Diary of an unchosen film

I hate the fucking rain

2011-02-26T09:10:00.000-08:00

Waking from an uneven slumber with a drooling mouth and an unusually hard cock I staggered to my feet to silence the cell phone alarm.

"why the fuck did I set the alarm" I thought to myself as I tried to wipe the crusty sleep from my eyes. It's raining, that's just fucking awesome. Let's add that to the fact that I'm doing time in Koreatown and I'm living with my ex-girlfriend...the only thing this party is missing in nuclear waste and a toy breed that won't shut the fuck up. The only thing I can think of is that I must have been a son-of-a-bitch in a previous life and thus I am being punished. But on second thought that's absurd cause I don't believe in reincarnation or original sin...life is probability, cause and effect so I should just deal with it.

Rising to my feet I felt the wooziness of the 5 Corona's I drank the night before. You know I'm broke when I can't afford Guinness. Note to self: life is to short to drink cheap beer...when you die you wanna die happy. Last night was chill though, I kicked it with Johnny Sabado and smoked a gang of blunts while we talked about how much we like strippers and how we can't presently afford the habit. The recession is a motherfucker.

Brushing my teeth and attempting to not die of hypothermia of the cold ass floor I began to formulate a plan. "This is not my stop" I barked into the mirror. I'm not really one for pep talks but this franchise is starting to exhibit the signs of self-pity...so pep talks it is.

I heard her rise to her feet. It's a slow process with lots of exhaling and "oh my god's". Really? The sun rises every fucking day and yet it still catches you by surprise...I've got to get the fuck outta here.

I broke the fuck out (of the bathroom), donned a somewhat offensive T-shirt and one of the two pairs of baggie jeans that I owned and laced up the kicks...I gots shit to do. Not 4 min's latter I started catching text messages from women I really should be avoiding. Sex has become like baseball for me...and I'm playing in the bush leagues. Not that I can't lure (operative word) a fine piece of ass...but I'm 41 and kind of not in the mood for the bullshit and misrepresentation. I'm looking for sex that's so good it nearly kills me. If you ain't got that...then what's the point? I can damage my credit rating and amass parking tickets all by my lonesome.

Let's see who we've got on the incoming (note to the occasionally reader: incoming refers to the direction of data coming into the handset I.E. smartphone, so it's a text (sms/mms), email or google talk volley (I'm on android bitches)...it's my Turkish hottie. Looks like she's requesting another round of the on again, off again...first we fuck, then we argue...then we ignore each other. Predictable...but her ass is the bomb so maybe I'll hit her back...but who are we kidding...this is about my shoulders and her furniture that needs to be picked up @ Ikea and moved into her new apartment. I'd prefer a rate sheet...and yes, she can pay me in panties.

I descend the steps like it's xmas morning and head into my office, if you can call it an office. I've got papers scattered everywhere, dirty dishes and a few dirty socks strewn about. Looks like an outtake from "First 48"...which is kinda disgusting, but it keeps the ex the fuck outta here. Yes I'm deploying psychological strategies up in this piece...it's like that homey!

Opening my email on the google browser (I've learned that it's easier to read bullshit on a full size screen) I see that I have a response from a literary manger who I'll leave nameless. My last request to for submission has been denied because it's pilot season. Like I give a fuck about TV. Honestly, I'd rather she respond that unless I'm willing to come over here and clean the clam for a few hours I can forget about representation. At least that would be honest. This entire situation with her is entirely fucked by the way. I met her at a producers conference that I shall also leave nameless (don't complain.. I might actually make/sell something and the last thing I need is this blog to show up on TMZ like a pair of stank panties when your ex-girlfriend is cleaning the apt (yes.. .that really happened).

..anyways, back to the story. I sat through three days of this producers festival where I was pitching a reality tv show. That in and of itself was a huge mistake because I'm a filmmaker. My dick gets super hard when we start to talk about shots, angles and dialogue. What I cut and submitted was light years from what I said I would... everyone was pissed and refused to entertain the thought of us working for them...whatevers...you can only hide your art for so long, so I should be happy. So in the middle of this producers conference which is quickly beginning to resemble a bad horror movie (the black guy is going to die soon) I get access to this literary manager. I get to the meeting early and there's like 3 people there...and wouldn't you know it they are actors. This manger manages actors and writers which I personally hate. It means that people who are better looking than me will be offering sex and doing anything to get her attention. The one thing I like about being a writer is that we have integrity. We'll only go so far...not true for actors (and I love actors so easy on the hate mail). So as I'm waiting for the meeting to begin I get on my smart phone and research her a little bit. I find a slew of interviews of her and she's abrasive in each one. Not that I'm particularly worried, I'm from the east. I'm as comfortable with abrasive people as I am with cold weather...but I'm not really in the mood for either presently.

cue the beginning of the meeting and it's business as usual. She recounts how dedicated she is to art and how difficult it is to find good writers...blah...blah...blah. It's the typical bullshit and I seem to be the only one at this table that understands this. Oh great it's story time. For those of you who aren't familiar with story time it's when an actor segues from asking a question to telling a story to subtly indicate their acting chops and how special they are. It's almost as exciting as watching your dog lick his cock...only without the smacking.

She lays into him, rips off one of his arms and begins to chew on it. The entire table is mortified..except me. I knew there was gonna be some dismemberment up in this piece...the goal was not to be chewed up first. After a short story by her and another uncomfortable silence (there were many) another actor tries to pitch themselves. This chick is really cute, petite and looks like she could fuck all night. Too bad she wasn't prepped for the question "what kind of acting would you like to do?"... there was a seriously uncomfortable silence (I'm talking 4 Mississippi) before she stammered out an incomprehensible answer...she got murdered on the spot. I'm talking chainsaw dismemberment. I even think I got some blood on my glasses. It's not looking good for the rookies, and the entire table is looking shook. I could care less. I came to pitch.

She then asked for pitches, which was kind of strange. Most people of her....status.. hate to be pitched to.. they tend to think it's tedious. But she seems to like stories and more importantly writers (or so I thought). No one was willing to step onto the killing floor... and then I raised my hand. I swear to fucking god (and this is coming from an atheist) the assembled "artists" nearly all snapped their necks looking over at me and my fearlessness. What a bunch of pussies! "...only the man who thinks his arm can be cut off will actually get his arm cut off". I pitch my new script, my new female action script that I wrote for one of my actors that I'm in love with (she's female and I love women so don't read into it). A few seconds goes by and her face lights up.. "that's a script I'd definitely like to read". The room can't believe that I just pulled that off. Their heads are spinning like cheap rims in Inglewood. She congratulates me and goes on to lecture for a few more minutes before she asks for another pitch. Again silence falls over the table.

I count to 5 and then I raise my hand. The table can't believe that I want to pitch again and neither does the manager. "You have another script?" she says quizzically?
"I came here to chew bubble gum and pitch some scripts and I'm all out of bubble gum". The John Carpenter reference is lost on the relatively young crowd and I pitch. This time I pitch her Sex, Love & Z-Parts...my favorite script. After another pause that seems to last longer than the CFA exam (google it) she smiles and responds that she'd like to read that one as well. In an instant I'm being slipped business cards from actors and writers...as if I have any power in here.

The meeting adjourns and I'm mobbed by people... "where did you learn to write?", "who do you write about?", "Do you have a writing partner?"....I mean what the fuck? What happened to losing graciously and then getting pissed and going home and writing a better script that I pitched?...kids today!

By the time I get to the hotel bar the word has spread. People are treating my like I just won the fucking lottery; little do they know that I'm going to have to write a check to get my car out of valet...this town is comedy.

Fast forward 4 months later. I submitted and hear nothing. 3 months pass and I'm climbing the walls. Det. Budd suggests that I just drop by her office and make my presence known under the guise that the squeaky wheel gets the oil. He has a point but I don't' think that that's the best approach. So I wait. Another month....still no fucking reply. Then I get this email inviting me to a "creating memorable characters" seminar at USC that she is teaching. Not only is stepping on the campus of USC the filmic equivalent of making an atheist go to church, but I'd rather take deepthroat lessons from Ron Jeremy than attend a intro to screenwriting seminar. But what are my fucking options? So I respond in the affirmative.

Fast forward 2 weeks...I get there and the place is packed. She's there with a friend of hers who is an agent/producer and an author (funny how that works) and they are reminiscing on all the great script that have been written in the history of film (the implication being that we'll never be that good) and what we can learn from them. The eagerness of the other "writers" to lick these pussies is not sitting well with me. When I'm handed the first of several worksheets I feel the urge to drop trou and take a massive dump on the conference room table and shout "art knows no bounds".

But on second thought, I just stuff my mouth with the Sour patch kids I'd smuggled in and try to remain calm. I need to approach this woman and get my career back on track. But at every juncture that I can interject into...some 20 something, runny nose kid keeps asking questions and answering them himself. I had seriously considered putting the Vulcan neck brace into action...but he's on the other side of the table...so I'm fucked.

Suddenly it's breaktime. All the tweeners (I'm so not joking with that) make a B-line for the restroom and I approach her. Now keep in mind that she's shot me a number of looks during this "seminar"...I'm not sure if she recognizes me or is picturing me under her desk, kissing the kitty in an attempt to get representation. As soon as I introduce myself she smiles and says "yes..yes.. I knew you looked familiar". Not only is that insincere, it's predictable. But I push on cause that's what my mother expects of me. Trying to hide the anger and rage inside of my artistic loins I causally explain to her that I submitted my script to her and have not heard so much as a peep. She looks around and snaps her fingers (literally) and the wet nosed, brown-nosing dude who wouldn't shut up literally runs up to her side. Mr. Let-me-impress-you is her assistant. Seriously????

