» Fringe Blog – Writing on Film, Culture, and Things on the Fringe

2007 MTV Movie Awards – Part 1

jelewis8 — Wed, 06 Jun 2007 07:03:43 +0000

If you ever have occasion to go to an awards show put on by one of the many companies in Hollywood, including but not limited to the Oscars, the MTV Movie Awards, the Golden Globes, or Satan's Top Ten Celebrities of the Year Awards, here's a little advice I have to offer, based on my recent experience attending the 2007 MTV Movie Awards.

Ready? Here it is.

Don't attend.

I'm sorry to be so rough on these masturbatory gatherings Hollywood likes to put on every year, but like free movie screenings, the trouble, heartache, and anger that result from one's attending, or even desiring to attend, make for a sunburned neck, bitter cynicism and jaded commentary, and a messed up chi like you wouldn't believe.

I was invited to be a seat-filler at the MTV Awards show, which I thought might be fun and interesting, and at the very least, would result in many celebrity sightings. My initial fear that I would also be subject to many sightings of Lindsay Lohan's vagina was certainly one of the selling points in the argument against attending, but it was a calculated risk. I took the bait and agreed, throwing my hat into the ring and my Sunday afternoon into the toilet.

I've spent better time on a toilet, actually, so I'm not sure that's a fair statement.

We left the house at eleven–the show was in Burbank, you see, at lovely and handsomely overpriced Universal City, another self-congratulatory Hollywood amusement, by the way–and we needed to be there by noon. "Noon Sharp!" the email, the phone call, and voice mail all assured us. "Don't be late! Don't bring your cell phones, pagers, stereos, iPods, pets, candy bars, Oedipal complexes, or death wishes to the theatre, or you will be turned away!" These were stern warnings. To be sure we would not lose our coveted seat-filler positions, we emptied our pockets of anything resembling self-respect and marched to the check-in area, where a small crowd of MTV poster children were gathered like hens in a Tyson defeathering pant.

Side note: This year's women's fashion is apparently meant to emulate hippie parachutes or giant fruit costumes with holes cut out for legs and arms. I saw one girl wearing what looked like Cinderella's pumpkin coach. If there is one piece of advice I can offer the ladies this summer it is this: if you can possibly help it, try not to go outside whilst wearing these abominations. And have you considered the benefits of bras, or did you just fool yourself into thinking bad fashion choices plus gravity wouldn't get the best of you?

We arrived, were shuffed into line, and inched forward to the tent where the decision was made by the MTV gods to allow you passage or deny you in front of the chatty Cathy's already lucky enough to be selected for "Most likely to be mistaken for actual hams" award. These are the hopefuls, the dreamers, the ones who either grew up out here without a family connection, or came out here thinking they could try to sleep their way to the top, or at the very least, watch a lot of The O.C. and practice their emo hipster moves on their friends.

Check in was not the rigorous process we had imagined. Had we been terrorists wanting to fight against the depravity and complacency of the Great Satan, several hundred wannabe celebrity buttlickers would have disappeared in a cloud of smoke and fake Vera Wang outfits.

Whereupon we were placed in a line, a very strict line, a line that the MTV flunkies were diligent about patrolling every ten minutes or so, a line that soon grew seven abreast, still distinct and uniform in its way, defining the "have nots" from the "almost ares" and the "Dear God help us pleases." We were in the "Almost Ares" line, which was mostly males since all the females were pulled from our line to be put into the "Casted" line, which is MTV code for "another line, but with mostly poorly-clad females."

We stood in line for roughly two hours, whereupon they began shuffling lines forward little by little, around a building, through a hedgerow, down a red carpet, through some metal detectors, and then next to the theatre, again, MTV flunkies stressing the importance of the sanctity and integrity of the lines.

Another two hours went by. A line moved forward. The crowd gasped. Perhaps this was salvation from the sun and the heat and the ever-present din of teenage and twenty-something harpies and jock-boys talking enough hot air to add to the global warming threat. Then nothing moved for quite some time…

More tomorrow, when I complete my cynical and enraged account of my visit to the 2007 MTV Movie Awards.

