Post by Double F C on May 7, 2016 23:56:38 GMT
**Loud, simulated, farting noise**
“And he says, ‘lady, I don’t think I can take another 68 of those!’”
And then Double F C erupted into laughter like it was the first time he’d ever heard or told that joke. Across the quality oaken desk from him, in the full backed executive’s chair, sat Tom Stafford, a big fish who ran a production arm in Louisiana for one of the five major film studios (I can’t tell you which, it’s confidential. Seriously, I could get sued.)
Unimpressed, Tom stared at Francis whose laughter deflated quickly upon realizing Tom wasn’t sharing in the joke, and neither was Dave Thomson, another executive called in especially for this meeting seated in the chair beside Francis.
Tom Stafford: Francis, I’m going to be as transparent as possible here, the only reason you’ve made it past my secretary is because you’re the director of The Rhombus and its subsequent sequels.
Francis straightened his collar proudly like he had a laurel wreath on his head, eyeing Dave beside him arrogantly..
Tom Stafford: You made us a lot of money. But, to be honest you haven’t had a hit since 2000.
Francis Ford Cuppola: 2001, actually.
Tom Stafford: The point being, we’ve taken too many chances on your pie in the sky projects in the past, and frankly, some Mime project doesn’t sound like a hit.
Francis Ford Cuppola: Tom, it’s not a Mime project. It’s more than a simple Mime project. So much more.
Tom Stafford: Well, then what is it? All you’ve given us is the title: French Mime Assassins.
Francis Ford Cuppola: I know. Isn’t it great?
Francis smiled brightly at Dave, like he was just getting warmed up. Tom remained unimpressed.
Dave Thomson: I didn’t even know mime still existed as an art form.
Francis Ford Cuppola: I didn’t even know it was real until a month ago, Jay.
Francis elbowed at Dave who glared back at him.
Dave Thomson: My name’s Dave.
Francis Ford Cuppola: I know that.
Francis straightened his collar, leaning away from Dave like he was offended. Tom gripped the bridge of his nose and sighed loudly.
Tom Stafford: I’m sorry, Francis. This sounds… stupid. We’re going to have to pass.
Francis Ford Cuppola: Pass? Hear me out, at least. Okay?
Tom was clearly irritated as Francis slipped to the edge of his seat, all ready with his pitch.
Francis Ford Cuppola: All right. Are you ready?
Blank stares met him. Francis observed them obliviously.
Francis Ford Cuppola: I’ve got three words for you: A Muse Ment Park.
Confused glances from the two executives couldn’t stop Francis now as he stood up from his chair, extended his arms up in front of him and modeled a makeshift viewing screen with his hands.
Francis Ford Cuppola: So picture this, friends… COLD OPEN…. We’re on a roller coaster going… what’s the top speed of a roller coaster?
He turned and pointed to Dave like it were a pop quiz.
Dave Thomson: I don’t know, maybe twenty miles per hour?
Francis clearly didn’t expect that answer, he had to continue, he had momentum just like the roller coaster he was describing.
Francis Ford Cuppola: Exactly. So, get this… THIS Roller Coaster is going… Twenty….FIVE miles per hour.
Francis let it sink in. He left Dave where he was in his chair and started to pace the office. The tension was palpable in the room with Francis setting the tone, firing rapid fire sentences at his audience.
Francis Ford Cuppola: This thing can’t slow down. It’s only going faster. You got the park’s owner screaming down below, ‘stop! Stop my baby’s in one of those cars’ cause she’s a chick, and chick’s have babies and they scream a lot, but nobody knows how to work the… the thing that works the whole thing. Tension. People. Frantic. Screaming. Fear. Crying. Sad faces. And the park is ON FIRE! And the only people who can put it out?
Francis looks again to Dave, who is not quite into the story, for the answer, he jumps at the chance.
Dave Thomson: The fire department!
Francis grins smugly and shakes his head.
Francis Ford Cuppola: Wrong. They’re all tied up in the basement with ballgags in their mouths and duct tape wrapped around their heads to hold it in, tied to chair with an ominous presence ready to destroy them if any of them so much as THINKS about telling the police what they've seen!