Not only is allowing your assistant to participate in your seminar a huge conflict of interest, it cast serious doubt on his ability to read and evaluate scripts (does he have to take a nap between each act?). Next come all the apologies and the "sorry we missed your script" statements. I am unimpressed.
He is now my main point of contact and assures me that if I sent the script to him, that he'll see that she gets it.

...so I resubmit...and weeks pass. And then I get his email. His condescending, cliche filled, writing tips dense email telling me that I'm obviously new to screenwriting. Those who know me personally will be amazed to know that I opted not to tell him what I really thought of his comments and his community college education (it's a joke...fucking relax night students). I wasted 7 months on this fruitless enterprise...awesome!

So why am I telling you this? Because I want to underscore the two rules of film that I live by:

1) You can't get anywhere by playing by the rules

2) Anything is possible.

This blog was brought about by the simple fact that Valentines day just passed (my love life sucks cock)...it's Oscar weekend and I can't believe all these people who I am more talented than are being nominated for an Oscar (Inception... really?...Christopher Nolan uses the same, literary devices, plot points and schtick in Memento and the following). I'm bitter, horny and out of weed... so that's what you get.

..This blog is dedicated to Richard Lui.. who sent me a very nice email and has convinced me to return to writing.

COOPRDOG

Velocity

2010-11-10T19:42:00.000-08:00

It's been a long time since I've written for this blog. So many stories to tell and yet I hesitate cause I don't feel that most of them are relevant. But, I do owe you some sort of an...uh, transition from the quite period to what has caused me to return to writing.

Writers are born and not made and that is something that I firmly believe. I believe this because writers are proficient at writing because there's something missing for them in the first-person, this is why they communicate so well as writers...because for them major parts of communication in the first-person are lost. I am a glaring example of this. Those who have met me will tell you that I am charming, intriguing, sincere, trustful and that I have the ability to make people do almost anything do to my ability to conjure emotions and sincerity. Well, nothing could be farther from the truth. My truly close friends will tell you that I'm moody, at times very distant and nearly always deeply in thought. Much of what people interpret as me is a well-honed survival trait that I developed as a child and a young adult. There was a different Cooprdog many moons ago. Think of a young pup who believed all his parents told him and viewed the world as a fair, just and optimistic place. The attrition and red badges of courage that my 40+ years have given me have greatly changed that opinion of the world.

I return to this blog because I have nowhere else to go. That's the thing about writing, it's always with you. I doesn't matter if I do not write a single word for 10 years, nothing will be lost, nothing will be taken for granted. That's the tough part to understand...that the words don't have to come out...and when they do, they always come out correctly; assuming you believe in such trivial concepts as correct and incorrect.

SLZ as a project is still alive and well...if by well you mean has a pulse. It's still my greatest work (in my opinion)and it will get made...well, there's still a possibility. There's also a possibility that my head will turn into a giant bag of weed. I returned to screenwriting after something like a 7 year hiatus and wrote "D is for Detra". I love the script but as per usual I'm pushing too many boundaries for the traditional model. I shot a TV pilot for a semi-reality show. I really enjoyed the shooting, but the project was kind of disastrous. Here's a tip: if you're a filmmaker your venture into reality TV will probably not go well. Not because your skills are one-dimensional and not because the reality people are jaded (everyone is jaded)...but because you think of the subtleties of light, lens, camera position and sequences. I had grand ideas of what I wanted to do on the small screen (the screen that I hate) and the more I shot the bigger these ideas got. What I wound up with was a very visual, very trippy...experiment. Which is not a good thing. I am a producer. I have responsibilities and one of the responsibilities is to get a return on investment. Just shooting hot shit to smoke weed to is not acceptable. This is the toughest thing for me to learn.

The ideas come quickly now. And with a quick text to Det. Budd they manifest into scenes, projects, films and productions. But with skill comes the desire for larger budgets...and hence the depression.

I am in a box now. My badass Datsun has a blown motor and is bleeding me dry. My lovelife is dead. Primarily because I live with my ex-girlfriend and that's slightly more enjoyable than sandpaper sliding across my nuts. Lost my job, and my loft...and my intergalatic, panty collecting lifestyle. I had the magnanimous idea to apply to the Nichols Fellowship and a few TV writing fellowships. I had initially refused to enter these competitions, because I am an outlier, all ways has been, always will be...legitimacy isn't really an option for persons like myself. I suppose you could buy it, but how legitimate is that? Anyways...I applied and it went pretty poorly. By that I mean lots of self-doubt, emotional pain and fear of the mail (cause that's where the rejection letters come from). I should really be thankful, because it forced me to be extremely productive in a very short period of time. I wrote 4 scripts and shot a TV pilot and less than 6 months.

But it was all for nothing; and before you new-agey "everything happens for a reason" people chime in lemme put you in your place. Rationalizing your failures that way will have you not learning from your disastrous mistakes and yet chalking them up to "it happened for a reason" instead of refining your process. Let's be frank...people who don't win the gold and don't make it into the NFL, NBA, ect...generally don't believe their exclusion is the way it's supposed to be. It is fear of failure that drives me (well that's not true it's really the fear of not living up to my intellectual potential). What I'm getting at is that when you fail (ad I just did) let it be a failure. Let is suck for a while and wallow around in it and inhale the suckiness...so that you remember precisely why you never want to return here again.

Since my life is in a serious state of flux, and I can't race and I can't get fucked, and I lack the means to produce...all I have left is the keyboard.

I guess it was inevitable that I would return, cause this is one of the few places I am truly comfortable.

...velocity, the title of this entry, is something I should explain since I rarely explain my titles...and for the record I think of the title of my films before I write them...it's more romantic that way! By velocity I am referring to a body in motion - accelerating at a given rate for a given amount of time. It's my metaphor for the lack of control I feel...if that's not too much of a cop out.

...there will be more later...if I'm not too bitter.

COOPRDOG

Days of the Con man

2010-02-08T12:08:00.000-08:00

Hi, how ya doin’…it’s Cooprdog here with Filmcon!

Do you ever find yourself in the unfortunate situation of having a great film and having no way to finance it? Do you wish you had the answer to pesky investor questions like “Will I see a return?,” “Who’s going to star in this film?” and my personal favorite, “How do I know you’re not making a porno?”
Well fear not, film shooters: I have the product to make all of your worries go away…Filmcon!

Have no idea what you want to shoot? Make up some shit. Been asked for a line-item budget but don’t have one? Send them a top sheet from some other motherfucker’s film. At a loss for possible locations? Why not start with the places that you’ve always wanted to vacation?

You see, my friends, the beauty of Filmcon is that there is no film. Why do you wanna dick around with all the writing and the typing and the editing and all that bullshit when you could just smoke weed and watch TV and cash some gullible motherfucker’s investment check? Why struggle with big topics like “artistic merit” and “point of view” and “reason to make the film?” It’s going to keep you up at night, it’s going to keep me up at night, and nobody wants that. Why should you have to think about things like this when there’s perfectly watchable reality TV on that will rot your brain?

That’s why we came up with Filmcon, your answer for your wanton desire for fame, nudity and attention when you have absolutely no talent of which to speak. The Filmcon kit comes with everything you’ll need to get a successful film scam going: you get the manila folder, 100 phony film production company business cards and your very own voice mail with a professional-sounding outgoing message. It’s all you’ll really need to get your successful film scam going. Now I know you don’t believe me, I know you’re saying “Cooprdog, I just can’t believe this shit. How the fuck is it that I’m going to run game like I was Parker Brothers?” Well the answer is, simply, wear a funny hat. The world is full of people in funny hats telling us what to do like the cops, firemen -- and who’s got a funnier hat than the pope? I’m speaking the gospel here people; are you listening?

I’ll tell you what we’re going to do ‘cause we can’t do this shit all day – The Federal Trade Commission is already up our asses: If you call now, I’ll give you not one but two -- that’s right, two -- Filmcon kits. That’s two manila envelopes, 200 fake business cards and two -- count’em, two – voice mail lines with a professional sounding outgoing message and you get two funny hats. Can you believe that shit? These hookers are paying me and I can’t believe that shit! Listen, stop worrying about your career and stop worrying about how good you are and just start making shit up.

Filmcon…who the fuck has time to write?

Alright, that’s a little preposterous and a lot amusing, but the intent is clear. I know it’s a bit stylized and all that shit, but there is some truth to what I speak. Telling the truth will get you nowhere (and by nowhere I mean unfunded and unfucked), asking what you are expected to ask will get you nowhere…but you already know this – that is one of the major tenets of this blog; so what am I going on about?

My premise is that the con man is more than a curious figure of financial, economic and American history. He is not what my quantitative brethren would call a statistical abnormality, nor is he a simulacrum, which is a copy without an original for those of you who spend your days nose-deep in critical theory text (fuck you, it’s my blog, I can go off the theoretical deep end if I’d like to). I highlight this individual because he thinks what we don’t, he does what we can’t and has yet to apologize in a single instance of his capture. The con man bilks millions, billions from unsuspecting persons all the time, yet sincere filmmakers relish in comparative poverty and relative obscurity hoping their “time will come” (ha ha..sure it will). Could not the filmmaker don the guise of the con man and get people to actually give him money? Is it really that crazy of an idea? The only real difference between the con man and the filmmaker is that the filmmaker is genuinely going to shoot a film and not just abscond with the funds. Yes, it’s a major difference, but it is the only difference. All the other things that you attribute to the con man is the myth, is the legend, is the miscellany of details recanted in the incorrect order that often causes circumstance to be interpreted as genius …it’s finance, it’s trustworthiness, it’s a con…and it is already inside your domain.