Two Vows

jelewis8 — Mon, 06 Mar 2006 22:50:55 +0000

Unfortunately, I broke two pacts this weekend. One was my intention not to watch the Oscars. The other was not to see any theatrical movies this year. The shame is minimal, as you might expect from breaking a pair of baseless, unprecedented vows. It’s not like I slept with a hooker or anything. And it’s not like I was doing it for Lent. That would be one thing.
Oscars were enjoyable. I correctly predicted 16 of the 24 awards, including all the “major” categories. By next year, I’ll be pitch perfect and writing for Rolling Stone. My church put on an Oscar party with red carpet and paparazzi and lots of food. It was a fun experience, but it’s like any party which celebrates celebrity with more celebrity–it kind of feels like giving yourself the Heimlich. The Oscars is a nice way for Hollywood to feel appreciated, if only by themselves, by giving themselves pats on the back, providing they don’t trip over their own gowns and egos. George Clooney gave Hollywood a collective BJ by hearkening back to the days when blacks were still not allowed to sit in the front of buses. Apparently, if you’re letting blacks be gaffers while middle America is stuck in the “White Toilets Only” mode, you’re progressive. Congratulations. Piper, who still isn’t blogging, has more on the evening’s self-fellatio. Not his, of course…
Speaking of progressive, Brokeback Mountain ran out of steam about three days before Oscar ceremony time, giving Crash a much needed boost. Excellent marketing job…indeed, perhaps too successful. They made Brokeback such a ubiquitous catchphrase that it lost all cultural potency. But in truth, I do not believe everything in the Oscars is political. Having only seen clips from Brokeback, nothing impresses me to the point of starstruck awe. Heath and Jake are examples of two actors who are capable, but not extraordinary. They were nominated in the vacuum of other quality actors and in the parachute-like bulge of the movie’s content. Progressive? Maybe. Or maybe it’s just another interesting attraction on the arcade of 21st century culture.
I’ll have a review up later this week of the stinker I broke my other vow with. I can sum up Ultraviolet with three words, for those who don’t like my longer reviews: Ultra Suck It.
About 50 friends showed up in Los Angeles this weekend, which makes this four straight weekends of me getting absolutely nothing done. Not that I mind. But I do. I think it’s my fault, though, since I allow myself to get sucked into the funness of hanging out with old friends. The only solution is to hide myself away in a Malibu penthouse for a month. Call me in five years when I have the mortgage payment plan and a guest house. Then it’s call if you want to get together. I live out in Malibu. I’ve got a great place here, perfect for guests, but I ain’t drivin’ into LA.
A pleasant fiction. But still five years down the road, at least. Until then, I do need to land on a “get out of friends visiting” space. You’d think after eight months going around the board, I’d have hit it at least once. I get “free parking” all the time. But I love my friends. I don’t want to sound like a dick.
Too late.
I love you.
I totally forgot to link Piper’s Los Angeles visit, which he blogs in a more cohesive, comprehensive, and welcoming style than my own rapid-fire accounting. Piper, who is, I repeat, still not blogging, paints a generous picture of his time here, and I appreciate his observations for his mordant wit and style, which blends an East Coast cynicism with a West Coast blaseness. Way to win hearts and minds!
Also, very cool, Jewelboxing has a profile on Red State and how I used their DVD cases to create a wonderful complement to the film. I appreciate the shoutout, guys! While you’re at it, why not purchase the film on DVD, for the low-low price of $6 plus shipping? Link is on the sidebar, FYI.
That about does her. See you tomorrow. With bells on.