Tom Stafford is following Francis’ pitch uneasily, unclear where this portion of the story has come from. Dave is right into it though, only now with a confused frown set upon his face.
Dave Thomson: Basement of what?
Francis Ford Cuppola: NO! Not the basement, you idiot. They’re all tied up on the… *he snaps his fingers a few times for the word that’s not coming to him* What’s the thing called the roller coaster rides on?
Dave Thomson: The track?
Francis pauses to look at Dave blankly, not what he thought it was.
Francis Ford Cuppola: Even better! The track! You got the entire park security and fire department tied up on the *points to Dave*
Dave Thomson: Track!
Success.
Francis Ford Cuppola: Right, and the only people that can POSSIBLY stop this out of control situation?
Dave is on the edge of his seat. A pause as Francis looks to Tom who’s still unimpressed.
Francis Ford Cuppola: The French. Mime. Assassins. But guess where they are?
Tom shakes his head dismally. Francis points to Dave.
Dave Thomson: On the…track…?
Francis Shakes his head with added emphasis.
Francis Ford Cuppola: No. On the front of the roller coaster… forced to battle… one another, mano-a-mano… MIME-O a MIME-o. Brother against brother! And THAT… ladies and gentleman… is the first five minutes of French Mime Assassins.
Francis inhales deeply, obviously proud of himself. Dave Thomson is clearly entranced as he looks to Tom who considers. A pause…
Tom Stafford: Okay… so… what is it about exactly?
Francis Ford Cuppola: I don’t know, does it need a plot after all that, Tom? We’ll throw in some timely political undertones about trade gaps, maybe cast some ethnics; throw in a naked woman or two. It can’t miss.
Dave again looks to Tom who is confused.
Tom Stafford: It needs a villain. I’m not sold without a villain.
Francis curses under his breath. The one thing he hadn’t planned up till now. He inadvertently scans the row of posters of successful movies lining Tom’s wall. Francis nods slowly with a gleam in his eye.
Francis Ford Cuppola: Transforming Dinosaurs. We'll call them Dinobots.
Tom Stafford: I think that's copyright infringement, Francis.
Francis isn’t even fazed as he sits back down fanning his shirt.
Francis Ford Cuppola: So what, hasn't stopped us before. Oh yeah, and their leader? Is a naked… woman.
Tom rubs his chin with uncertainty.
Tom Stafford: I don’t know, Francis. It’s pretty risky.
Francis Ford Cuppola: What if I told you… She’s... Asian…?
Dave Thomson’s eyebrows raise provocatively as he looks to Tom who is still uncertain.
Dave Thomson: Could help us hit the Asian Demographic, Tom.
Francis Ford Cuppola: Exactly. Where’s the risk? All I need is assurance you’ll distribute the film. I’ve picked out an Amusement Park right here in Louisiana I can shoot at, it’s called Pure… something or other, I’m sure they’ll be happy to partner with us. All I have to do is location scout and formalize the agreement with whoever's in charge down there. I can get this done on Thursday when they supposedly hold some special event called Wasted, or something.
Tom Stafford: I don’t know…
Francis Ford Cuppola: I already have the mimes. Did you want to meet the mimes, Tom? They’re great. Never break character. They’re method or something so they don’t say much, but they’re very emotive.
Dave Thomson: They’re real mimes?
Francis Ford Cuppola: I guess.
Dave Thomson: Huh.
Francis Ford Cuppola: That’s what I said!
All eyes turn to Tom who has been carefully considering Francis’ proposal. Grudgingly he lets down his guard.
Tom Stafford: All right. You do all the legwork, bring us a finished film and we’ll make sure we distribute the picture, all right?
Francis smiles, already standing out of his chair, careful not to overstay his welcome.
Francis Ford Cuppola: Thank you, Tom!
Tom Stafford: Don’t make me regret it, Francis.
Francis Ford Cuppola: How could you possibly regret it, Tom? It’s Mimes. That’s what the kids want to see these days. You’ll see. I’ll return by the end of the month with a finished picture.