Now I’m aware that this seems childish to many of you but I need you to put down your coffee and go with me on this one. I do have a point (eventually), so humor me for a second while I wax theoretical. If readers create their own narratives when they watch film and thus render the intentions of the director irrelevant, then don’t the con’s victims also create their own understanding of the con (and by that I mean the financial investment/transaction) and make it suit their needs (emotional)? Can I take it one step further and say that the investor creates his own investment as far as risk/reward is concerned and we merely facilitate the process? You have to admit, theory does make you think…but back to the story.
Before I can really get to the nuts and bolts of what the fuck I’m talking about, we need a refresher on what the realities of film production are, because some of you motherfuckers can’t seem to pay attention.

1) There are more filmmakers than possible financing deals, distribution slots
or screening times.
2) Most films will lose money.
3) “Great scripts” are not as common as many would lead you to believe.
4) The $5M-$15M negative cost range is the most profitable.
5) The digital revolution has lowered the technical level of proficiency for
filmmaking.
6) There has been a homogenization of narratives.
7) R-rated films are more scarce than they were 5 years ago.

Keeping these ideas in mind, you can see how “easy” it would be to position your fake film in the minds of potential investors. A good con man knows the industry he’s pretending to be in and more importantly, he knows what motivates the mark. I don’t think it’s important to be the “best” film, I think it’s important to be an “unusual” film, a.k.a. a once in a lifetime opportunity on which you definitely don’t want to miss out. The con man is careful to not oversell his “product”. He makes every meeting seem like a chance encounter and he sets a firm date in the future (normally sooner than the mark is expecting) that he is trying to be funded by. He wines him, he dines him. I think this is the key that we are missing as filmmakers. The con man begins with a basic idea about what he’s trying to do, but he begins with a pitch … “I build IT infrastructure for cities that have sizeable gaps in wireless broadband coverage.” This is followed several sentences later by a casual mentioning of this new project he is undertaking and the unfortunate loss of an investor. What is important about this pitch is that it doesn’t sound like a pitch, yet there is a definite date by which the monies would need to be received and an expectation of the result of the investment. This is what we don’t do.
We have been taught to be a little modest and not to be money hungry; to be respectful and humble and patiently wait our turn. We have been taught to be thankful for just the opportunity to shoot film…yeah, well -- that’s bullshit!
I think we need to stop asking and start taking. I think we need to stop following the trends and start dictating the trends. If you don’t create intellectual property, you don’t get a vote. It’s that fucking simple. (Yeah, I’m on a rant, what about it?)

I am proposing a change in attitude. The con man thinks of the con as his right. He thinks that those he takes advantage of are suckers, and will be manipulated by one person or another so there’s no real harm in what he is doing. But this goes deeper, much, much deeper. I do not think it is possible to dupe, deceive or coerce someone in this manner without a fair amount of disdain for them, their story and the horse they rode in on. You must posses a certain amount of misanthrope in general for this to be effective. So what the fuck does that mean? It means “we” aren’t making a movie – “WE” are making a movie, it means bitch-betta-have-my-money, it means fuck-you-pay me, I need another fucking take, it means it’ll be ready when it’s fucking ready …it means whatever I say it fucking means. Got it?
What if we were to assume the role of being owed a film deal? What if we were to assume that deal will be written, and so will many others, for films that will never make money? Thinking along those lines, you can drop your honesty approach and your “stand-up-guy” approach (which is another reason that you’re not getting fucked) and get down to the business of separating the investors from their money. What I am trying to stress is the “good” part of filmmaking must be put by the wayside. It’s time to lie…yes, that’s right, lie. “Is your film going to make money?” …”Hell fucking yeah! You ain’t got enough room to store the long dollars I’m going to be bringing up in this bitch!”

Ok, maybe you don’t need to get all “Sookie the Pimp” on ‘im, but you get my drift.

The answer is yes, my film will make money…how much is dependent on how quickly we can get the film in the theaters and how effective of a marketing push we can give it and if these hookas do what I tell’em. We all know that the previous sentence is a bold-faced lie, but so-fucking-what? We are talking about a fake film that is never going to get made; fuck, you could even promise Academy nods if you think you can say it with a straight face.

Ok..ok.. I’m probably moving a little too fast for the public school graduates, so let me underscore what we know about filmmaking and why people invest in films:

1) They think filmmaking is sexy and exciting.
2) They think making films will indirectly get them access to hot women, sex
and drugs.
3) They want a lot of people sweating them and walking around eggshells when
they are present.
4) They want their name on something larger than a cake.
5) They want to be one of the “behind the scenes” persons of a successful media
event.
6) They want to be part of something larger than themselves.

My point with this list is that all of these are intangibles, all of these are things you won’t need to “produce” to keep it all going. Films are about ideas and the idea that I am trying to give to you is that there is no film; just the idea of a film and the process of selling it to an investor. What I need to be good at is appearing like I’m making a film and ratcheting up the intensity (and the schedule) to get a check from this guy. See, here’s the thing: this is the process with which you directly ask for funds. No more trying to position yourself and make it relevant to his needs – instead you create what he thinks he’s looking for and you sell it to him.

What do you really need? A bunch of scripts in your apartment and a crazy friend who drinks too much? (I could throw a house party with those constraints). C’mon, you have to admit – this is fucking flawless! This is some out-of-the-box, stanky-danky, super-secret probation-type advice I’m dispensing here! For this to work you can’t act like a con man, you have to be a con man. No more being nice and working for cause and all that documentary bullshit. I’m talking women, cars, money, glamour, excess, speeding, cussing, drinking, drugs…I’m talking about doing this, like, for real.

First of all I need you to do your homework:

http://listverse.com/2007/08/28/top-10-famous-con-men/

http://www.moreintelligentlife.com/story/how-to-cheat-at-everything

Okay, you got it, you see what I’m getting at. Something legendary, something extraordinary…something earth-shattering. Just give it a thought.

COOPRDOG

It's easier than it looks...

2010-01-14T23:38:00.000-08:00

The dull pain and numb feeling of regret that I awoke to a mere few hours ago has dissipated into a malaise that has me confined to the couch. I hate the fucking holidays and the goddamn music and the pretending and the “no, after you's." Are you fucking kidding me? I did two weeks in the cold, in the rain and the lack of sunlight. I did a two week bid in the east, I love the east…but don’t get it twisted, the call it the illadelph for a reason. That “Pain” was the residue of 5 relationships, way too much crying and nearly endless consumption of Guinness, well…that is until everyone started running out of it…but I digress.
I distinctly remember what it felt like when I walked out of the terminal @ LAX. It was so fucking warm…had to be 70 degrees…oh, that’s right! I live in LA! The baggage terminal was straight drama, and no I’m not embellishing. Had to be like 300 motherfuckers in the United terminal shovin’, pushin’, rappin’ on the cell-piece. Ha…yeah. LA Bitches!

As I leaned up against the wall waitin’ for my bag to arrive I wondered how the fuck I was gonna beat all these chumps outta here? About 30 years later my bags showed up, and one was ripped (that’s just unprofessional) …whatever.. I can bounce.
I get outside and it’s like a scene from the Road Warrior…not good. Next thing I knew this Persian cat is like… “You need a ride my friend”

COOPRDOG
As a matter of fact I do

AMIR
Where you headed?

COOPRDOG
Downtown…straight shot up the 105

AMIR
$55?

COOPRDOG
That works.

…and just like that I had a ride outta there. Two minutes later I’m in the back of a Lincoln Towncar with crazy tinted windows sipping on free bottled water. Amir’s totally outta control…he’s speedin’ like there’s numbers on the side of his car…lemme say it again, it’s good to be in LA. I’m quite sure that at any moment his going to pitch me on a strip club or a massage parlor…I can feel it. But no, he doesn’t.

He keeps it friendly and courteous.

When I was back east I had my last fight with my Blackcherry…and I switched phones. No, not and I phone.. I do not like the taste of Steve Jobs’ balls in my mouth…plus I need keys.. (I’m a texter baby) …so I went with the G1.

I’ve got a dancing android and J Dilla as a ringtone, what’s to complain about?

Anyways… my G1 was blowin’ up in the Limo. Text, email, another text, two more emails…mmm, the game never rests. Amir’s celli rings and he’s on the call, there’s talk of lap dances and two-for-ones and I’m thinking that this party is about to get real interesting. Vibrate-vibrate, more incoming data and once again I’m distracted. What I love about being a filmmaker is how quickly things change. One email, one text message one phone call later everything is different. This is why I firmly believe that no matter how badly you fuck up, you’re still in the game – ‘cause the game don’t sleep.

We get back to my spot and the money exchange is quick efficient and next thing you know I’m free to go. As I prepare to step out of the limo, I stop and shoot Amir a glance in the rearview mirror.

COOPRDOG
How come you didn’t pitch me? I was down for some strippers,
for some badgirls.

AMIR
You’re too tired my friend…they would only take your money.

…now that right there, is the way it outta be. I threw him another $10 and he dapped me thank you as he handed me his card.

AMIR
(heavy accent) Holler at your boy when you wanna make it rain.

And just like that he was gone…and I was back at the spot. I’m loft living downtown nowadays which is a pretty cool gig. It still mostly $2 hookers and alcoholics and random thuggery…so I’m blendin’ right in. I made the decision to move to someplace industrial so my Yellow 280Z “Sourpuss” was a lot less conspicuous. You can keep the beach and the mountains, I’ll take the square footage.

Ok.. time to fess up a little. I wasn’t just being a baby and not writing. I was being productive. I got a new script, a TV show concept, I’m still shopping SLZ and I’ve got this book I want to publish. Don’t get me wrong I’m still the same “fuck you-pay me” dude I’ve always been (that’s an awesome short film BTW ) I’m just going about things a little differently.