Get Short Shrifted

jelewis8 — Thu, 20 Oct 2005 01:11:18 +0000

I sat in the coffee shop this morning trying to figure out why this script I’ve been working on seems so familiar. It’s something I’ve been toiling at every so often for the past three months. It’s not my “top” script, meaning it’s merely a side project that I’ve been working on when I’m tired of working on my top script. So it’s been growing by bits and pieces. Little pieces of the plot have begun filling in. The other day I wrote about five pages in about two hours’ time, and I felt pretty good about it.
So this morning I’m writing and thinking and straining my aching head from not getting enough sleep last night, and I began to notice little patterns that added up to a big “Oh Crap!” moment. I reviewed the story as it stands currently. Main character is an outsider trying to break into Hollywood. He’s got a killer idea. He pitches it to a relevant person. They like it. But this person is up to their eyeballs in failure. They don’t have the push and clout they once did. That’s as far as I’ve gotten so far, but it’s clear this is a remake of Get Shorty, the phenomenally hilarious mobster comedy starring John Travolta as Chili Palmer as a Miami gangster who finds the cut throat world of shylocking is much easier to survive than Hollywood’s dog-eats-you universe of self-absorbed movie producers and their overworked, underdressed, untalented girlfriend, criminals who want to be movie producers, and the egotistical shenanigans of movie stars and strange bumblings of embezzling accountants. That film was genius. With a killer soundtrack to boot.
And I realized that I had the first fifty-five pages of a DNA match to that film.
Like I said, it’s a moment of pure, nightmarish realization. Nothing is quite so painful as knowing that you’ve just spent countless hours writing something that someone has already done, and better than you could ever hope. Discouraging? Yes. Horrifying? Absolutely. Confidence killer? Yup. Did it dissuade me from continuing? No. But it did divert me. Better to have only half a twin script than a full one. By realizing this now, I’m able to head off the further assimilation of my script. I can rework, retool, reinvent. I can, and I will. I must. Because my dialogue is pretty killer. And I’m not going to let it go to waste by bowing down to an acknowledged superior effort. I will reimagine the plot and make it my own. Now that I know what sins I’ve committed, I can use this knowledge for good, or at least for a better hope of profit.
I do apologize for my lack of blogging of late. Especially this week. This is my final week of work on Red State, and it’s been an exhausting process. For those who don’t know, I had acquired a sound designer for the film, someone who not only had the experience and ability to design sound for film, but also the equipment and facilities. In fact, he works for a post audio processing facility doing mostly ADR, and had promised me great return for my investment of lunch from a Chinese buffet and credit and a copy of the film.
Alas, his company happened to be moving from Hollywood to Burbank the very week he began work. He worked long, late hours there, lost his phone, and I lost touch with him for a few days. When I finally caught up with him, he was deathly ill and he confessed he couldn’t work on Red State. I was bummed. I mean, really bummed. But business is business, and I couldn’t really fault him. He was sorry for leaving me in the lurch.
I had no choice but to take on the task of designing the sound for the film, something I am woefully and inadequately prepared for. But desperation breeds invention. It’s been an interesting experience, as this is a sound-rich film; my specs for sound design were specific and necessary to make the illusion work. I set out to create a sound experience that mirrors and enhances the visual design of the film. I am now in the finishing stages of that; hopefully by Friday or Saturday I should have it completed and ready for viewing.
All that is to explain my exiguousness the last few days. I hope things will get better once things wind down. They always do. I was like this the last week of Zero Sum.
I should have a review of Flight Plan up by tomorrow. I enjoyed it a lot more than I thought I would. Until then, have a great day!

