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February 22, 2008
Gáwa' hindi tumitigil tiwalâ*
I have eclectic musical tastes, but there's room in my heart for what my late friend Tom Cole called "ass rock" -- Kansas, Foreigner, Boston and the like.
I was heartened this afternoon to come across a concert video of a reconstituted Journey with their latest lead singer, Arnel Pineda.
Pineda had a strong career in his native Philippines, but YouTube helped him reach worldwide audiences. Videos of his band "performing cover songs by Journey, Survivor, Aerosmith, Led Zeppelin, Air Supply, The Eagles, Kenny Loggins and other popular acts from the 70s, 80s and 90s" caught the attention of Journey's Neal Schon, who brought Pineda to Marin County for a 2-day audition last summer.
They're now on tour and are playing tomorrow night in Santiago, Chile with Peter Frampton and Earth, Wind & Fire. Should be an entertaining program.
* apologies for my poor Tagalog skills.
Posted by Your Protagonist at 03:57 PM | Comments (0)
February 18, 2008
My "Cloverfield" review.
Like many of the characters on-screen, I cowered in the dark, queasy, panting and sweating, eyes squeezed shut and praying I'd live through the experience.
Seriously, they should have done some co-marketing with Dramamine -- a free dose with every ticket purchased. I'm sure it would have netted even more buzz, and it could have been a great product placement.
Posted by Your Protagonist at 08:42 AM | Comments (0)
February 05, 2008
This reflects very poorly on our species.
I'm feeling a bit of pique this afternoon. This video is not helping:
If there's an intergalactic version of YouTube gathering stray signals from the ether, somewhere there's a silicon-based lifeform who's laughing hard enough for ammonia to stream from its nose.
Posted by Your Protagonist at 05:02 PM | Comments (0)
February 01, 2008
My entry in ACT's David Mamet Writing Contest
Each year American Conservatory Theater holds a David Mamet writing contest in tandem with the staging of one of his plays.
For those of you who don't know Mamet, he's a dramatist famous for his visceral, profane and subtle use of language. If you've haven't seen one of his plays (Speed the Plow, Glengarry GlenRoss), you've almost certainly seen a movie he script doctored (THE UNTOUCHABLES, RONIN).
An extremely talented friend turned me onto the ACT contest. For our entries, we each rewrote a classic film scene in Mamet's style. Hers was laugh-out-loud funny: the open-the-pod-bay-doors scene from 2001, only with HAL 9000 played by Ricky Roma (Al Pacino in GGGR).
My entry: George Bailey gets to know Clarence, his guardian angel, in the slightly retooled Frank Capra classic, "It's a Wonderful Fucking Life."
After the jump.
Introduction:
Christmas Eve, Bedford Falls, 1946.
George Bailey, and his guardian angel, Clarence, have just been ejected from Nick's Place -- a tavern that George knows as "Martini's." George is in a confused state: "Martini's" is a friendly bar managed by an old friend, but tonight, "Nick's Place" is "now more of a hard-drinking joint, a honky-tonk" run by a surly, sour man.
Before they were bounced from the bar, George ran into Mr. Gower, the druggist who once employed him as a soda jerk. In this universe, Gower is a disgraced panhandler who served twenty years for poisoning a child with a tainted prescription -- an accident we watched George avert in an earlier scene.
EXT. NICK'S BAR – NIGHT
GEORGE and CLARENCE lying in the snow. George has a strange, puzzled look on his face. They remain for a moment as they landed, looking at each other.
You stupid fuck! How am I gonna show my face in -- they know me here, you goddamn feeb! This is my place!
You are not known, George. The Blaine boy died. Gower made his mistake, you didn’t stay his hand. The great chain, George. The great chain. You were not there. You are not known.
The hell you say! I remember distinctly...I stopped Gower, I told him. Never seen a man cry before. Terrifying.
Clarence gets to his feet, leaving George sitting in the snow. He points to the neon sign over the door that reads "NICK'S PLACE" instead of "MARTINI'S."
Riddle me this, bright boy.
(exasperated)
What the... Martini’s. C’mon, this is Martini’s place! Goddamn it, you simple --
He points to the sign and looks at Clarence. Clarence shakes his head and spits. George fixes him with a very interested look.
The fuck? What are you playing at?
(patiently)
I already said. I'm your guardian angel. Don’t make me --
George jumps up and seizes Clarence by the balls. Clarence winces but doesn’t fight back.
So, angels got eggs, huh? Shall we make an omelet?
Clarence looks heavenward for a moment before bringing his knee sharply to George’s jaw. George falls back into the snow.
Any number of explanations. Seed was spilled, maybe. Maybe Mrs. Bailey visited Mrs. Fanelli’s beauty salon. In the back room, I hear she’ll excise warts, other irritating growths.
Then if I wasn't born, who am I?
Nobody. Less than.
George rapidly searches his pockets for identification, but without success.
Me llamo George Bailey, motherfucker.He closes his eyes.
Ich bin... Je m’appelle...phom chêu...George Bailey.
Not even the wet spot on the mattress. There is no George Bailey. No papers, no cards, no driver's license, no 4-F card, no insurance policy...
(He says these things as George searches for them)
George stands up, looks in his watch pocket.
They're not there, either.
What?
Zuzu's petals. Some kind of name. Probably would have grown up to be a fan dancer.
Clarence mimes a burlesque while George feverishly continues to turn his pockets inside out.
(still dancing)
Somebody upstairs likes you, George. You wanted to climb down off the cross? Fine. We pulled out the nails.
Clarence stops twirling and bows. George is completely befuddled.
(shaking his head)
Now wait a minute, here. Wait a minute here. As, this is some sort of a funny dream I'm having here. So long, you smug bastard, I'm going home.
He starts off.
Home? What home?
George stops walking and wheels on Clarence, fists clenched.
You son of a whore! Will you, will you shut up! Trying to fuck me up and make me -- what is this, Potter? Did Potter send you? Aw, to hell with -- I’m going home to ball the bee-yootiful Mrs. Bailey. Fuck off back to Cloud Nine.
George strides off hurriedly. Clarence slowly follows him, glancing up toward Heaven as he goes.
How'm I doing, Joseph? Yeah?
Well, I’ll have a drink if I want one. My balls hurt.
Posted by Your Protagonist at 07:55 PM | Comments (0)
Frozen Grand Central
Improv Everywhere, a collective of pranksters who "cause scenes of chaos and joy in public places," recently pulled off one of the most impressive happenings I've ever seen.
A group of more than 200 gathered on the Concourse at Grand Central Terminal; at the appointed moment, they all froze in place. Imagine yourself in the middle of this tableau:
As Johnny Carson used to say, that is "some weird, wild stuff."
Posted by Your Protagonist at 10:32 AM | Comments (0)