And I have Bernard Madoff to thank. Well, not exactly…I’ve never had contact with the man or his scheme, it’s the idea I’m talking about. I know, you’re not following, forgive me…just took a mooooooonnnnsteeeeer hit and things aren’t exactly clear, so bear with me. Ok, how is it that conmen can convince people to part with millions of dollars and yet we, the sincere filmmakers, struggle to get production funds? So the idea became: what if I acted like a conman? What if I came at this whole production funds chase as a con-game, what if I took the uniqueness of my life and just ran with it; what would happen?

That is the plan I am now undertaking. If I wanted to con people into a fake film scam the first thing I would need to do is legitimize myself as a filmmaker by either hacking websites at add my name to the field of entries and create a host of identities at filmmaking websites so that if one were to go looking for this filmmaker named Cooprdog. (Wait a minute!...I already got that)

I need business cards…new ones, …slick ones. Ones that will impress. (um… I got that)

I need a funny outgoing message. (I got that)

I would need a cool place to live and an iconic car to drive (got a loft and Sourpuss I’m 2-for2) and I need to appear at filmmaking events and producer hangouts and make myself well known…or, as I have said since day one of this..requiem (too dramatic?) that the best thing you can do to get your shit started in this industry is to go out to film events (meet-n-greets, screenings) and be seen.

Ok so, my plan doesn’t sound that crazy, now does it?

But I know what you’re thinking, just valet-ing a cool car at a “film spot” isn’t really going to do a lot for you because this is a town of poseurs. Well, I got that covered. The best way for people to think you’re busy, is to always be busy. Ok, how do we do that? Well, we increase the amount of data coming to our phone – for example:

How to make yourself look busy when trying to impress:

1) Get on Craigslist. Write three funny but somewhat provocative personal ads and run them the day before you are going to go out. Then two hours before you go out answer about 20 personal ads… the crazier the better. If you’re a half-way decent writer you should be able to keep you phone busy with incoming emails for the next six hours…all you have to do then is make faces (and you will) when you read the responses (cause you won’t have any idea who’d responding to which ad) that will make you seem interesting.

2) Send a flirty text or ambiguous email to all your recent ex’s (it really pays to have shitty relationships…you can leverage them). Now I wouldn’t just start beggin’ for sex or calling someone a slut (not that I’ve ever done that) cause you’re just going to wind up fucking someone who you told yourself you can’t fuck anymore…therefore just say hello, or “I was thinking about you” or “I just drove by your favorite coffee shop”. The idea is to get a response, and it will be delayed because of the issues in your “relationship”. By the time that data comes back, you’ll seem like the most in demand writer in this town.

3) Learn how to order. Ok, how can I explain this – alcoholics are really good at ordering drinks; you need to be able to order yourself a drink in a manner that makes your fellow patrons laugh or nod in agreement. For example I’m a Guinness drinker but I never ask for Guinness I always say “what’s the darkest beer you have”…right there I’m special because I’m demonstrating some beer knowledge. If she says Guinness I go “see.. I was afraid to ask” …then I’ll get a few chuckles from the people standing next to me, I’m half way to being the life of the party. But say you drink liquor..say you’re a Gin and Tonic person. Well don’t order a Gin and Tonic…have some familiarity…Sapphire and tonic please. Shows you know a little somethin’ about Gin and you take your drinking seriously…not a bad thing to be when you’re looking for money.

4) It’s all about your first drink order. What I mean by this is that by the time you’ve received your first drink you need to have established yourself (the drink order really helps this). To do this effectively you need to do three things.

A) Make rhetorical comments about the wait time for a drink… “this is the line for alcoholics, right?” And don’t worry about being funny, what you are trying to do is create some presence for yourself. If a chick smiles at my comment I’ll follow it up with “she knows what I’m talkin’ about”…she will most likely laugh or smile…cause now you are the funny guy.

B) Work the bartender. Yes you need a drink, but you really want intel from him. First of all you want to open a tab, that means better service cause the overall drink total will be higher. Don’t get the well liquor – I know, I know drinks in LA are expensive…but you can’t afford a DUI anyway so it’s not like you’re going to knock back enough of them to have a crazy bar tab, and the bartender now will remember you , cause you’re drinking the good shit.

C) Work the wait staff. As soon as the bartender turns away you need to find a waitress or bar back to talk to. Not because you want info, but because you need to make a connection with someone that you know you can find later. Be nice, say hello – they will appreciate it, and 90 min’s later when you need to appear busy you can go and talk to them, they’ll appreciate the company.

5) Talk to people that you are not attracted to and try to find out where they are from and what they do in about 4 minutes. LA people are arrogant and love to talk about themselves, but it looks like you’re talkin’ shop and makin’ deals – more importantly it’s someone to say hello to in passing later on.

6) Work the cocktail waitresses. OK, this is a complicated move but I think you can handle it. If you really wanna get shit cracklin’…pay cash for your first round. Roam around a little bit and then flag down a cocktail waitress (preferably one you want to hit on) and flirt as you place your drink order. What you want out of this relationship is to get her to tell you who’s in the film industry and what the situation is like over by them. Again, if you don’t try to put a dick in her mouth and talk to her like a co-conspirator she’ll be more than willing to help…and she might go home with you (but I’m not making promises)

7) Practice making your approach. The best way to do this is to find a random person and make them your Mark. Watch them to see what they are drinking, if they are alone and if they are somewhat intoxicated and then make your approach. Strike up a phony conversation and see how long you can keep it going. Don’t talk about what you do, keep the conversation limited to the level of bar service or the roundness of some random chick’s ass. If you get this down, you can approach anyone.

8) It’s all about the sexy girls. The chicks that accompany these film dudes are there for a reason they know it, the Mark knows it and you should know it. Don’t pretend not to be attracted to her and don’t be unwilling to exchange quick glances. You don’t wan’t to flirt with her as much as you want to acknowledge that you are aware that you are being checked out; the hot chick allows the money guy to size you up on approach (since you’ll be distracted)..you need to notice her but keep your distance, the money guy will think you have respect for power, or are on his jock…either way, he’ll start talking.

From then on you should be in…if you are not then you’ll have to wait for lesson two…which I’ve yet to write so… I guess you’re fucked :-0 This is my approach for 2010, but I’m doing more than just acting crazy in a bar. I’m going to attend writers conferences, be more visible and see that I can get my name and my email well know in the first quarter. That’s the plan anyway.

COOPRDOG

Please allow me to introduce myself

2009-09-29T08:17:00.000-07:00

The seemingly unending delirium of not shooting a film is taking a toll on me. Though I have just had a seriously decadent birthday party (of which I remember nothing) that did little other than empty my bank account of a few thousand dollars and ruin my reputation with a score of 24 yr old models (like I really need to be fucking 24 yr olds… I mean I love the way they moan…it’s just the talking to them afterwards part that creates the difficulty) my life seems empty (assuming you ignore the ever increasing amount of tickets and court appearances) and the depression. It is times like these that I’d normally buy enough weed to forget my mother’s name (Mom, it’s a joke…I’m a writer, you have to relax) but it appears that I’m on Sookie’s shit list cause he seems to not want to sell to me (I have needs Homie!) so I’ve turned to my number two passion, porno. Only the porno is not what it used to be. I mean how depressing is it when porn doesn’t’ even do it for you anymore? Is the world really coming to an end? Is this really what it’s going to be like when it’s all over, boring porn and the inability to find a decent pint? (F.Y.I. The Room is Santa Monica still sucks big sweaty balls…but I digress) Is this the point where I sell my Z and turn to religion? (ha…ha… yeah, sure it is!)
Speaking of Z cars, for those of you that don’t know me (I believe that number is around 250 million or so) I drive a 1977 Datsun 280Z, with a really nice exhaust. The other day I was on my way to autocross (it’s what I do when I’m not banging the shit out of my ex-girlfriend) @ about 5:30AM (racing happens early) one of my neighbors stuck his head out of his window and yelled at me about “revving my motor” in the middle of the night. After a very short conversation where I explained to him that 5:30am is not the middle of the night, I have to physically be inside the car to rev the motor and that I have perfected the fine art of cussing while discussing his mother’s anatomy he decided to shut his window (imagine that). Several days later I received a complaint letter from my landlord: whom we’ll call Mr. Frank. He wrote me a 1 page letter telling me that he’s received a number of complaints (…uh, one person calling repeatedly about the same thing does not constitute “a number” in generally accepted customer service jargon) about my car and told me that I was disturbing the peace and that I should consider getting a better exhaust. My response was a 3-page letter delivered on the same day as my complaint letter was received that went something like this…fuck you!; I have a lease; Fuck You!; there are people who live here that are way louder than me; Fuck you! We live downtown where the homeless, 1-legged hookers and scofflaws congregrate…and uh, Fuck you! I pay big money to make this kind of noise. I was really hoping that some sort of parking lot brawl would ensue so I could go over the top of the pile with a clothesline and yell out things like “…tell ya momma who did it to ya!” Needless to say, there was no formal response to my letter which could only mean one thing (Frank is a pussy).
But the whole thing got me thinking, what the fuck is going on? Why is everyone treating me like I can’t find the I-10? (it’s the one where the cars aren’t moving and a few are on fire)? I guess it’s been a while since I impaled a festival director with a rolled-up poster or told a guerilla filmmaker (all you need is desire) which way to go and how to get there. I think this is a common phenomenon in our industry. We tend to let them forget what it is we do and what it is we are capable of. Now, since I can’t flash my pussy (if I had a pussy, I’d put a picture of that motherfucker on a billboard with the slogan “you know you want this” under it), “accidentally” overdose on a bottle of prescription medication or get caught fucking on a night vision camera (you might want to bring the wide angle lens) my ability to keep my company and my likeness in the minds of the motherfuckers who matter is a bit difficult.
So how do we do it? How do we make sure that we are remembered? How do we ensure our names will get tossed around when it really matters?

