The man had the biggest hit of his career last year with TAKEN (As is tradition here at SIMPLY PASSING THROUGH HISTORY, I'm not gonna bother checking that "fact" [Even though STAR WARS: EPISODE 1: I CAN'T EVEN REMEMBER THE SUBTITLE was obviously bigger.].) but right as he was basking in his well deserved glory, his wife kicked the bucket somehow (I don't remember how, what her name was, or if said event happened close to the release of TAKEN or not [You get what you pay for, you cheap fuck. Go buy a book. Or Nook. But make sure my managers I know I sold you on that shit, cause I get a cookie.].).
As everyone in Hollywood knows, following the death of a loved one, every actor has two choices. You either withdraw from the public spotlight, moving to Europe for a self induced drug coma that only an acting salary can support, OR you stick your dick in as many projects ("Movies" in regular folk speak) about town as possible, trying to forget about the dick hole you lost when your wife died (Oh my God, I am never tricking a woman into marrying me after that comment). You know, assuming you are a Hollywood actor. Everyone else has to either suck it up or throw down on enough rope (or extension cord) for a noose. Cause drug induced comas in Europe tend to be a wee bit pricey.
Liam Neeson chose the dick sticking route (No one expected any less), as following the death of old whats-her-name, he suddenly became attached (that's movie speak for "He's planning to act in that movie... maybe.") to a shit ton of movies (For the record, I doubt very much that Liam's actual Penis is visible in any of his recent films. Though if it makes an appearance in any, my bet's on CLASH OF THE TITANS [That's shit's in 3D!]. Release "the Kraken" indeed, Mr. Neeson. Well played, old man.). Movie sites instantly began to speculate that Liam (me and him are actually very buddy-buddy. Never cared much for his wife, though. Kinda a bitch.) was intentionally taking any project he could get his hands on, just to keep his mind off the loss of his dick hole (I swear I'm not really this horrible a person).
The facts (yes, now I turn to facts... to make a point) would seem to support such a theory. Since TAKEN, Liam has been in 9 other released projects, if you count being a voice in PONYO, PRINCE CASPIAN, and the video game FALLOUT 3. Which I do. He has 5 films currently in post production including THE A-TEAM (of which he appears to be the most bad ass part). And he has five projects "In Development" (but that doesn't really mean shit. LINCOLN has been in development for years and may never happen. But hopefully it does, cause it's to be directed by Steven Spielberg!). So, all together that's 19 projects following TAKEN! I realize some of these were likely complete before his wife's passing and others may never actually happen ("In Development" really means jack shit.), but that's still a really fucking full plate for one man. A lot of holes in which to stick his dick, so to say.
So that is the sad, sad tale of Liam Neeson. The man appears to be in every film at the multiplex because, well, he is.
But what explains this other British Invasion (Ok, Liam Neeson may not be British. In fact, I think he's Irish...? Isn't that all the same shit anyway?)?
Pierce Brosnan aka Mr. 3rd Place (cause his portrayal of James Bond is only the third best out of six) is in every fucking movie at the multiplex that Liam Neeson is NOT in.
Hell, they even tried to be in the same movie, but there was a bit of a miscommunication. Liam told Pierce (Also a good friend of mine. His wife is far less bitchy than Liam's was.) he was going to play Zeus, so Pierce signed up for PERCY JACKSON AND THE OLYMPIANS: BLAH BLAH BLAH, thinking this was the movie Liam was talking about, because as everyone in Hollywood knows (including Liam and Pierce), Liam and Pierce have been looking for another project to collaborate on for ages. And ages. And ages. Unfortunately, Liam was referring to CLASH OF THE TITANS. So, he went on to make far more money than Pierce. But, Pierce had the last laugh, because he went on to look like far less of a fool than Liam, who will never live "Release the Kraken" down.
Okay, so Pierce has stuck his dick in far less places than Liam. He's only had four released projects since MAMMA MIA!, two projects currently in Pre-Production, and four In Development. But, take a look at this tasty little factoid... Liam has three movies currently in theaters, while Pierce has four (if you were to find PERCY JACKSON GODS STEAL LIGHTENING BLAH at a dollar theater)! Pierce currently has THE GREATEST, GHOST WRITER, and REMEMBER ME (and OLYMPIANS) out while Liam has CHLOE, CLASH OF THE OLYMPIANS OR SOME SUCH SHIT, AFTER.LIFE, and possibly a movie he's narrated. But I'm not gonna count that one here (even though I counted it earlier).
