Might not be a good thing

I'm going to make this short but sweet. It's a fable of sorts, for those of us who are in offices and cubicles throughout the country, or even the world (my grandiosity truly is boundless), and we sit for hours on end, doing a job of work, and in some cases....engaging in some rather interesting ways, of passing time in the slow moments of the day.

This is the story of Timothy Timmons, who as a young boy experienced a trama, few adults are emotionally resilient enough to withstand, yet this stalwart young lad grew to manhood, without a significant moment to be had since. Now, a drab and listless man, who's daily work was of such monumental tedium, he was often heard muttering through the halls, a mantra, of his own making. To the occasional co-worker, passing close enough to hear this odd chant, they would experience a feeling, very similar to fear, mixed with a generous amount of disgust.

Timothy, being the type of man, to whom great power eluded, took singular pride in this, as he would, with great regularity, wander the most populated of hallways. Gleefully muttering his strange mutterings, and barely muffling the giggles, that the shocked reactions would create.

As the months would fall away, like lead paint chips from a derelict building, Timothy's glee would increase, and only after increasing the severity of his barely uttered utterances. He would sit in his spartan apartment night upon night, gorging himself on instant noodles and instant orange flavored beverages, and concoct ways to sicken his co-workers with, the depths of a damaged, yet deviously creative mind.

One fateful day, upon waking from an especially productive nightmare, Timothy rose from his bed, with purpose and drive. His breakfast that morning was a symphony of flavors and textures, that seemed to take Timothy by surprise. He wondered to himself, if he'd ever had a meal this delicious, this remarkable. In fact, he had, every morning, for the best part of twenty-five years.

He noticed that the clothes he'd worn everyday, fit better, more complimentary, and more flattering than ever before. As he left his apartment, he noticed that the streets gleamed with a shine that bathed him in a light that felt unnatural, but welcomed. As he rode the bus, a realization that was so completely profound, his body shuddered with delight. He looked around, hoping others had noticed, hoping some other soul would be looking at him, so he could share a look of contentment. Finding no one, he smiled to himself.

As the bus stopped, and opened its doors, Timothy nearly bounded to the sidewalk. He gait was springy, and playful. To on-lookers, it would appear as if "Guys and Dolls" or "West Side Story" had decided to have street performers, complete with Jerome Robbins choreography. With the office building he worked, looming in the distance, his walk became firm and determined, his footfalls more deliberate and strong. As he stood in front of the large class doors to the building, leading to the lobby, a look of complete confidence shown on his puckish face, and he walked inside, like a conquering Caesar.

To be continued...

Inspiration's Older Sister

If there is a trick to being inspired, I'm not sure I'm not sure I know what it is. I've had moments of unbridled creativity, weeks of feverish invention, and words and images lowed from my head, like a multicolored head-wound.

I was mater of creation, and I was in the groove of all things.

Then....

...there are places in Death Valley that have more life in them, in comparison to how lush my mind wasn't. I was dry, parched, devoid of competent thought or idea, and it was as vast as the Sahara, and equally as comforting.

Nothing took hold. I would sit, often times with a classical blank stare, at my television, as I whiplash channel surfed, for hours...literally. Looking for inspiration, in whatever form I could find it in. I searched on the "web", only to be met with the profound abundance of incredibly bad junk. It's like going to a candy-store. Only this candy store is filled with the cheapest, get anywhere for ten pounds for a penny, candy. All bad for you, and will rot your brain as quickly as soaking your teeth in a one hundred percent sugar solution.

Again...I knock upon inspiration's door, only to be met by her manly, mustachioed older sister Agatha.

The Madness of Costumed Drunkards, and Extroverts - a.k.a. NYC Halloween Parade

It's fallen on us like a plump old lady, overly made up, and more than a bit disoriented. It's the NYC Halloween Parade, and for years upon years, it's given the usually surly, and hurried average New Yorker, an excuse to run willy nilly through the streets of the village, oddly attired, and giddy from the experience.

With the sad exclusion of bags full to bursting with assorted sweets, it's a great time. And the inventiveness of the participants varies from bizarre, to nightmarish, from coy and mundane, to things you wander home hoping you can find a way to unsee a man dressed as human excrement, with his head as a remnant of an under digested meal.

But thats the point of it, the ability to transcend the morbid depression of an economy on life support. A healthcare system desperately trying to heal itself, and the closest thing to a modern plague - Swine Flu. While it's not healthy or recommended, to constantly find ways to escape this reality, it is however find and oh so dandy, to escape it for just an evening. For a short period of time, be as giddy as the 56 yr old man, prancing down Seventh Ave, dressed as Hermione Granger. Or the 24 yr old girl, dressed as a scantily clad Martha Stewart.