1) Get a reputation for something your mother would not be proud of. Look, I know this is hard cause if your Momma is still alive, there’s a very good chance you’ll have a very uncomfortable conversation about this behavior that will more than likely have a detrimental effect on your present receiving opportunities (who doesn’t love gifts from mom?) Ok so, here’s what you do: You have to get a reputation for something that is not readily verifiable…like fighting so many tickets that the LA Superior Court refers to you as Four Amendment Mary. I know this is difficult but you don’t want your fantasy producer reputation to be destroyed by a simple Google search (and flipping the circuit breaker before the dinner party is a great way to prevent this). My point is, make sure your reputation proceeds you.

2) Be better than at least one other peer in your part of the industry. Look, I’ll be completely honest here. Nothing gets you out of the hot seat faster than a statement like … “look, I may have choked a few strippers but I never urinated on anyone that was attending a drive-in movie so back up off me”. That’s funny and is nice visual imagery (think convertible parked next to a dually Super Duty pick-up truck). And regardless of what you have just been accused of, everyone is going to go home and try to figure out what the fuck you are talking about.

3) Have a story to tell. Yes, it’s that simple…and it’s really good if the story includes a shark, a bear or the disarming of a bomb. Did you read the story about the chick in Florida that was walking her dog when an 8ft Alligator jumped out of the grass (dude, that’s what I read…don’t be a dick) and grabbed her by the ankle and tried to drag her into the lake? (no really, this shit actually happened) She gouged him in the eye with her thumb to get away (what is she an MMA fighter?) But my point is when she’s at the dinner party the story sounds way different ….”so here I am in 3 feet of water, whippin this Aligator’s ass when animal control shows up. Talk about lucky, I was about to have the flyest shoes and matching luggage in all of Florida if them bitches hadn’t have shown up when they did”. It’s true that it’s all in the delivery, but my point is valid – have something to say.

4) Have a favorite drink. Nothing says “I’m less fun than a traffic stop in Beverly hills” than a Budweiser drinker. Oh, and no fruity drinks if you’re male. It’s really hard to take a dude seriously when the inside of his glass looks like it belongs on Jimmy Buffet’s shirt (c’mon… that’s a good joke). I drink Guinness, tequila straight is apparently getting very popular (and if you meet a woman that like to drink patron straight up…she’ll fuck you 6 ways to Sunday if you can get her home…believe dat!) Just find a drink, and stay away from whiskey unless you’re Irish or can fight…I’m so not kidding on that one.

5) It’s really hard to look uninteresting when you have someone to talk to. And if you get fucked up you can both put in your earpieces , put on your sunglass and talk into your cuffs and watch the real felons make a run for the door (FYI this is really not funny when the President is near)
Ok…here’s your plan to filmmaking success. And yes, I do use it…but I also have a big cock (please email me for pics) so it’s easy for me to make friends so don’t take it personal if I’m better than you (I am better than you )

Laters

COOPRDOG

It seems as if I woke up one day and I was forty.

2009-09-16T08:01:00.000-07:00

Yeah.. the birthday passed…the party was…uh.. happening I’ve been told. I got so fucking plastered that I walked around with a massive erection and tried to molest every woman I could get my hands on (uh…another reason I prefer weed to alcohol)…but as I slept off the hangover and the shame the reason for my concern came to the forefront…I’m fucking 40!

It’s not the end of the world…other people have achieved this age (so I’ve been told)…but there is a reason for concern…I have shit to show for it.
Well…all that is about to change. The aforementioned TV show that I’ve been “developing” (that’s an industry term for running ads on Craigslist and trying to get unsuspecting women to send me pictures of their bodies)…it’s finally ready to move to the next stage of ….development. Ok…ok.. I’m being facetious. I’ve actually done a lot of work on the show and I didn’t get any naked pictures of women (but I did try).

As you know I hate all my competition and my peers cause I’m a misanthrope who thinks all you hookers work for me, so you should not be surprised that I have some things to comment on and complain about. I’ve been spending my time trying to fuck my ex-girlfriend (I mean she has a sweet pussy) and slowing turning my Z into the most feared car in SCCA autocross (ok..maybe that’s an embellishment). But it all comes together in a nice meat pie (trust me on this).

In order to produce this show I need to have all the pieces, which I have; and I also need to physically get out of the house and talk to a few people who might have some…uh…money! To facilitate this I rejoined my producers group which really doesn’t do that much for me. Well that’s not completely true. I do get to talk a little film, but mostly I’m trying to fuck most of the women in the group…and as of yet I’ve been unsuccessful. Though the organizer of my group…man do I want to hop on her. But being that I’m a feminist (no, really) I need to stop thinking this way…but I am still a man.. so I should be allowed the occasionally hormone inspired delusion.
Anyways… I’ve attended that last three meetings and I’ve been none too happy with what has transpired. Don’t get me wrong, the group does have some good attributes and I would recommend anyone who is just starting out to join a group because you have to practice being near the industry so you know how to act. I, most definitely do not know how to act. I drink too much, I’m always looking for sex and I never met a speed limit I didn’t try to almost double (I drive a fast car)….but we were talking about film.

I’m sure those of you who know me or know this blog are curious how I’m making this “transition” to Television. Well, I’m not. That is not meant to insinuate that I’m not making a TV show.. I most certainly am, but I’m not defecting to TV. I am a filmmaker. I do my best work with several days of shooting, a crew who loves me (can you fucking fake it…Jesus!) and post production that allows me to develop a serious gummy cola habit (gummy colas are the tits). That’s what I’m good at . But I need millions…no, MILLIONS to make my feature. And for those of you that are new to the blog please don’t start with your “you don’t need millions to make a film”… no, you don’t… and you don’t need Billions to make a rocket. If you want the rocket to leave the atmosphere you do…and if you want a reasonable chance for the film to be seen, you do. Get it?!?!

There is no award for making the most from the least (too many superlatives BTW…that statement makes no sense)…but more importantly let me underscore my prima fascia belief.

“It doesn’t matter how cheaply you shoot your film if no one is willing to pay to see it”

…you need to memorize that and think about how it applies to guerilla filmmaking. Yes, I do think there are some…attractive attributes to guerilla filmmaking, but they are far outweighed by the downsides…which are thinking small and only being able to utilize small crews. Sure, you’re really talented…you aren’t constrained by these things… really? So you think a 10 man crew shooting for 2 days at a time over 9 months to complete a short…is going to prepare you for a $5MM feature with an 80 man crew shooting in 20 locations? You don’t want to make those kinds of movies? Then what the fuck are you doing? Your films must get bigger and more involved if you are to have a career…it’s just that simple…

….but I digress.

The TV show is not a …diversion. To the contrary, it’s an ability for us to redress what it is we really want; autonomy. I’m not pitching a “look what I can put in my mouth” TV show. Or a “look how desperate these people are to avoid being alone” TV show (hey.. I’m alone.. It hasn’t killed me)…no, no, no. That’s not what I’m trying to do.
What about a cool concept, with interesting visuals and more to show you than excess? That’s what I have..that’s what I’m going to shoot.

Look…I can yell and scream about how awesome my feature is and how dope my filmmaking skills are…but they aren’t listening and don’t need to listen. Cause there are so many of us shooting and screaming at them (and submitting to them). So we needed something new…and something profitable.

Profit…yeah, that’s the ticket. Film requires the outlay of many thousands if not millions of dollars and then months upon months of waiting for an opportunity to make back your investment and a little more for you trouble. Therefore the TV show is the logical choice for filmmakers like myself.

I aim to produce a show that has the ability to be consumed on broadcast TV, cable, DVD and online streaming/downloads. Flexible media is the key.

It doesn’t matter if the networks say no, I can parse the different portions of the show into discreet media to be consumed by selected audiences…all of which advertise my production company.

Sound crazy?

Cooprdog

I think it's time...

2009-09-02T08:14:00.000-07:00

I'm now 40 yrs of age and still recovering from a massive party I threw in my loft. I really went overboard with hiring roller skating models who wore white cotton panties for me...too bad I got so faded I couldn't chase a single one of them...but whatevers...

I've got a line on some real money for the feature...and I've got a TV show to produce...yeah.. it's about Z cars... (surprise surprise)...

the love life is horrible...the sex life is...complicated... but what's new....

anyways.. this is my hello... I'll try to post frequently...

Cooprdog.

Why

2009-02-05T09:21:00.000-08:00

Why is it that legitimate filmmakers are always searching high and low for investors with little success to generally be had…and conmen, can find a Mark in a matter of seconds? What do the conmen know that we don’t? I have hesitated to comment on this topic because it’s absurd, sophomoric…redundant in a number of respects. At the least, I am demonstrating that I’m far more interested in playing the X’s and O’s of absurd hypothetical than actually doing things that will further my career (yes…more dilemmas, I suggest you get used to them)…yes…more film insanity is what you are witnessing….

….but seriously, what lessons are there to be learned? Conartists create a great con (saving children in the jungle, return on investment), dress the part, play the role and take the Mark for all he’s got. The conman is organized, through, he’s always closing (Always Be Closing), charming, memorable, using body language to gain trust and maybe his greatest strength is his ability to convince the Mark that this is a very limited offer that he needs to act on quickly.

