Open Letter to Brendan

Dear Brendan,

I finally saw Hot Fuzz a couple of days ago. I can see why you liked it so much. I liked it very much. Plus the main guy looks a little like you and I dare say is a little like you as well. The movie is splendidly crafted storytelling, which is always pleasurable. Most importantly, it attacks genres that have become worn and flips them inside out so they are fun again. It's a kind of writing that makes me think my English degree is worthwhile. Truly a movie that addresses the intelligence and film literacy of its audience and shares joke after joke after joke with them based on that literacy. I also like how they've identified a number of genres as being part of the same continuum (instead of discreetly pigeon-holing them), rather like Jack Black's elaborate flow chart of rock in School of Rock.

Also, swans are funny.

Today I read in Variety that Spielberg and Peter Jackson are working on a motion-capture version of Tintin for a series of three movies. So: animated but only in the same sense that Gollum was animated, otherwise they want him to look like a real guy. But a Herge guy. Crazy.

Your friend,
Robyn

A Tiny Mystery

Also: check out how my months are in french! How did that happen?

Update: They've gone back to english. C'est dommage.

Learning To Love You More

Encouraging banners. For everyone!

Legends of the Call

Today I'm covering the desk for an independent producer. She gets some funny calls sometimes, mostly just people off the street who want to know things about the films she's doing so they can get jobs. Today I checked the voicemail and there was the most incredible message from this woman calling, "regarding Brad Pitt".

She lays her story out like this: I saw him in a movie about the seven deadly sins and thought he was a handsome man. I feel like I've known him for a long time, which may or may not be due to my psychic abilities. I don't know if he's still with his main woman, who screwed over his previous girlfriend, and I have some concerns re: screwing her over because she may be physically stronger than me. But I did want to call and say hello and also mention that I've been bulimic for 30 years. Despite this, I still feel that we are all created equal in god's eyes and I really would like to just talk to Brad and hear his voice. Additionally, I'd like to inquire as to whether Brad is interested in New Hampshire gals.

She sums up her case thusly: "And, well... Brad Pitt! Bye Brad."

I should mention that this office has nothing whatsoever to do with Brad Pitt.

Triple-Dog Dare

Across from the office in Beverly Hills: a store called Rhomboid Sax. I dare anyone to find a store with a more eighties name.

Two Brilliant Ideas

Idea #1
A t-shirt for the show Lost that is just a t-shirt, with the neck stretched out a la Dave Williams (kid from middle school, you had to be there) and a darkened area around the neck. The show is all about necksweat, and I believe the public wants a piece of the action.

Idea #2
Get yourself sent to jail for several weeks and use the time to write a screenplay. Maybe Paris will emerge with 100 pages of brilliant writing!

Sacking Up

The other day in the park, I ran past some forty-year-old stoners. I heard one say to the other, "It is sunny. In the park." And lo, it was. Later, a kid on his bike ate it on the pavement. He was in the middle of getting up when I went up and asked if he was okay and he keeled over and went, "Uuuugh!" clutching his stomach. He was about 13. Then a shrill mom-type came up and shrieked, "Is your mother here? Is your father here?" Kid then ceased the groaning and got a hold of himself. Man, adolesence is confusing: be a baby? be a man? Hard to know.

Lately, I have alternating feelings of dread and joy about things that should more or less be joyful. Running hot and cold, I think they call it. The MFA hood for the graduating gown is really cool-looking.

I've just realized I've been saying "Helvetica" wrong my entire life. Add it to the list of words that I say ridiculously wrong.

Staying up really late to write or edit is stupid, and yet gives me a clarity and a tunnel vision I can only describe as my personal anxieties stepping aside to let my brain get down to work. If only I could do this during normal working hours, it'd be better for my work and my eyes. And I could reasonably contemplate doing creative work for a living. Goes back to the be a baby question, I think. And the answer is no.