Join in this crazed march of wildly imaginative, and stressless group of adventurers. Eat loads of cheap candy, drink shots of Tequila from bright red wax lips, and sing humorous, but mildly profane Halloween songs. This is one of the few times adults can dress like lunatics, and behave like children, without an intervention being the end result.

Happy Halloween.

In perfect gratitude...

I have moments, full and ponderous moments, where I realize the importance of things. The crisp meaty taste of a ripe tomatoe on a well constructed sandwich. The glacier like coolness of a jug of tap water from the refrigerator. The warmth of a smile from a friend, or a child, or a stranger who you share an awkward, but connecting moment with.

These are things, that when I've slowed down my brain, turned off all of the extraneous worries of adulthood, I let wash over me, like warm rain on an even warmer evening, and am surprised by my acuity.

I had such a moment, minutes ago, as I sat at my desk, looking at movie trailers, recharging my stores of courage. During this time, I saw a couple clips, and both trailers, from Jason Reitman's soon to be released, "Up in the Air".

Cutting to the chase, I was awestruck. Seeing someone craft images that will stay in the minds of those who gleefully give over the better part of a twenty dollar bill, for a movie ticket. And even more for popcorn and soda. But those pilgrims of the cineplex will be met with an astounding piece of cinema/film/movie, call it what you will, but see it.

It's movies like these, that give me that jittery, "can't wait to finish me script" kind of feeling, so I can do what Jason Reitman is doing. Making films. And I would like to thank him for it. I would like to thank Jason Reitman for choosing to be a filmmaker, and making guys like me, realize there is art in entertainment.

Peace.

Cookie Induced Coma

At times when you come up against the harshest of days, and the meanest of people. When your resolve is tasked to the point of no return, yet you clasp a clawing hand on it's shirt-tails, and drag it back to you, with strength you're surprized you had.

Days when words his like Mike Tyson in his prime, and your resilience is like Jerry Cooney, hitting the canvas, for a very long, and painful fall. Looking upward for assistance, and helping hand, that doesn't have a joy buzzer attached to it.

It's the the package deal, with being able to buy alcohol, porn, and cigarettes. Of being able to see any movie you want to, even NC-17, without being accompanied by parent or guardian. The Platinum Deal, that gives you hair in odd places, and aches when you've never even moved from the unrepentant comfort of a really nice couch. Not having to wash dishes, or clothes, or windows, or even yourself, if you damn well don't feel like it. You're an adult now, time to put away childish things.

But, in a fit of clarity, mixed with nostalgia, and especially after a hard day, don't you just wish you could be a kid again. A bright eyed, boldly imaginative child, who could eat thirty thousand chocolate chip cookies, and fall into a peaceful sleep, while cartoons watched you?

After the day I've had.. I show nuff do.

Never malign, that which you envy.

I'm astounded. I'm sitting here, mouth agape, eyes like saucers and scratching my head, in befuddled disbelief.

I'll get to why, in a moment, but first, a bit of background.

It was 1997 and the Oscar for best original screenplay was award to Ben Affleck, and Matt Damon, for a film I begrudgingly loved, "Good Will Hunting". These two guys, albeit ion the industry, wrote a stellar screenplay, corral stellar talent to work in front of and behind the camera, and created a a beautiful character study, without getting schmaltzy and "woe is me". After fighting through the thick cloud of pea colored envy, I relented.. I really loved the film.

And it was around that time, that i had begun to foster my desire to be a filmmaker. As i watched the Oscars for both inspiration and motivation, I gained both, when I saw Matt, and Ben, triumphantly stride the stage, genuinely proud and excited that their labors bore such great fruit. I was hooked and to this day still am.. obviously.

Flash forward to 2005, not the Oscar's, furthest thing from t actually, and I see a trailer for a movie, based on a very popular video game. The name of the flick, is "Bloodrayne", produced and directed by Uwe Boll, written by Guinevere Turner. Neither person i'd every heard of, or seen anything by, at that time. So a year later, "Bloodrayne" was on cable, 3-am in the morning on a Friday. I was recently single, broke, and unshowered, so i watched it.

Now, let us once again enter the Way Back Machine, and head to 2005 for "Alone in the Dark", then to 2007 for "Postal", then to 2008 for "Far Cry", all directed by Uwe Ball, and written by various different screenwriters. I've seen all but "Far Cry" which doesn't seem to be on Netflix, or Blockbuster (which is shocking in and of, itself). The director Uwe Boll is a learned man, and a prolific filmmaker. That having been said...

We now return to 09.08.09 Tuesday morning, day after a long holiday, and after an exceedingly fun day at work, I stumble upon this interesting bit of internet profundity...