So, for all intensive purposes (my purposes), Pierce has out-dicked Liam, with 4 movies currently in theaters to Liam's 3.
What's up Pierce (I'll be sure to ask him when we meet for drinks tonight)? What tragedy hath befallen you? And why didn't you choose the Europe/drug coma route?
Is it possible the loss of one's identity is far more horrid and painful than the loss of one's dick hole? What I mean to say is, has losing the role of a lifetime (James Bond, duh!) finally made Pierce crack? Was it one of those denial dealies where Pierce was in denial since DIE ANOTHER DAY, not believing he really lost the only thing that gave him value, until there were, not one, but TWO James Bond movies starring "that other guy" (who happens to make a far better 007 than Pierce.)?
Finally accepting the loss allowed Pierce to move on to grieving, which he dealt with quite similarly to our mutual acquaintance, Liam. At least, that's the only conceivable reason that Pierce "Bond 4Ever" Brosnan has more movies out at the ole' multiplex than Liam "My Wife Is Dead... Whah!" Neeson.
Because it sucks to lose your spouse, but it must suck to lose all that James Bond money more.
And so Pierce Brosnan has not finished teaching me lessons in my "adulthood." From a young age, Pierce taught me that women were nothing more than sexy sidekicks who will have partially clothed sex with you if you are about to save the world. Or if you had just saved the world. But only if they didn't turn out to be evil. Though, even if they are (evil, I mean.), Pierce taught that you can still let them them "sex" you, as long as you reveal to them after that you knew they were evil all along. And kill them.
But today, Pierce has taught me the most valuable lesson of all. That money and fame are more important than any sort of human relationship, no matter how much sexing is involved (Trust me, I knew Liam and whats-her-face very well. There was a lot of sexing!).
Yes, not able to leave well enough I alone, I return to my "I am" franchise with a delayed fourth chapter, one that is sure to disappoint both because of how beloved the original trilogy has become and because of the massive expectations placed on this long-time-coming fourth part. Sure, I may be cashing in on the incredible wealth generated by this tried and true franchise and I may not be in the same place creatively that I was in 7 days ago when I wrote the original trilogy, but the fans have demanded it (about half of them, at least. The other half are strongly against it) so here it is...
I am not Eric Millegan.
"Who?" You may be asking.
"Not me," I say, "I am not Eric Millegan."
And it's true. I am not Eric Millegan. I may have been a little iffy on the truth a few times in the past, but now I am being straight with you. Totally and absolutely straight. Unlike Eric Millegan.
Eric Millegan (not me) is an actor best known for his role on Bones (no, this role did not involve him hopping [hoping?] on top of the good Dr., Bones McCoy. I am talking about the Fox TV show, you idiot). He is a regular cast member who eventually turns out to be serial killer, so we do have that in common (the serial killing I mean).
I do not watch Bones (the TV show, I do watch Bones the character on Star Trek) so I was not aware of this actor or story arch. But, when I came to work at Barnes and Noble, a fellow coworker asked me if I had been on Bones. "No," I says to her, "If I were on Bones why would I be working here?" I says.
Of course, I later learned that just because you are a semi-sucessful actor doesn't mean you won't latter end up working at Barnes and Noble. As touched on yesterday, one of my managers, Nick (no relation), was in a deleted scene in Star Trek: Nemesis. And here it is (Click on "Here," here or there [no! Don't click on "there" you idiot! My my, you are stupid today]). He is the one introducing the new chair to Captain Picard. It's so weird seeing someone you see nearly everyday alongside big-time-hot-shot-movie-actor-people!
But, anyways, that is beside the point (or, before the point I guess more aptly describes where it actually is). And the point is this... apparently I look like someone on Bones (see, the point did come after).
But, I gave this warning that I could have an evil-serial-killer-clone out there no credence. Just because one person thinks something, doesn't make it so (unless that one person is the infallible emperor of your political party).
So, I put it out of my mind. And out of my mind it remained for 3 long months (if only the urge to kill would stay away for half as long).
Until, last week.
Last week I got an oil change.
And it changed everything.
Not just my oil.
Though that was changed as well.
I hope (is there really a way to tell? How do I know these people aren't just taking my money and telling me they changed the oil. I ain't no rocket scientist. Nor am I a mechanic, who would probably be better suited to figure out if he was getting ripped off on oil changes. Though, why would he not just preform the oil change himself? And isn't being a rocket scientist just a more advanced form of being a mechanic? I don't know. Why are you asking me this? I'm not a rocket scientist. Not am I a mechanic...).
