Monday, September 15, 2003

Just barely getting started on the PETER ROTTENTAIL rewrite for the Polonia Brothers. It always takes a bit to get those rusty gears turnin'.

I am also teaching a basic scriptwriting course, and graded rough drafts this weekend. I have warned my students about what kind of plots I don't want to read, and thankfully they took it to heed. Here are some plots I don't want to read anymore.

PROM NIGHT MASSACRE: Two kids have loved each other since kindegarten, and we see their whole life, up until one gets killed on prom night.

HOOSIERS REDUX: Beleagured antihero has mad skillz, but Coach benches him, girlfriend dumps him, parents hate him, everyone else in the general populace is against him, until he hits the last-second shot and wins the state championship against a hated rival school.

SHOCK THE TEACHER: Lots of drugs, sex, and bad language, because of course teachers are born 37 years old wearing ties and have never had long hair or owned Who t-shirts.

ROSE-COLORED GLASSES: Everything is wrong with this horrible co-dependent volatile destructive relationship until the wishful thinking of the writer saves it from disaster and they live happily ever after.

And here's some more of AMONG US, not much better:

A nervous young woman, GEORGIA, shifts from one foot to the other as she looks into the camera.
We were sitting by the fire, all of us. We had the boombox up pretty loud, so I can't say we heard like twigs snapping or anything. But I know I smelled something. Not a bad smell, but...I grew up on a farm. Around horses. Like a wet horse smell, maybe. Definitely sweat, something with muscles. Then we saw it at the edge of the fire. My boyfriend Brett is like six-five, and this thing was taller than that. Thing, I mean it could have been a man. It was totally in shadow. Then in like a split-second it was gone. Everybody was trippin, it was a while before anybody could go out there and see what was up.
Then we found the remains.
The remains?
Some--ah--some poo. I didn't smell it, but--ah--it was big, up to my knee. I don't mean I stepped in it, but it was--ah--that tall, I mean. And it was like in a pyramid shape.
A pyramid of poo.
Wayne settles back in his chair and addresses an unseen interviewer.
I am often asked...if there is such a thing as a bigfoot...or sasquatch, or yeti, or North American great ape...why are there no bones? Why are there not piles of dung by the side of the road? But those that ask that question are giving these creatures attributes that may not apply to them. They do not put on clothes and live in planned communities, but that does not mean they do not care for their hygiene or their dead. Nor does the fact that they do exhibit signs of what we call...civilization...prevent them from acting in bestial ways. Is it appropriate to speak of a missing link? Perhaps, if nothing else, it should be considered food for thought.
Feature a shaky camcorder view, trying to track a far-off shape through the trees.
There are new sightings every day. And the technology gets better to capture them. Yet there is always the person that says...I see a zipper...or, that's just a man in a fur coat.
Wayne rests, with his bigfoot prop on one knee.
But that then begs the question...does the presence of hoaxes deny the existence of a real phenomena?
My answer is this. Man has always tried to explain the mysteries of life...everything from where does rain come from, to what the stars in space are made of, and so on...Either scientifically, or through faith, or via legend.
So did the awareness of the bigfoot develop because of the hoaxes...or did the hoaxes manifest as a way for us to deal with the fact...that there is an unfamiliar species among us?

Give me a yell at

PS--And hey, will someone tell me if my guestbook isn't working?--JD

No comments: