Post by Moss Works Jericho's Schedule on Sept 2, 2009 1:22:21 GMT -5
Because making something disappear isn't enough; you have to bring it back. That's why every magic trick has a third act, the hardest part, the part we call "The Prestige"
There’s an adage about filmmaking that says a director presides over a series of happy accidents. They have to take the disparate threads of music, script, individual performances, and the contributions of dozens, and weave them into a cohesive piece. It’s not just a matter of pointing the camera and turning it on. A director creates out of chaos, makes art out of accidents.
But that’s not an auteur. For an auteur, there are no accidents. There is not a single frame out of place, the entire work is of a whole. When the final credits roll, you realize that every single thing was exactly as it was supposed to be.
It starts with perfect casting. A raging, delusional egotist with narcissistic tendencies and the inability to see past his own nose? Oh, how it was played to the hilt, with no fear of being unsympathetic. Even I was shocked at exactly how far you could take it, how willfully ignorant you were all to happy to be.
‘The Headliner’ is the shining standard that this company relies upon to survive, ‘The Blessed One’ represents the company at the very highest level, a level no-one else on the current roster can even aspire to let along reach.
The most vulnerable man in the world is the one who thinks he’s bulletproof. Seeing as how you already underestimate the entire rest of the planet in the first place, it was painfully easy to remain under your radar as I trudged my way through the undercard. The DotCom belt was simply a shortcut, every step of the journey was true.
Every week, standing in front of the crowd with a belt around my waist and a microphone in my hand, I planted the seeds. Over-reacting to the antics of Chassie Fear to gain sympathy and overcoming her in Tokyo to become something heroic. Making sure that I was in front of the camera twice as much as anyone else in the company so that when the inevitable power struggles came, I could have my pick of sides.
…not the crowds wish for you to entertain them on the mic…
Don’t you see, I never give the people what they want. I TELL them what they want.
And I got what I wanted, the title opportunity, but why would I share it with two other men? Like I said before, being an auteur is about control. So I made a call, and got a stress-free position on a third-rate knock off, so that I could wait and prepare myself for the next scene, when I would stand as the only remaining contender to the belt.
Moss Edwards has neglected to take into account the cautionary tales of Global Impact Wrestling’s recent history. Moss Edwards has not been taught the lesson Alex Kiseragi so humbly gave to the world on the lead up to Affirmative Action, don’t be distracted by Randy Boolzian.
A filmmaker cannot afford to be distracted, Mr Roberts. Again, if you’ve ever made a film you would know that it requires the ability to visualize multiple possibilities over a variety of timelines. It just so happened that the perfect casting continued, because my egotistical jerk just happened to have a skirt-chasing archrival. And what is the single worst thing that you can do to someone who survives on weed and narcissism? Take attention away from them. The person who hated you the most in the entire world suddenly couldn’t give one solitary fuck about you. I wasn’t distracted. I was ignoring you. Well, not entirely.
Moss is in the midst of explaining a scene that he wants to shoot through the use of a nanny-cam, which of course is a small remote operated camera that can be hid in common objects like a teddy bear.
Or an overhead sprinkler.
We see Travis Roberts from above, rolling his beloved delicacy.
Miss Harding of course egged him on, and he displayed great creativity I must admit. Turning me blue was an inspired touch, and she was there for him to brag to. Yes, Randolph’s weakness was even more obvious than yours. You see, once upon a time, there was a girl who didn’t hump Randy Boolzian. She’s the one that got away. And now, you introduce him to the first girl in three years that doesn’t want to jump his bones, he’s intrigued. And Miss Harding works hard, she deserved a few laughs, even if they were at my expense. But eventually, she did get around to screwing him.
Grace and BoolZ sitting on the couch, controllers in hand. His face has the pallor of a man who has forgotten what winning even feels like anymore. Grace smiles smugly.
He shakes his head. “I would have practiced, but I had to spellcheck all those damn machines.”
“You mean vandalizing all the machines? You felon you.”
BoolZ laughs. “Hey, trust me, I’ve done much worse. Don’t even get me started on what I’ve done in Japan…”
It took some time to sort through the foreign police blotter and make the right connections, and I admit that I was hoping to not have to resort to the interrupting cow, but eventually the right person picked up the phone and recognized the right voice. And just like that, you couldn’t even pretend that I wasn’t focused on you.
And then there were the little things, the victory streak and the pornography. Yes, it was juvenile. But it got under your skin. Again, how do you chip away at a man whose greatest fear is irrelevance? You hammer at him with his failures, and you use his own ego against him.
..he’s going to make ‘The Headliner’ look like a rank amateur..
Would I really waste my best direction on a film with your stupid name on it? A larger than you’d care to admit portion of the world thinks you are a pornographer, and the thing that grinds at you the most is the fear that they’ll think you’re an untalented pornographer. Travis Roberts, your sin is pride.
And so now we arrive at our denoument, Battleground. The plots lain right in front of your face will all resolve themselves at once, like a car striking Marsellus Wallace. And as the credits roll, you will see that everything is in exactly the right place. That includes the title being around my waist.
It’s time for your close up, Travis.
Lights.
Camera.
Action.
There’s an adage about filmmaking that says a director presides over a series of happy accidents. They have to take the disparate threads of music, script, individual performances, and the contributions of dozens, and weave them into a cohesive piece. It’s not just a matter of pointing the camera and turning it on. A director creates out of chaos, makes art out of accidents.
But that’s not an auteur. For an auteur, there are no accidents. There is not a single frame out of place, the entire work is of a whole. When the final credits roll, you realize that every single thing was exactly as it was supposed to be.
It starts with perfect casting. A raging, delusional egotist with narcissistic tendencies and the inability to see past his own nose? Oh, how it was played to the hilt, with no fear of being unsympathetic. Even I was shocked at exactly how far you could take it, how willfully ignorant you were all to happy to be.
‘The Headliner’ is the shining standard that this company relies upon to survive, ‘The Blessed One’ represents the company at the very highest level, a level no-one else on the current roster can even aspire to let along reach.
The most vulnerable man in the world is the one who thinks he’s bulletproof. Seeing as how you already underestimate the entire rest of the planet in the first place, it was painfully easy to remain under your radar as I trudged my way through the undercard. The DotCom belt was simply a shortcut, every step of the journey was true.
Every week, standing in front of the crowd with a belt around my waist and a microphone in my hand, I planted the seeds. Over-reacting to the antics of Chassie Fear to gain sympathy and overcoming her in Tokyo to become something heroic. Making sure that I was in front of the camera twice as much as anyone else in the company so that when the inevitable power struggles came, I could have my pick of sides.
…not the crowds wish for you to entertain them on the mic…
Don’t you see, I never give the people what they want. I TELL them what they want.
And I got what I wanted, the title opportunity, but why would I share it with two other men? Like I said before, being an auteur is about control. So I made a call, and got a stress-free position on a third-rate knock off, so that I could wait and prepare myself for the next scene, when I would stand as the only remaining contender to the belt.
Moss Edwards has neglected to take into account the cautionary tales of Global Impact Wrestling’s recent history. Moss Edwards has not been taught the lesson Alex Kiseragi so humbly gave to the world on the lead up to Affirmative Action, don’t be distracted by Randy Boolzian.
A filmmaker cannot afford to be distracted, Mr Roberts. Again, if you’ve ever made a film you would know that it requires the ability to visualize multiple possibilities over a variety of timelines. It just so happened that the perfect casting continued, because my egotistical jerk just happened to have a skirt-chasing archrival. And what is the single worst thing that you can do to someone who survives on weed and narcissism? Take attention away from them. The person who hated you the most in the entire world suddenly couldn’t give one solitary fuck about you. I wasn’t distracted. I was ignoring you. Well, not entirely.
Moss is in the midst of explaining a scene that he wants to shoot through the use of a nanny-cam, which of course is a small remote operated camera that can be hid in common objects like a teddy bear.
Or an overhead sprinkler.
We see Travis Roberts from above, rolling his beloved delicacy.
Miss Harding of course egged him on, and he displayed great creativity I must admit. Turning me blue was an inspired touch, and she was there for him to brag to. Yes, Randolph’s weakness was even more obvious than yours. You see, once upon a time, there was a girl who didn’t hump Randy Boolzian. She’s the one that got away. And now, you introduce him to the first girl in three years that doesn’t want to jump his bones, he’s intrigued. And Miss Harding works hard, she deserved a few laughs, even if they were at my expense. But eventually, she did get around to screwing him.
Grace and BoolZ sitting on the couch, controllers in hand. His face has the pallor of a man who has forgotten what winning even feels like anymore. Grace smiles smugly.
He shakes his head. “I would have practiced, but I had to spellcheck all those damn machines.”
“You mean vandalizing all the machines? You felon you.”
BoolZ laughs. “Hey, trust me, I’ve done much worse. Don’t even get me started on what I’ve done in Japan…”
It took some time to sort through the foreign police blotter and make the right connections, and I admit that I was hoping to not have to resort to the interrupting cow, but eventually the right person picked up the phone and recognized the right voice. And just like that, you couldn’t even pretend that I wasn’t focused on you.
And then there were the little things, the victory streak and the pornography. Yes, it was juvenile. But it got under your skin. Again, how do you chip away at a man whose greatest fear is irrelevance? You hammer at him with his failures, and you use his own ego against him.
..he’s going to make ‘The Headliner’ look like a rank amateur..
Would I really waste my best direction on a film with your stupid name on it? A larger than you’d care to admit portion of the world thinks you are a pornographer, and the thing that grinds at you the most is the fear that they’ll think you’re an untalented pornographer. Travis Roberts, your sin is pride.
And so now we arrive at our denoument, Battleground. The plots lain right in front of your face will all resolve themselves at once, like a car striking Marsellus Wallace. And as the credits roll, you will see that everything is in exactly the right place. That includes the title being around my waist.
It’s time for your close up, Travis.
Lights.
Camera.
Action.
x2