And with that, Francis exits full of bluster and pep. Tom and Dave are left to joke about him.
“And he says, ‘lady, I don’t think I can take another 68 of those!’”
And then Double F C erupted into laughter like it was the first time he’d ever heard or told that joke. Across the quality oaken desk from him, in the full backed executive’s chair, sat Tom Stafford, a big fish who ran a production arm in Louisiana for one of the five major film studios (I can’t tell you which, it’s confidential. Seriously, I could get sued.)
Unimpressed, Tom stared at Francis whose laughter deflated quickly upon realizing Tom wasn’t sharing in the joke, and neither was Dave Thomson, another executive called in especially for this meeting seated in the chair beside Francis.
Tom Stafford: Francis, I’m going to be as transparent as possible here, the only reason you’ve made it past my secretary is because you’re the director of The Rhombus and its subsequent sequels.
Francis straightened his collar proudly like he had a laurel wreath on his head, eyeing Dave beside him arrogantly..
Tom Stafford: You made us a lot of money. But, to be honest you haven’t had a hit since 2000.
Francis Ford Cuppola: 2001, actually.
Tom Stafford: The point being, we’ve taken too many chances on your pie in the sky projects in the past, and frankly, some Mime project doesn’t sound like a hit.
Francis Ford Cuppola: Tom, it’s not a Mime project. It’s more than a simple Mime project. So much more.
Tom Stafford: Well, then what is it? All you’ve given us is the title: French Mime Assassins.
Francis Ford Cuppola: I know. Isn’t it great?
Francis smiled brightly at Dave, like he was just getting warmed up. Tom remained unimpressed.
Dave Thomson: I didn’t even know mime still existed as an art form.
Francis Ford Cuppola: I didn’t even know it was real until a month ago, Jay.
Francis elbowed at Dave who glared back at him.
Dave Thomson: My name’s Dave.
Francis Ford Cuppola: I know that.
Francis straightened his collar, leaning away from Dave like he was offended. Tom gripped the bridge of his nose and sighed loudly.
Tom Stafford: I’m sorry, Francis. This sounds… stupid. We’re going to have to pass.
Francis Ford Cuppola: Pass? Hear me out, at least. Okay?
Tom was clearly irritated as Francis slipped to the edge of his seat, all ready with his pitch.
Francis Ford Cuppola: All right. Are you ready?
Blank stares met him. Francis observed them obliviously.
Francis Ford Cuppola: I’ve got three words for you: A Muse Ment Park.
Confused glances from the two executives couldn’t stop Francis now as he stood up from his chair, extended his arms up in front of him and modeled a makeshift viewing screen with his hands.
Francis Ford Cuppola: So picture this, friends… COLD OPEN…. We’re on a roller coaster going… what’s the top speed of a roller coaster?
He turned and pointed to Dave like it were a pop quiz.
Dave Thomson: I don’t know, maybe twenty miles per hour?
Francis clearly didn’t expect that answer, he had to continue, he had momentum just like the roller coaster he was describing.
Francis Ford Cuppola: Exactly. So, get this… THIS Roller Coaster is going… Twenty….FIVE miles per hour.
Francis let it sink in. He left Dave where he was in his chair and started to pace the office. The tension was palpable in the room with Francis setting the tone, firing rapid fire sentences at his audience.
Francis Ford Cuppola: This thing can’t slow down. It’s only going faster. You got the park’s owner screaming down below, ‘stop! Stop my baby’s in one of those cars’ cause she’s a chick, and chick’s have babies and they scream a lot, but nobody knows how to work the… the thing that works the whole thing. Tension. People. Frantic. Screaming. Fear. Crying. Sad faces. And the park is ON FIRE! And the only people who can put it out?
Francis looks again to Dave, who is not quite into the story, for the answer, he jumps at the chance.
Dave Thomson: The fire department!
Francis grins smugly and shakes his head.
Francis Ford Cuppola: Wrong. They’re all tied up in the basement with ballgags in their mouths and duct tape wrapped around their heads to hold it in, tied to chair with an ominous presence ready to destroy them if any of them so much as THINKS about telling the police what they've seen!