As copied from the website - "Stop Dr. Uwe Boll Petition"

To: Dr. Uwe Boll

We, the undersigned, respectfully ask that Uwe Boll give proper weight to the wishes of the video game community, the horror community, and the film going community in general and stop directing, producing, or taking any part in the creation of feature films. His distasteful handling of the subject matter and lack of acknowledgment of his failures simply cannot be abided any longer.

Mr. Boll has repeatedly shown a complete lack of comprehension regarding the videogames he has dragged, kicking and screaming, to the silver screen and his ham-fisted approach to horror has soiled future possibilities for anyone else who may attempt to bring videogames to film.

Sincerely,
The Undersigned

...seriously?

Now, I know I've seen my fair share of truly terrible movies, some where I walked out of the theater, feeling as though I'd been poked by an annoying 12 yr old with too much sugar in his blood, and a degree in filmmaking from "Roscoe's School of the Movement Pickture", for 90-120 minutes. Dreadful, films, posing as delightful entertainment, only to ambush you with lack of story, or lack of anything that makes shelling out 12.50 (NYC prices), worthwhile.

However, I've never been so annoyed, peeved, ticked, pee-o'd enough to even think, to formulate a movement, to forcibly retire a filmmaker, from his chosen profession. i can't even malign the aforementioned auteur, I'm in no position to. He's doing exactly what I want to be doing. He's making films. He's doing what so very few of us get a chance to do, and he's doing it with shocking regularity. His investors barely lose money, he gets to indulge himself in a job, that I would quite frankly kiss rabid wolverines, to get the opportunity to do.

Now I will not say, that I did not chuckle aloud when I read it. In fact I bellowed so loud, I think my coworkers feared a psychotic break was soon to follow. I did have quite a good laugh. But then I thought to myself...

"Self..?"

"Yes.", I replied

"Why are you laughing?" self wondered with cold curiosity.

"Can you believe that they wanna petition to stop this guy from making movies?" I chortled.

"Can I ask you a question?" said Self.

""Sure." I replied

"Have you made a movie yet?" Self said calmly.

The laughter quickly ebbed. Because I've never made a movie. Yes, I'm working on my first in a series of short films. Yet, I've not shot one nanosecond of film. Whereas this gentleman has made 24 in a little over 20 years. I could rail on against his talent, his choice of subject matter, even his infamy, but the fact of the matter,m this man has the kind of career I want. To make films, be a director, and enjoy every day doing it.

I only hope no one petitions against me.

Filming is underway - Why am i not excited?

Ok, that's kind of misleading. I'm not excited. I'm not giddy with girlish anticipation, nor am I running around like a kid on Christmas day, squealing and screeching, like a howler monkey with its tail on fire.

I'm focused, I'm intent, i have the single minded focus of a great white shark, minus the rows of serrated teeth, and, well the whole not being a shark thing. I'm focused on creating great works of cinematic art. using a dvcam, and camcorder, and as much borrowed software I can get my hands on.

I'm not excited because I don't want to lose my concentration, i don't want to slip out of the artisan cloak, and into the audience chair. I love movies, and I love getting lost in the story of someones life, or the adventure of an other's. I think in order for me to complete this task, with the highest level of success and quality, me the audience, has to wait to "buy the ticket, and take the ride".

Now...

That being said, it's going to be incredibly difficult. i love seeing my words come out of the mouths of some truly talented, yet wholly undiscovered and under appreciated craftsman and women. I will be sitting behind the camera, stifling the giddy urge to indulge in joyous outbursts. Or suppress the desire to run up and squeeze the crumbs out of my actors when they nail a particularly difficult piece of direction. Or sit in slack-jawed awe, as they turn a wordy piece of dialog, in to high art.

These are the things that I will try my determined best, not to do. Because I'm the artisan, the technician, the draftsman, the director.

But deep inside, and in someways, very close to the surface, I'm the chubby little kid, watching "Ordinary People" "Ocean's Eleven", and "Casablanca", on a Sunday afternoon.

Ok, maybe I'm a little excited.

Update: 09-07-09 - Filming Starts

The holidays are officially over and the availability of the actors is open, so filming has begun. The choice to film at my place of employment was an easy one... They said yes and the won't charge me a cent. How can you get better than that.

The unfortunate thing is that not all of the actors are available, I've had to create new pieces. The cast is primarily male, so I've had a chance to work on styles of films I really dig. Crime comedy, "Ocean's Eleven" (circa 1960). I've always dug the dialog and the interchange between the main characters, even Peter Lawford was easy to watch.

I'll be updating the list of scripts with the new pieces, with full descriptions, as soon as possible. And look for updates, such as productions photos, and production journal entries on the film site - Loud Voice Films