Tuesday, December 16, 2014

stephen merchant


we were on location in some faraway podunk town in someplace that looked like wyoming. all the teamsters had left and there was no way back until we were finished shooting. in that respect, it was like we were on an island. i felt so ill and uncomfortable that i only wanted to wear my white hawaiian sarong. susan kept saying, 'how can that be a hawaiian sarong? it's white.' i listlessly pointed out several times that it was white on white and indeed the flowers were there, but finally i just gave up because i didn't have it in me. i wandered around our rented house for awhile trying to find a place where i could get a bit more comfortable so i could just lay down and ride it out, but it was no use. after several more hours of unyielding suffering i said, 'you have to take me to the medic'. susan questioned me relentlessly, but i could only answer with excessive pre-hurl salivation and a weak arm lifted toward the general direction of the clinic. i slipped my bare feet into my beat-up cowboy boots and scuffed my way to the truck.

as we drove toward our fake town center, i rested my head on the open window frame of the pickup truck like a dog. i looked sideways at the long, flat horizon in front of us and reaffirmed my affection for saguaro cactus. even though the road was bumpy and unpaved, the warm air rushing over my face gave me some relief. when we arrived, i was surprised to see our little location clinic was full of people. i looked at susan like wtf? and she shrugged and shook her head. the whole room was filled with the families of black gang-bangers from compton. i'm thinking, these can't be locals- we're on an indian reservation. i counted the bodies in the room and realized there was no way i would be seen quickly. i walked to the desk anyway and asked who the attending physician was. it was my doctor! i asked them to tell her i was there and it was urgent i see her (i knew she'd leap frog me to the front of the que). i scuffed over to the only empty seat, sat down and draped myself over the armrest onto the little attached side table so i didn't have to use my neck muscles to support my head. soon a woman with elaborate hair, clicking plastic fingernails and a dripping, phlegm-filled toddler plopped down almost on top of me and started to talk loudly about every fluid that had projectile-d out of it the night before. the room started to spin again as she described the colors and textures of the miasma that already enveloped me. i got up and went back to the desk to inquire and they said they had not sent word to my doctor yet. i was furious but too weak to be an effective negotiator. i ended up in an endless loop of inquiry and no word was ever sent. before i left the clinic, i made my way to a bathroom to splash some water on my face. i was literally green and thought, 'well, i guess i'm dying on location then...'. i walked back outside to look for my ride. at that moment stephen merchant pulled up in another truck. he seemed relieved to see me- well, not actually me, but a familiar face. as usual, stephen was his weird, 'can't. just. freaking. be. normal.' self and babbled on completely oblivious to my obvious impending death. he pretended not to hear the part where i needed a ride back to my rented house to die in peace. i tried to get the keys to his truck, but he wanted me to follow him and so he slipped them into his pocket.

i'm sitting in a dark, abandoned saloon. stephen is sitting in the only pool of light. he is conducting an interview with a young talented local girl who was a combination of bobby gentry and june carter. she held a guitar in her hands and was responding thoughtfully and earnestly to his glib questions. it was clear to me that stephen had no frame of reference to understand that he was dealing with someone genuine and talented. he was just mining her for comedic material. as i was sitting in the dark watching this one-sided exchange, i took inventory of my body and realized i was feeling better and was probably not going to die. i did not feel disappointment or relief. stephen started to ask the girl probing questions about what 'courting' was in her world.

now i am watching the finished scene that stephen has written from his interview. stephen and a pretty blond are naked in a shower. stephen is trying to kiss her, but it is obviously the first kiss for both of them. they make repeated attempts to create a kiss worthy of this super sexy backdrop. they both keep leading with their teeth (clank) and then following with an awkward lip wrap.

it was hilarious.




7 Comments:

At December 22, 2014 at 2:54 PM , Blogger Greenpa said...

Ok; suggestion #39 from me on how to cash in on these stunning dreams of yours... :-) And this dream is a great example...

Your dreams have an astonishing amount of sound continuity, along with a moderate and variable amount of absolutely random components. Yes?

So. What a fabulous Holiday board game. Written on cards are dream components, which you can just extract from your entire collection (you'll never run out), as written. 4 or more players each draw a card from the top - or bottom or middle - of the stack. The component cards are then given to player 1, who will then arrange them in an order #1 finds most interesting or reasonable, or whatever. #1 writes down the card numbers, in order. Then the cards are passed to #2; who does likewise. Etc. Then the Keeper reads aloud each version. Which ever version gets the biggest reaction (noise; laughs, screams, groans, whatever) is the winner of that round. The game goes on until everybody is on the floor, from laughter, pain, or exhaustion. Scores are added, and somebody becomes the winner.

You'll get rich and famous. I get 10%. :-)

 
At December 22, 2014 at 3:54 PM , Blogger shandra beri said...

just imagining people sitting around a table telling each other stories makes me go to The Happy Place.

:)

 
At December 22, 2014 at 6:57 PM , Blogger Greenpa said...

Young Frankenstein: " ... IT!... COULD!!... WORK!!!!"

 
At December 22, 2014 at 7:10 PM , Blogger shandra beri said...

why do i feel that there is an element of nailing jello to the wall about this plan?

I swear it still makes me laugh when I remember the monster so earnestly holding up his end of the duet 'puttin' on the ritz'

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=w1FLZPFI3jc

:D

 
At December 23, 2014 at 8:46 AM , Blogger Greenpa said...

You mean to say you haven't watched it yet this year? I'm appalled.
"What hump?" "If only I could find some vay to gif you a little peace." "Blücher!" "Yes! He vas my BOYVRIEND!" "Oh, I don't know- Abby-something." "uuuuf!" "Could be - raining."
:-)
I keep wondering, after the immense success of Blazing Saddles, and the total flop of the Chaplinesque The Twelve Chairs; why, and how, they had no flatulence humor in YF. I would have to guess Wilder talked Brooks out of it- but only after a long discussion. I would guess it might have been considered as the first sign of the monster's waking, audible upstairs. I would so love to inquire of Brooks, face to face.
I'm glad they didn't. But winning formulae are so hard to abandon.

 
At December 23, 2014 at 9:30 AM , Blogger shandra beri said...

the only reason i would not convince someone to drive me to oregon for a medically assisted suicide if i suddenly became a quadriplegic is that i could FINALLY catch up on my watch/reading list guilt-free.

(god, i'm awful...)

 
At December 23, 2014 at 11:52 AM , Blogger Greenpa said...

Not awful, I think, just a couple more neurons jumping the societal fences and going free range. :-)

 

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