Anyway, the mechanic changed my oil (again, I hope he did at least) and the teller CHANGED MY LIFE!!! (Sorta. But not really though).
She says to me, "Were you on Bones?" she says.
A ha! So my coworker was not just delusional (perhaps I should not have accused her of such. I do feel a little guilty about all the verbal put-downs relating to her sanity... but only because she killed herself.). If one person thinks something, it may not be truth (except in the exception I already provided you with, dear readers), but if two people think something, independently of knowing one another, it is absolute fact. Which is how I know the end is Nye (but why would Bill Nye bring the end? All he wants to do is learn us some science. Perhaps science really has killed God...).
I must look like this Eric Millegan person. Though I do not see it, perhaps you do, dear readers. You've seen the photos sprinkled throughout this blog. Do I look like this Eric Millegan person? Two people have not simply thought I looked like him, they have confused me with him. Which confuses me, because we do not look that much alike. Do we?
We must. How could two people think something that isn't true? (Answer: they can't. It is impossible.)
So, new career plan. I am going to kill Eric Millegan, both providing me with a new career opportunity and quenching my blood lust, shutting up that voice in my head for another week or so. After all, Mr. Millegan's character is returning to Bones this season. So, I can impersonate him and become a minor TV actor! Hollywood, consider yourself ass raped.
But, according to the interwebs, Eric is gay...
Oh well. Everyone learns in film school that you aren't going to make it unless you're willing to suck a few cocks. I guess this is what they meant.
I am not Eric Millegan.
But I will suck a cock if it means stealing his life and getting away with his murder (but not really, Penises [Peniss? Peni?] are icky).
I'm a wannabe screenwriter. And I've been working out a lot (cause my Weight Loss Car is only in the 'prototype' [aka 'Blog'] stage). So since I'm spending a total of 3 hours a day either in the pool or on my bike, I've been thinking a lot. And since I'm a wannabe screenwriter I think a lot about movies. And there is something that just ain't right about 3 beloved genres. Something that makes no sense to me upon further review.
First, a wee bit of background for those of you who aren't screenwriters. Most fiction movies that aren't ultra realistic require the audience to suspend disbelief at least once in a real major way. By suspending disbelief just that once, audiences are rewarded with a story that makes since based on the one time they had to suspend their disbelief.
Examples.
Audiences suspend disbelief when they buy into the fact that when bitten by a radioactive spider, an ordinary teenage gets super strength and the ability to shoot sticky white goo from his wrists (though it's not the first time he has had sticky white goo on his hands if you catch my drift [I mean, who doesn't love roasting marshmallows by the fire?]). After audiences are willing to believe he has super powers, all the following scenes capitalize on this first suspension of disbelief, playing by these rules, not asking the audience to suspend disbelief again.
Smores are so delicious, it's worth getting sticky white goo everywhere!
Audiences suspend disbelief when they accept that there are giant robots from outer space that can become cars and trucks and such. After that it's just giant robots smashing each other as set up by the original suspension of disbelief.
Giant Robots from Outer Spacer - a small suspension of disbelief.
Audiences suspend disbelief when they are asked to believe that a total bad-ass like Kurt Russell can really settle down and coach a hockey team, after defeating identity stealing aliens in Antarctica. Likewise, they suspend disbelief when they are asked to believe a whiny pussy like that guy from New Kid's on the Block can get the drop on Matt Damon.
No way this bonafied-bad-ass could live a content life coaching hockey.
Now that the short screenwriting lesson is over, I can get to the heart of the issue.
I believe that one can apply suspension of disbelief to almost any ridiculous event they want (look at that wiggle room I give myself with the use of the word 'almost'), but it SHOULD NOT, would not, could not, be applied to explain character behavior. When you use suspension of disbelief to say "oh yeah, he'd totally act that way cause its a movie" when no person in their right mind would EVER act that way, that's not Suspension of Disbelief, that's sloppy mutha' fuckin' screenwriting!
And this sloppy screenwriting is why there are 3 genres that just don't make any since to me (That is how you bury your lead, ladies and gentlemen. I buried it so deep you'd be better off flying to china and attempting to dig it up than doing it stateside.)
First, the horror genre.Here's the scenario. You're in the woods. You see a creepy house. You're friend says 'Oooo, a creepy house, the same creepy house where those horny teens disappeared last week, let's go check it out!' In the movies a character's like 'Let's Scooby Dooby Doo the shit out of that creepy house even though it means we'll most likely get chopped to bits by a guy with a chain saw and/or axe!' In real life, any person with half a brain would be like, 'Fuck that creepy house. Let's go to Quizno's for an oven toasted sub for under $10.'