I am proposing that we become con-artists. Dress the part, play the roles and sell the deal. I would have no problem going to a bar and taking part in a con where we pretend to sell a guy some diamonds…I mean I have the balls to do that kind of thing. So how can the film proposition be so different?

I think we are too honest, to caring to trusting; I think we are too willing to do the work that needs to be done and save humanity…instead of being bloodthirsty. Maybe we need a little of both is what I am getting at.

We must think and act like conmen…the only difference is that what we are selling is real…what we are selling is the magic that is the cinema.

COOPRDOG

A New year is a new chance

2009-01-07T10:24:00.000-08:00

Listen, I know what you are going through. The economy is shit, people aren’t fucking you right now, it cold as fuck in LA…and the prospect of filmmaking seems like years off…yeah, I feel you.

That’s why I’ve come up with Cooprdog’s 5 step plan to get you through this.

Step 1: Develop some sort of a substance abuse problem. You’re a lot more interesting and fundable if it looks like you have demons to hide. Take me for example.. I have a substance abuse problem and outstanding warrants…I’m a potential golden globe winner

Step 2: Date someone who is really interesting and kind of strange. Strippers, hookers, people acquitted of double murder are all great potential mates…and no one fucks you like a crazy person so that’s a two-fer.

Step 3: Drive something unusual. Look I know your Honda Accord gets great gas mileage, but it’s like hella safe (might as well be a Volvo). You want something that’s a little older, hopefully with a little rust. Bonus points if there are stains on the seats and somewhat of an odor (tell them the car was used in a bank robbery and a few of the perp’s got shot and killed…and you are keeping it authentic.

Step 5: Don’t live near the beaches. Listen… I really mean this…you have to immerse yourself around real people. Don’t get me wrong I’m the first person to assfuck a Santa Monica Chick…but you don’t want to live there. Makes them think you have money and if you have money you really don’t need money

Ok… once you get all that down then we can move on to the next major portion: Your attitude. You can’t walk around like a little boy who lost his puppy when you are looking for money. Did you see Swingers? “We got to act like we don’t need this shit…and then they give us this shit for free”. I’m totally fucking serious. It’s all about your attitude.
Yes I’m kind of cracking jokes (except for the thing about dating someone interesting – dating a single mom who lives in the valley is just not worth the miles you have to drive) but there is some truth to it. As filmmakers we are individuals…much more individualistic than other arts. This is something you must embrace and wear like a red Badge of courage. It is our singular individualism and our approach to constructing images that will release financing…not how good our scripts are.
Yes, I know you doubt that last statement….but let’s delve a little deeper shall we. If you were to sit down with any group of financiers of American Independent film…specifically those who fund first time feature directors there is one thing that you will hear echoed over and over again. They quest to work with people who have a tremendous amount of vision and who are somewhat uncompromising in the way this vision is executed.
When I’m pursuing investors (when am I not pursuing investors) I often tell the story of two directors who are both looking for funding. Director A lives in the valley, owns his home, is married, has two beautiful kids and is funny. The EP comes over with all the potential investors and this guy fires up the grill…starts his stand-up routine and generally lets everyone know that he’s a swell guy and he has a good film. When asked why they should make this film he responds “..because it will mean a lot to a great many people”. They really like him…but still are unsure if the risk they are assuming is worth the payoff. Then there is director B. He lives in a small apartment that’s kind of messy. The EP is somewhat reluctant to take the investors to meet him because he’s very eclectic. The EP’s become even more curious and literally demand to meet the guy. The EP says “are you sure?” He tells them to meet him at the corner of 5th & Alameda and to wear dark colors. He rendezvous with them and has them follow him to Director B’s apt. Once parked outside he gives them some instruction: “don’t ask him to turn on more lights…he likes it dark”; “Don’t ask him to speak up or to come closer…he’s a bit aloof and likes his space…he’ll come closer when he feels comfortable”; “…and whatever you do, do not…I repeat, do not ask about the stuffed dog!” The investors are scared and excited, they don’t know what to expect. After a few raps on the door the director opens it and lets the entourage in. His apartment is cluttered with DVD’s and movie posters. The guy looks like he just fell off of a fruit truck and when he speaks he seems to be talking to the universe. As strange as this situation is, the investor are captivated. One of them who is more daring than the rest of the lot dares to ask why they should make this film. The director responds “…because if we don’t make it someone could die”.
Yes, I am being a bit facetious…but I think you get my point. For those that don’t make film, for those that don’t write scripts…it’s a very sexy, mysterious business. This is what you need to sell. Now is not the time to pitch safe romantic comedies with a pg-13 rating. Now is the time to take a risk. None of us are really getting funded in this present credit environment…so, why not go for it?
The victory will mean a lot less to you if you play it safe and do exactly what they want.

Go for it, Bitches!

COOPRDOG

3D Hoopla

2008-09-26T07:34:00.000-07:00

If you have been paying attention to the shifting sands and changing territory that is the exhibition industry you are aware that 3D is returning to the theaters in a big way. I live in West Los Angles and I went on the Real D site to search and see how many 3D theaters there are in my metropolitan area. The answer was 50. I wasn’t exactly surprised by that because it’s a given with digital distribution technologies and Dreamworks has announced that they are all-in on 3D films for 2009.
I then began to read blogs and comments on blogs and industry and a whole bunch of shit on 3D cinema and what it means and how it may revive the film industry. I think it’s all a load of shit and I’m about to tell you why.

Even if 3D is as amazing as they say it is, and no – I’ve yet to see one of the new 3D films (I’ll get to that in a second), even if the image is a captivating as they say it is and even if the writers and directors of the film industry can get up to speed fast enough to help this technology turn filmgoing on its ear (talk about a big “if”) I do not believe it will fundamentally change the industry.
Why do you ask? Because, just as I have underscored with digital distribution, this does not address the ills of exhibition. The industry suffers from an overbuilt supply of screens, a homogenization of narratives and an endless supply of sequels to ancient pre-sold property.

But that’s not what I’m really upset about; what really sets my dick on fire is that thought that an element of filmmaking will change how the film is received. We already know that is now true. Directors like Jerry Bruckheimer and James Cameron and Michael Bay were instrumental in making movies (crashes and explosions) big, badder and louder. Whatever the sequence was…it had to be big. This led us to ridiculously long stunt sequences like “The Transporter” where car chases last several minutes (which is laughable because either you get away or you crash…two cars racing nose-to-tail in rush hour traffic or around shipping containers on a dock for an endless amount of time defies the physics of a 3-dimensional universe. Lest we not forget the visual element component of “The Matrix” that ushered in a slew of films that merely had pretty pictures.

What all of this taught us was that no amount of stunts or explosions or visual elements or CGI vistas and landscapes can take the place of a decent script…and that is why I think this new 3D initiative is laughable.
Does feeling as if you are actually in and part of a bad movie not make it as bad? How many elements can you direct at the screen? How much does it enhance a horrible scene if you feel like you can touch the coffee table? I’m not being a dick…these are legitimate questions that need to be answered.

I guess there are sufficient numbers of people that will line up to see The Hulk IV in 3D…but will the premise be any more believable? This country and the world will soon tire of men in tights flying around and saving the world from evil men in tights who wish to destroy the world. The film industry is so concerned with kids themes that it makes me wonder how much juice if left in the fruit?

In a country that is experiencing the largest financial debacle since the great depression, an endless occupation in Iraq, a the largest deficit in history, mass loss of thousands of pensions and retirements due to all of these corporate failures I would think that there is a growing market for adult (non-PG) entertainment.
But that is not what we are going to be sold. The upcoming release schedule for 3D films is almost all kiddie cinema not to mention the resurrection of extremely old narratives. I just am not willing to believe that there is a significant upside for this. Sure, kids are born every year and kids need something to watch…but not 85% of all filmed entertainment.

But that is not really what burns me up. You are witnessing the degradation of the those who create intellectual property…that means writers, actors and directors…not to mention DP’s (cause you can’t really have a DP trying out new techniques in one of these films…you need to stick to what they know…which is static cameras and a lot of watching people talk).

Can you see how quickly the environment has changed and how the pace is quickening? What’s next?...extended sequences with no dialogue which will resemble embedded misuc videos in a film so that we can really show off the technology? Laugh if you want, but this is where we are headed.

Films are driven by narratives. I’ve never seen a great film that didn’t have a great narrative…it’s just that simple. This is not meant to discount the effect of women with big tits, over-the-top-car-stunts, excess profanity or any other portion of your favorite films that made them your favorite…but what makes you return to films like “Swingers” and “Bad Santa” and “The 40 yr old Version” and “Stripes” and “Harold & Kumar go to white Castle” is the writing.
I can’t fucking wait to see how lame this idea becomes. I mean really people…do you think this is going to fly? Here’s a little Cooprdog analogy for you: You can dress up a porn star in the best clothes and give him all the acting classes you want…if he can’t fuck the living shit out of his female co-star the movie ain’t gonna sell (…uh.. I watch a lot of porno).

