I want Marble Halls to be the best movie it can possibly be. And when we draw the big money and win the Oscars…I want to share them all with you and the crew. Yes, I know I’m drunk right now…but I mean every word that I say.” There was a teary twinkle in his eye to validate his true feelings.

Riley’s face was etched with pity once again. She wanted to believe these words despite the alcoholic influence. She wanted to believe Devon Rollins had a good side to him. She wanted to believe that his nude scenes were completely necessary. Although she was fighting not to believe those things, she knew that nothing would be accomplished by leaving him on the floor to be sued and fired. Besides, if what he said about depression was true, then he was just as human as the rebellious cast members.

“Come on, Devon. I’m taking you to rehab.” She wrapped his arm around the back of her neck and struggled to lift him to his feet.

“Thank you, Riley. Thank you so much. I won’t let you down….you know, any more than I already have.”

“No problem, Devon. Just do me a favor: don’t barf all over my expensive leather seats.”

Merrill Cody

Of all the things I’ve written back in the early days of my writing career, the one series I’m most ashamed of is Satire of Ruin. If you’ve known me since 2004, you’ve seen this series of movie scripts posted on my Deviant Art account and my old website Macaroni & Ownage Productions.
It revolves around an aspiring screenwriter named Julian Kane who lashes out against everybody who criticizes his work. Sometimes it’s just a screaming fit, other times he actually beats people up. Naturally, Mr. Kane needed somebody to keep his aggression under control. That person is none other than the subject of this blog post, a former detective turned filmmaker, Merrill Cody.

Now that I look back on this little series of mine known as Satire of Ruin, I can appreciate the patience that Merrill had for his pupil Julian. In order to be around an explosive personality such as Julian, Merrill needed to have the patience of a saint. Patience doesn’t come easily for someone who used to make a living by solving crimes and putting crooks behind bars.

Julian might even be a crook for the things he did in my movie scripts. Even though Merrill didn’t necessarily have a badge anymore, he could just as easily take down Julian and make a citizen’s arrest. Merrill didn’t do that. Instead, he gave his pupil some advice when the latter was traumatized from a bout of prison rape: go to India and mediate with the monks. This would either prove to be useful advice or it would be Merrill’s way of saying to Julian, “I’m done with you, you’re someone else’s problem now.” I guess even saintly ex-cops can run out of patience eventually.

So what does Merrill Cody do now? Does he take on another pupil or does he continue his film career alone? The man had his trust broken by a rage-a-holic who can’t take criticism worth a damn. He’s not even sure if he can trust his actors and actresses to put on a good show for his audience. Even the dude who holds the shotgun microphone can be a little suspicious at times.

Is it time to finally retire this character and let him live on the beach for the rest of his life? Or does he have one last burning spark of trust within him to take on another pupil for his filmmaking ventures? Or maybe he’s so bitter by being betrayed that he’ll go back to being a cop just for the sake of putting assholes in jail.

No matter what path I choose for Merrill Cody to take, I hope he can be as wise as his age suggests. I wrote the final installment of Satire of Ruin in 2006, which made me a 21-year-old at the time. I’m well beyond that age now and have a much different worldview. Can I give Merrill Cody one more chance at the spotlight? Can I give any of my Satire of Ruin characters one more chance or are they all beyond redemption? Only time will tell.

　

***LYRICS OF THE DAY***

“You’re like a high school dropout: no class.”