Regional Division of Hell

jelewis8 — Fri, 09 Sep 2005 00:33:26 +0000

I spent part of the morning at one of the regional branch offices of Hell, which of course was incorporated sometime back in the early 80′s. Well, technically, it was a separate company owned by Hell. No, not the airport. Yes, I’m referring to the DMV, or Devil’s Motor Vendor, voted 2nd Most Likely Place to Get Mugged Whilst Standing In Line (the first was a back alley called Shank Ya Avenue in Compton, for comparison). Actually, the branch I visited is in Culver City, which is like the Des Moines of Los Angeles proper. Except more Hispanics. Still, as safety goes, Culver City rates much lower on the murder/burglary/mugging scale than, say, Hollywood. On the other hand, rapes are apparently more popular here than elsewhere, so it depends on your perspective (and your gender).
It is astonishing to me that despite being in a city of 10.2 million people, every single person in the DMV looks exactly alike. I’m not talking about race or class here. It’s the cell phones. Everyone has one. Or two. I saw one businessman with an earpiece attached to a Sidekick (which has cellular capabilities). Then his other phone rang. Another thing: people seem to think that having a cellular phone is a free pass for ringtones with subwoofer-shattering volumes. This isn’t the Hollywood Bowl orchestra–it’s your phone. Despite what you may think, it is not the pinnacle of cool to have L’il Kim suddenly assaulting your ears from four seats away.
There’s all these subtle insults at the DMV. The ticket system is designed to reduce you to a compliant, docile creature, whilst the atmosphere chokes you with an intensity of white space. It’s a place you would send your hated in-laws if you could, a building without charm or grace, just straight white lines and a monotonous automated computer reading out ticket numbers. The process guarantees you will be a long term resident if you do not comply. Even anarchists follow the DMV rules. The lines dictate you do so. And that grim voice gives you hope, like a prisoner approaching parole, that perhaps, it is all soon to be over. And the ticket system is master over all. If you don’t have a ticket, you can’t move. Without a ticket, you are nobody, and that’s less than the no-name nobody who holds F072 in his hands. You have a ticket; you may not have a name, but at least you have a number, and that means that one shining day, your number will be called. You pity any fool who tries to buck this system. The system revels in conformity, delights in obedience…no, that would be giving it human qualities, and this is a place with less heart than a glass of water.
Ticket systems are usually designed around a combination of a letter and then some numbers. For instance, I was F072. Doubtless fulfilling one of the more obscure Murphy’s laws, your ticket is never on the “fast track”. The B tickets were flying by. G tickets were a little less common, but had a steady flow. And F? Of course, F was called a scant three times during the hour I was imprisoned. I suppose that makes me “special”. Not unique, but at the DMV, special is still a treat, except in its scarcity.
Once I finally got to the counter, my experience improved dramatically. I was treated with courtesy, shuffled through like any normal good citizen, and passed my test without studying, though I missed four questions. Why do I need to know what the speed limit is for vehicles carrying hazardous materials? Still, I have proved my driving worth to the State of California, and eagerly await my plastic laminated identification in the mail. And at least I don’t have to go stand in line at the post office to get it–that’s another essay altogether.

Whoa! Marty Time!

jelewis8 — Mon, 28 Feb 2005 05:42:36 +0000

Should Marty be given the tough job of reading off a teleprompter? His eyebrows indicate that we’ll have six more weeks of winter.
Film Preservation is a neat subject, one I wish I knew more about. A fantastic award to one of Hollywood’s (recently) unsung heroes.
Roger Mayer is holding the statue like a cane – I like that. It indicates that he’s not too proud to dedicate his time to the speech, rather than fondling a little golden man. Mr. Mayer seems like a class act. Quality speech, and a great public speaker.
And he’s been married for 52 years! Wow! In Hollywood! I’m shocked, shocked!

Welcome to the Oscars

jelewis8 — Mon, 28 Feb 2005 02:58:03 +0000

Well, we’re about four minutes from four hours of the hell that is Hollywood’s self-congratulatory awards ceremony. I love it!
Lots of tuxedo-clads and fashion dresses that accent body parts. Hilary Swank is up now with Billy Bush, and I believe she’s going to tell about her upcoming starring role in the new Mr. Ed movie.

Hollywood Left Denied

jelewis8 — Tue, 01 Apr 2003 08:04:11 +0000

A United Way Fund dinner was canceled after receiving critical letters from donors for choosing Susan Sarandon as keynote speaker. Sarandon, as most people know, is one of the more vocal of the Hollywood Left, and it was feared the Fund dinner would provide a political platform for Sarandon (something the Left certainly does NOT need, given the shameful representation made on their behalf by the moronic Michael Moore at the Oscars).

Louis A. Spiegel III, was one of those who sent United Way a letter criticizing its choice of Sarandon as a speaker. He said he is not a donor and that he spoke as an individual, not on behalf of his company, Itasca Construction Associates Inc., where he is vice president.
“(Sarandon) is welcome to her opinion, and I’m welcome not to listen to it,” he said. “I’m welcome to avoid her un-American comments. She has her right to say what she wants to say today and whenever she wants to, but I have the right to do her financial damage by not attending her movies or attending anything associated with her.”