..ok, I just fucking can’t take it anymore…I gotta get some weed

COOPRDOG

What to do now

2008-09-23T07:30:00.000-07:00

We are in a recession, this much is obvious. Now I am aware that there are those of you out there that still cling to the technical definition of a recession and until you see two successive quarters of contracting GDP you will loudly proclaim that we are not in a recession…but I don’t want to get into all the “maybe this…maybe that” that is economic forecasting and analysis. I want to talk about how this applies to you as a filmmaker.
Whether or not you stay glued to your financial screens, whether or not you can name commentators on CNBC and Bloomberg is irrelevant because we, as an industry, are indelibly linked to the financial industry. I say this because nothing is greenlit without financing and many of those from whom we solicit funds are either direct beneficiaries of, or directly affected by, the status of the financial markets.
Yes, I know… you didn’t go to business school. Most of you are probably not even sure what the Federal Reserve bank does and why it has two rates, but that’s ok (actually it’s not you really need to educate yourself but for the purposes of this discussion it’s…kind of ok) I don’t require you to be able to explain the dual mandate of The Fed. or why the dollar cannot rally in the present environment. What I want to underscore is how this is affecting your desire to have starlets do bumps of coke off your cock.
I, like you, am looking for funds to shoot. I have two options – find someone with access to financing (production company with a fund, studio with a line of credit, entertainment lending institution) or find someone with the cash money and the requisite lack of judgment to give a good chunk of it to a filmmaker. Either way you go, you will encounter persons and entities that are constrained by the credit crunch.
But I think I’m going to quickly… so let’s go over the basics:
1) Mortgages: When a person gets a mortgage on a house that they wish to purchase, their monthly mortgage payments are combined with other monthly mortgage payments to create a stream of cash flows. How you ask? Well, several million people are taking out mortgages each year (in a normal market). That’s several million people paying down on interest and principal on a monthly basis to a bank. Since mortgages come in few varietites (30yr, 15yr, ect.) the length of the payments (amount of time the homeowner will be cutting checks) and the size of the payments is quite predictable. Therefore all these payments can be grouped and sold as a bond. There are different levels for different qualities of mortgages, we call the tranches. The Upper tranche has no prepayment risk and no default risk (well that’s how it’s supposed to work)

An investor can then purchase a bond or a Assest backed security at whatever risk level they want and receive monthly interest on the bond…which is really the monthly mortgage payment that passes through the investment back (deducting fee’s and transaction costs) and then back to the end investor. This Mortgage pass-through vehicle is a cornerstone of our economy.
The subprime problem was that a number of these mortgages were written to people who don’t have the income to cover the rapid increase in their interest rate (a typical ARM can be readjusted 200 basis points (2 percent) per annum)…this causes a cashflow problem.
Due to the cashflow problem, banks won’t take the mortgages as collateral and banks won’t admit how much of their mortgage portfolio’s contain this bad mortgage debt.

2) No Lending means no Liquidity: Liquidity can be thought of as excess funds. If your car drops its transmission – and you have ample liquidity in your checking account or other investments – you can cover the temporary increase in expenditures without paying your rent or carpayment late.
Now… how does this effect entertainment lending? Well there is this thing called a reserve requirement, this is the portion of funds depostited in a bank that must physically be on the premises at any given time. What happens is that a panic sweeps through the financial markets, people want to see and hold their money, but if more than 10% of the depostiors try to withdraw funds on a single day…the bank would become insolvent.
So, banks call in their lines of credit because the need the excess reserves and as a result there is less money in circulation and less money available to lend and the money that is being lent, is being done so at much higher rates.

What does this mean to you? Well, all the slick motherfuckers that have these lines of credit in the film industry have received letters and phone calls informing them that the size of the line of credit (and in some cases the entire thing) has been severely reduced and the cost to use what remains has significantly increased. So we now see an entertainment lending environment where less risk is desirable. Companies can still make films, but they will shoot few films and try to reign in the budgets to further reduce the risk.
So, why make a $50M action vehicle that may be in post production for several months, when you can shoot a $2M romantic comedy with a B-list actor and take your chances at the box office. Maybe that example is a little absurd (not really) but that’s the environment that we are facing.
If you haven’t noticed, there is a whole bunch of nothing going on. Now is a good time to write a script, develop an addiction, go back to school or go to a writers retreat…because things will be slow for while.

What am I doing? I’m looking for small and medium sized production companies that have scaled down their production schedule or producing all together…and trying to see if I can do some freelancing.
What is in demand right now is skilled shooters. If you are a mini-DV hack with little understanding of how films are funded and distributed then you present a serious liability for anyone who works with you. This is not a time to be experimental (not that I ever think you should stop thinking outside the box) this is a time to be practical. If you can bring a project in – ontime and under budget without all the primadonna shit that normally accompanies principal photography you will find yourself busy. If you have a multi-hyphenate designation (writer-Director, DP-director, Director-editor) you are extremely valuable right now.

Flight to quality: The term “flight to quality” is what we in finance refer to as a large movement of funds from corporate bonds and riskier issues to Treasury bonds – which give less of a return but are guaranteed against default. Similarly if you were to sell all your shares in Mom-and-Pop-Ltd. And use the proceeds to buy shares of a reasonably large blue chip stock with strong fundamentals (cash flow, sales growth, ect.) that would also be termed as a flight to quality.
We also have a flight to quality in film. It is really not in a production company’s best interest to make wild bets on unproven talent with scripts in genres and visual territory that most of America is not familiar with. Sure, you could have a break out hit – but the chances are few in such an environment and the downside (an unwillingness to back your ideas in the future) is quite considerable.
Now listen to me, I’m not telling you to start writing scripts about little girls who cry and just wish they had a better relationship with their Daddy…I’m telling you to circle your wagons and focus on your strengths. When this blows over there will be a scramble like we haven’t seen in quite some time. When the trust and the financing returns everyone cannot continue to make “safe” films because the market will have reached a saturation point.
Your job is to maximize the return (financial, artistic, critical or otherwise) for a given budget and script in the hopes that when they are ready to get a little “racier” that you will be the obvious choice.

Ok.. I have a script to write you bitches….

COOPRDOG

Where I have been

2008-09-17T04:47:00.000-07:00

I have been enjoying the silence. That is where I have been and that is what I have been doing. Allowing all of those critical of my ideas and intentions to question my commitment to film and art and loudly proclaim that I am (was) all smoke and mirrors. I simply became tired of being that guy…you know, that one that just talks and never seems to do anything. Well, that’s not really a fair assessment of my artistic past because I have shot a film…but for the film industry that was eons ago. Suddenly all my work in public access and bullshit student productions is all but forgotten. Suddenly my Epic/calling card short that was so full of visual style and production value and ego that the “independent” claim of Scott and myself was perpetually in question was now just a short. So what if I shot on film, so what if I had car stunts and insurance and production cubes…it was all old news for most people.

I tired of my stump speeches and the never-ending optimism that filmmakers are supposed to have; it has always been grossly out of step with my rigid, glass-half-empty, east coast approach to situations. So I decided to stop the marketing I am so famous for. I must say that I enjoyed the curious change in the approach to dealing with me. It seems that when you talk incessantly about a topic to the extent that the words “obsessive” and “compulsive” are often used in close proximity to your name (and not in the good sense) that the masses begin to distance themselves. Of course now, now I have lost the love for film, now that I am apparently consumed by doubt in my own abilities and fear of my own success the end is supposedly near. Now the rumors are that I am afraid, or even worse have decided to just spend Mom’s money and fuck chicks and leave all that “accomplishing things on my own” shit on the back burner.

If there are two things you should know about me it is as follows. Rarely am I silent, rarely do I not have a comment to make or an opinion to give to those who are willing (and unwilling) to listen; additionally I have no real fear of failure. Fear of failure is something that is reserved for those who haven’t tried to do that much, haven’t failed that often and haven’t gotten back up several times after a good hit (good hit…good hit!). Luckily I’ve dropped a baton at the Penn Relays in front of more than 10K people, failed CFA level -1 three consecutive times, lost 35 straight track event races, had 5 shorts die in principal photography and had my heart broken so many times that intelligent people question what is the purpose of reassembling all the pieces for yet another attempt, blown an engine in my Z, made a woman pregnant, got my moped impounded by Marlton’s finest minutes after I promised my mother I wouldn’t ride it till I got my license . And lest we not forget the illustrious dating past like moving tweaker Melissa into my apartment so she could work on her meth addiction full-time with no interruptions, or maybe I should mention how I found out that a girlfriend of mine got engaged to another man during a highly publicized lawsuit against one of the major networks…and my attorney found out before I did. Maybe I should discuss the infamous Kristine who dated me for nearly 5 straight years and never introduced me to her parents, or maybe I should talk about Jamie and how I woke up one day and realized that I had been foolish and that 10 years of my life was never going to return and would pay no dividends…I guess what I’m trying to say is that I am no stranger to loss.
Never do I quit. I’m down for the get down…I’m up for the down stroke, I’m in it win it ( call me Lotto bitches!) the real deal like Holyfield…this is who I am, this is where I am…so let the chorus of the doubtful sing, I have long been tone deaf to their harmony’s. I have never quested to be the most well know or the most well paid or the most fucked or the most recognized…and this is what it looks like. I am no more discouraged than Arthur Miller before the breakthrough of “Death of a Salesman” so you can stop worrying about me.
I am quite amused by those who think that I’m a spoiled brat who always get what he wants and has never had to work for anything. These are the things that are being said about me on a nearly daily basis. The concern has reached a fever pitch. It is due to this situation, these concentric circles of doubt that surround my film existence that I wish to address.