-Fort Minor rapping “High Road”-

Theatre Roots

Before deciding to go through college as a creative writing major and a theatre arts minor, I originally wanted to double major in psychology and cinema. By the time I was accepted into Western Washington University, I found out that they didn’t have a cinema degree available, so I had to minor in the next best thing: theatre arts. As for psychology, I decided that solving other people’s problems was too exhausting and impossible, so I chose to major in something that I was actually good at: creative writing. Back to the theatre arts major for a moment. The reason I wanted that as part of my educational pedigree was because I liked writing movie scripts and I hoped to make it into Hollywood as a screenwriter. Movie scripts differ from traditional prose because it’s quicker and doesn’t require a great deal of description. Plus, whenever a character talks, it’s as simple as putting his or her name down and writing the dialogue underneath it. When I write traditional prose, it takes me up to half an hour to write three full pages. But when I wrote screenplays, I could get through five pages in almost a third of the time. The process was so quick and painless that I actually wrote a Dungeons & Dragons-style screenplay called Tree Party Nation in a matter of two days. Granted, it’s only about 60 pages, but I still consider it one of my finer moments as a screenwriter. It wasn’t until after I graduated from WWU that I decided traditional prose was more interesting to me. At the time of this discovery, I was playing Dungeons & Dragons with friends of mine over the internet. One of the characters I was using was a level eight human barbarian named Brutus Warcry. I got my start in traditional prose by writing Brutus’ character sketch, detailing his time as a kid in a barbaric tribe to his present day life as an MMA icon. At the time, I firmly believed that it was okay to use hyperbolic descriptions in every other sentence. It made sense at the time because it was so well received by my friends. Two years later in 2012, it dawned on me that it was slowing my writing speed down and most of the descriptions didn’t make sense. So now in the present day of my life, I write using simple descriptions such as one-word adjectives and describing literally everything that’s going on within the prose. I haven’t had any complaints yet. In fact, people seem to like what I do. This is quite the journey to go from a non-reading screenwriter to a bookworm novelist. If it wasn’t for my roots in theatre, I wouldn’t have had the material for my proses. So thank you, theatre roots, for keeping it interesting. Now let’s all do the hotdog dance!

　

***ADVICE OF THE DAY***

If you’re writing a story and you need to use the contraction of “who” and “are“, don’t forget the apostrophe. I can’t stress it enough.

Books Made Into Movies

With this huge abundance of movies based off of books, there always seems to be an active debate going on about faithfulness to the original medium. Whenever something is slightly off-key, fan boys and fan girls fly off the handle and take to Twitter for a war of words. Then again, I’ve also heard arguments about how the director should have some control over the movie seeing as how he’s just as important as the writer. It happens in theater productions all the time. Sometimes the adjustments are agreeable, other times they’re nowhere near negotiable. I remember hearing a story about how the writer for a pornographic movie called Wild Side killed himself because the director changed the script drastically from its original intentions. Suicide because a script was butchered? Well, I’ve always heard about how artists can be insane sometimes. If you ask me for my opinion, I think there should be equal cooperation between writer and director. The director should be asking the writer about the way he wants the movie done and the writer should be flexible about the changes to be made. Writing and filmmaking are two very different mediums and therefore require completely different sets of skills. Wouldn’t you feel better if your project was in the right hands? The trust between two people is ultimately what will drive them to success whether it’s in a business, personal, romantic, or other kind of relationship. But of course, the tendency to dominate the project is ever present in today’s world. Wild Side is an extreme example of what could go wrong with domination. It typically doesn’t result in a suicide, but it can be struggled over in the court systems. If one thing goes wrong, a lawsuit will be ignited. It doesn’t matter who wins the lawsuit or even if it’s thrown out. Even if there’s no settlement to be gained, the money spent on lawyer’s fees and the delaying of the project will grind and wear on the people involved. Is it really worth suing over? We all know it’s not worth killing over as evidenced with Wild Side. If somebody wanted to make a movie out of “Red Blood, White Knuckles, Blue Heart”, I wouldn’t be heartbroken over the choices the director made. I would just be fucking thrilled to know that people care enough about my book to make it into a more relatable medium. Reading is fun, but then again, so are movies. When these schools of thought come together, it should always be a beautiful thing. Nothing more, nothing less.

　

***COMEDIC QUOTE OF THE DAY***

“People got mad because Barack Obama thought mind-melding was from Star Wars instead of Star Trek. And I say to them, ‘Congratulations, you’re experts in every world except the real one.’”

-Bill Maher-