The horror genre would not exist if it weren't for sloppy screenwriting. If these scripts were written with characters who acted realistically, they'd just be 30 minute films introducing the characters, showing them having to make a decision about whether or not to enter a death trap, and then having them make the decision to go home instead, with a quick stop to Quiznos on the way. Sure they'd be a waste of money and the least popular genre in Hollywood, but they'd make more sense God-Damn-It!
I'm a sheriff on a small island and there's a shark eating beachgoers. Do I go onto a small boat, out on the ocean, to face the shark like a man? Fuck this shit! I'm moving back to New York!I'm offered a trip to an island where a mad scientist has created Dinosaurs from DNA found in prehistoric mosquitoes. You have velicorapters and T-Rexs? Fuck this shit! I'm going back to digging up dead dinos that can't eat me. For Christ sake, I've never had sex cause I know that slashers in masks go after the slutty, sex crazed teens first (and that's the only reason I've never had sex. I swear).
I ain't being hacked to death with a machete any time soon!
Next genre that makes no sense... The Fantasy Genre!
Here's the scenario. I'm a regular guy, living a regular life in the real world. A talking animal comes to me, telling me I'm the rightful king of a fantasy realm that exists through a magic doorway. It's not really important what the animal is, it could be an elf like in Harry Potter or a talking frog or mole or something.
Talking mole complete with adorable suspenders and sharp pick axe.
In the fantasy genre, the protagonist undergoes a few moments of disbelief and then buys into the creature's story, being whisked off to a kingdom full of magic and wonderment. And sure, the audience will suspend their own disbelief at the sight of a talking animal. But how can we ask them to suspend disbelief again when the person says, "alright mole, lets go to Terianzibithia." I ask you, the reader, in the real world, at what point does an ordinary person accept that an animal is speaking English in order to cordially invite you into a parallel universe.
This isn't a "gee whiz, maybe the mole is telling the truth" moment. This is an Earth-shattering experience that brings everything you hold to be self evident into question. I propose that in the real world, a normal person can NEVER reach that point where they follow the mole into the magical sewage pipe to Terianzibithia.
If a mole ever talks to me, my thought process would be as follows...
'Jesus-titty-fucking-Christ! Has it finally happened? Have I finally gone fucking insane? That mole is fucking talking! It's happened, I've finally gone fucking insane! I can't live a life where fucking moles fucking talk to me! Fuck!'
Being a proud member of the NRA, I would then withdraw my Colt Detective Special, put two slugs between the eyes of the demon mole, and then blow off my own fucking head.
Again, such a change to the fantasy genre makes for a pretty short film that would be meant for an older audience (suicide ain't for the kiddies).
I have biggest beef of all with the final genre. This is absolutely, without a doubt, the least realistic genre ever, and audiences should be insulted that a writer tried to pull this one on them.
I'm talking of course about the 'bus-that-can't-slow-down-below-50-miles-an-hour-in-LA' genre. The most popular movie from this genre being SPEED.
Who the fuck made this movie? The writer, director, producers, and everyone involved should not only have their movie licenses revoked, but they should all be taken out behind Warner Bros and shot.
I buy that the power of god comes out of a little gold box and kills Nazis. I don't question it when a billionaire builds a suit that weighs a couple hundred pounds and yet can fly without wings. But there is no way in fucking hell that I believe a bus can even accelerate to 50, let alone maintain it for an entire act, in Los Angeles, the city with the worst traffic in the US.
Did the filmmakers really think people would just sit back and buy this impossible suspension of disbelief? Did not one person raise their hand and say, "Our premise makes no sense" on the set?
Seriously, I can't remember the last time I was able to go above 50 on the highway. And you're telling me this bus not only got up to 50, it maintained it for 40 minutes, going many many miles on the LA highway system?
I call bullshit on that one, Hollywood. Pure, unadulterated bullshit.
SPEED should be 10 minutes long. Keanu finds out there is a bomb on the bus that gets activated when the bus goes over 50. Keanu smiles and shrugs, he knows that the bomb will never get activated because the bus will never get over 20 miles an hour because of LA traffic. And if for some reason the bus does reach 50, the movie is still over quick, because it will immediately get stuck in traffic, causing it to slow below 50, blowing it to smithereens!
Believable SPEED
There, I fixed 3 broken genres. They may not be better movies, but at least I'm not distracted by unbelievable scenarios anymore. With ideas like mine, it's a wonder I'm not being paid the big bucks to write Hollywood spectacles.
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