Tom Stafford is following Francis’ pitch uneasily, unclear where this portion of the story has come from. Dave is right into it though, only now with a confused frown set upon his face.
Dave Thomson: Basement of what?
Francis Ford Cuppola: NO! Not the basement, you idiot. They’re all tied up on the… *he snaps his fingers a few times for the word that’s not coming to him* What’s the thing called the roller coaster rides on?
Dave Thomson: The track?
Francis pauses to look at Dave blankly, not what he thought it was.
Francis Ford Cuppola: Even better! The track! You got the entire park security and fire department tied up on the *points to Dave*
Dave Thomson: Track!
Success.
Francis Ford Cuppola: Right, and the only people that can POSSIBLY stop this out of control situation?
Dave is on the edge of his seat. A pause as Francis looks to Tom who’s still unimpressed.
Francis Ford Cuppola: The French. Mime. Assassins. But guess where they are?
Tom shakes his head dismally. Francis points to Dave.
Dave Thomson: On the…track…?
Francis Shakes his head with added emphasis.
Francis Ford Cuppola: No. On the front of the roller coaster… forced to battle… one another, mano-a-mano… MIME-O a MIME-o. Brother against brother! And THAT… ladies and gentleman… is the first five minutes of French Mime Assassins.
Francis inhales deeply, obviously proud of himself. Dave Thomson is clearly entranced as he looks to Tom who considers. A pause…
Tom Stafford: Okay… so… what is it about exactly?
Francis Ford Cuppola: I don’t know, does it need a plot after all that, Tom? We’ll throw in some timely political undertones about trade gaps, maybe cast some ethnics; throw in a naked woman or two. It can’t miss.
Dave again looks to Tom who is confused.
Tom Stafford: It needs a villain. I’m not sold without a villain.
Francis curses under his breath. The one thing he hadn’t planned up till now. He inadvertently scans the row of posters of successful movies lining Tom’s wall. Francis nods slowly with a gleam in his eye.
Francis Ford Cuppola: Transforming Dinosaurs. We'll call them Dinobots.
Tom Stafford: I think that's copyright infringement, Francis.
Francis isn’t even fazed as he sits back down fanning his shirt.
Francis Ford Cuppola: So what, hasn't stopped us before. Oh yeah, and their leader? Is a naked… woman.
Tom rubs his chin with uncertainty.
Tom Stafford: I don’t know, Francis. It’s pretty risky.
Francis Ford Cuppola: What if I told you… She’s... Asian…?
Dave Thomson’s eyebrows raise provocatively as he looks to Tom who is still uncertain.
Dave Thomson: Could help us hit the Asian Demographic, Tom.
Francis Ford Cuppola: Exactly. Where’s the risk? All I need is assurance you’ll distribute the film. I’ve picked out an Amusement Park right here in Louisiana I can shoot at, it’s called Pure… something or other, I’m sure they’ll be happy to partner with us. All I have to do is location scout and formalize the agreement with whoever's in charge down there. I can get this done on Thursday when they supposedly hold some special event called Wasted, or something.
Tom Stafford: I don’t know…
Francis Ford Cuppola: I already have the mimes. Did you want to meet the mimes, Tom? They’re great. Never break character. They’re method or something so they don’t say much, but they’re very emotive.
Dave Thomson: They’re real mimes?
Francis Ford Cuppola: I guess.
Dave Thomson: Huh.
Francis Ford Cuppola: That’s what I said!
All eyes turn to Tom who has been carefully considering Francis’ proposal. Grudgingly he lets down his guard.
Tom Stafford: All right. You do all the legwork, bring us a finished film and we’ll make sure we distribute the picture, all right?
Francis smiles, already standing out of his chair, careful not to overstay his welcome.
Francis Ford Cuppola: Thank you, Tom!
Tom Stafford: Don’t make me regret it, Francis.
Francis Ford Cuppola: How could you possibly regret it, Tom? It’s Mimes. That’s what the kids want to see these days. You’ll see. I’ll return by the end of the month with a finished picture.
And with that, Francis exits full of bluster and pep. Tom and Dave are left to joke about him.