Film is all that matters to me. Don’t get me wrong, my Z is almost as precious as my dick and I really miss Cooper (I had to put him down)…but this has always been about film for me. Film is the reason I stopped speaking to my father, film is the reason I didn’t marry Kristine. Film is the reason I moved to west in the middle of the night after a nasty fight with a girlfriend 15 years my senior. Film is the reason I didn’t speak to my mother for 5 years. Film is the reason that Canada and I didn’t make it. Film is the reason I threw a book across the media section of Border’s Books on the promenade and was summarily ejected from the store. Film has been the motivating factor in my life since before College (I’m about to turn 40…well next year… (Fuck you Jody!)). So the notion that I have somehow given up…is ludicrous. It is the sole meaning for my existence and those who say different have never really had a conversation with me…that much is obvious.
Success can never be measured in the present tense, you would think that we would understand this by now. I, for one, enjoy this loss of respect by the industry in general. It has given me an opportunity to taste defeat yet again. To sink my teeth in to the darkest, coldest, emptiest feeling that most of us will come to know…the inability to live up to your intellectual and creative potential. For those that never try, for those that set the bar low…this is never a concern. You don’t worry about your vertical leap or even your handles when you are playing on an 8ft rim.
But this is not a pity party and this is not a “hey, look at me blog”…this is what filmmaking is. After you get the money, after you tell the lies, after you shoot, after you get to picture lock, after you raise a ruckus on the festival circuit…you may very well return to the withering desert that is the development of projects and the search for funds.
So yet again the quest a begins, yet again the quest continues…one in the same really. Film be it development or production, financing or post is a perpetually state of “Jesus-fucking-Christ I have to get this shit done.” And this is where I am…
This will not be a long blog by Cooprdog standards but I do believe that it will communicate effectively to its intended audience. To those of you who have been on the beaten path for quite some time, for those of you who find themselves defending positions and attitudes you have long established and many times defended, fear not. You are not alone and you are not losing your mind. Well, that’s not completely true, you cannot work in this industry for any severe length of time and not have a sizable loss of your wits…but that’s the point. It’s the journey and not the destination.
Yeah, I get that you want to have big tittied women riding your shaft (or soup-can cocked studs drilling you into submission) while extolling the virtues of high speed photography and simple camera set-ups; but is that really why you do it? I understand that the money and the fame and the power that comes with a hot feature is a very intoxicating mix of rewards and respect, but is that why you do it? I can see that the ability to have one of the badass DGA jackets and to have your whip always valet parked in the front of every establishment is a beauty of a perk (Beauty Clark)…but is that why you do it?
Let me tell you why I do it. Because I have to, because the voices never stop, because I haven’t slept since the early 80’s, because every time Spielberg makes a film people like me become more and more invisible, because every time Lucas adds another installment or re-releases another installment of his mammoth epic I am haunted by the fact that according to him and Gene Roddenberry’s legacy that there are few blacks and few women in our not too distant future. Because Kevin Smith doesn’t really have anything to talk about that doesn’t include dick jokes or comic book themes. Because “Iron Man” is an ancient piece of intellectual property, so is “Fast and the Furious” and “Batman” and all the shiny, happy shit that they love to release.
What I am trying to communicate to you is that this is much larger than me and the stakes are much higher than blows to my ego and a loss of face. That being stated, my temporary absence should be seen as temporary…for people like myself can never stay away from the art for long.
So…why do you do it? What have you been up to? And what are you trying to prove? It is going to be a very long journey my friends and this is not the time to get cold feet. I’m here till they shut the industry down or I die of a venereal disease (she better be hot though).

COOPRDOG

2008-09-17T04:39:00.001-07:00

testing

Where it's at...

2008-05-30T10:21:00.000-07:00

The process of filmmaking is not nearly as confusing as they would have us believe and at the same time it’s far more complicated than the “Shoot your first film in 30 days” filmmaking books that seem to endlessly inhabit the bookshelves of filmmaking bookstores. This isn’t as confusing as it seems…trust me.

For starters, making a film is not as complicated as say, bringing someone back to life or curing cancer. I have chosen a some drastic example because due to the nature of the processes that must happen to create a film…there is a general feeling that it’s kind of impossible; but is it? There are only three things that need to happen; you need the script/film/project that you want to shoot, you need the money to shoot it and you need the patience and discipline to finish these tasks…that’s it. While it is true that these steps make take you several years to complete, they are hardly impossible. The game is to make you think that it can’t really be done or even visualized on a small scale. This is pretty much where filmmaking has been since its inception, like it or hate it…it has come to define what this art form is.

And then there is the other side of the street where the booksellers and the IFP people tell you that filmmaking is not really that complicated, that anyone can do it. Well, we all know that this is not true. While just about anyone can raise/borrow money, find a script and some actors and start shooting, that’s a far cry from the meticulous process of creating a unique and individual film. I find it amusing that all the books and all the gurus and all the secret websites that divulge all this “precious” information have really had only one effect; homogenization of filmmaking.

Has it not occurred to you that if all of us read the same books, are inspired by the same films and strive to be like the same director that we will create a boring and stagnant media? We are not making widgets and we are not slapping shiny patches on cheap clothing. Films have a real value that we call rewatchability and it’s what separates the good from the truly horrible.

I am stating these things because I have the answer. Yes, I know that I have said that before, but I mean it this time…I mean… I’m ready to tell you what I’ve been up to.

I’ve realized that self-distribution is the only way to go, but that in and of itself is a misleading statement. Self-distribution as we understand it is one maybe two people, driving around the country in a VW bus or Vanagon with 8 ½ X 11 monochrome onesheets that are four-walling theaters and hoping the Gods of limited release smile upon them…that’s not what I am talking about. Nor am I talking about digital distribution…here’s a newsflash, I hate digital distribution…and here’s another newsflash, I’m not the only one.

I am only concerned with physical delivery. Digital has a lot of empty promises and I have not time for that shit. What empty promises you ask?

The empty promises of Digital distribution:

1) If films just need to be downloaded from a server, then there are no “real” distribution costs and hence distributors will take more risk and be more open to “non-traditional” film.

This is the biggest line of bullshit I’ve ever heard. For starters, digital distribution requires consolidation of the industry. How do I come to that opinion in the early stages of the digital initiative? Well, I’m looking at the process of exhibition a film now. We used to rely on physical prints being duplicated and mailed around the country (planet) to be screened. The physical delivery system allows any print to played in any theater at anytime, digital does not do this. The file that your film is compressed into has to be bounced off of a satellite. How many people either have a satellite or have enough money, clout and political connections to get their shit put on a satellite that is about to launch? Not many! But I’m ignoring the obvious, all these files rely on codec’s which I’ll call the compression/decompression process of playing the file. Now if you are a tin-foil hat wearing crazy man like myself you know that there really aren’t’ that many different companies making the codec that allows you to play a film. It’s a handful of companies vying for dominance…but let’s look deeper shall we? The codec allows the file to be played only at certain times and only on the associated equipment. There is no open-source in this industry, there is no “opening the great coffers” or art. On the contrary, the codec system; the small number of players, the inability to play the file where you want and when you want (without paying for additional screenings) is nonexistent. So, let me ask you this: Do you think it will be easier to get your film screened when it has to be downloaded than if it were a physical print?

Now, I am obviously using the extreme examples to make my point, but my point (and examples) are still valid. Digital distribution is a consolidation of power of the major players and those who wish to be major players. It allows content providers to not only monitor each playing of their media, but also to make the entire process more profitable. But that’s not really why I am against digital distribution, my real reason is much more upsetting.

Digital distribution does not fundamentally change the way you view films. Yes, it’s a 1 or a 0 instead of light passing through a frame…but we are still selling tickets, screening films and standing in line to do so. The only real difference is that digital gives the studio and the distributor a lot more control. But you don’t have to believe me; go over to some of the numerous sites and blogs dedicated to the exhibition industry and read what the theaters have to say. Read how theater owners don’t really understand why they need to spend several million dollars to digitally project the same shitty movies they were sent last year. This is a money grab that had nothing to do with expanding the geography of indie films (both in story creation and where the films play), but wait it gets better. We have been told that the new, more efficient, non-tangible delivery system will reduce the implicit and sunk costs of distribution making it a safer endeavor for everyone…oh really?

Well, let me throw this at you: if it costs less for distributors to acquire and distribute films, how does this change your life as a filmmaker? Only if distributors take increased risk in purchasing films, only if producers take more risk in developing projects and greenlighting projects will we see this happen. But we are seeing the opposite with digital distribution. The whole “bouncing media off satellites” thing seems to not mention doing so with small indie films…because that would defeat the purpose. They want rapid consumption of popcorn entertainment and PG-13 content and while you yourself might create those kinds of things (I don’t know why…we have a ton of it) the body of American Independent film is much different from that description.

2) Digital is better.

Is it? In what manner do you mean? Is it a more real, more true image? Are the presence of 1’s and 0’s more sensitive and romantic than the light that bounced off of an object? There is less of a chance of films being screened in the incorrect aspect ratio? There is less of a chance of bad films being shot? Please, film has one component that will never change…the participation of people. Someone has to play the file and someone has to buy the ticket and someone has to write the script. There is a feeling that once digital distribution arrives that it will run itself…c’mon now, do you really believe that? People will download the file, people will play the file and screen the film. Sure you can automate the process, but you will have to watch it eventually, and you will have screen it for people eventually. You will have to talk about the process and you will have to make guarantee’s. This is a relationship business and that will never change. Digital is not better, digital is not worse…it’s just a different format.

3) We can switch between films more quickly and thus films will be more profitable and then the theaters will take more chances and show more films…cause they have more idle time.

Contrary to popular belief the switching of reels is not what takes time. Cleaning the theater takes times and showing you ad’s takes time. The theater makes a fair amount of income from showing you advertisements and they are disinclined to limit the appearance of them…but I’m getting off point. The ability to quickly change between films (forms of media) meaning nothing when the dynamics of human resource deploying are what really limit the speed of screening films. But wait…there’s more. It’s not really in a theaters best interest to constantly flip through media. We are all creatures of habit and we know what we like. People go to midnight movies because there are film screening at midnight. The speed at which they can switch from the latest Hugh Grant romantic comedy to the Rocky Horror Picture show has no real effect on the revenues.

4) It’s a better picture

Really? Do you think that most of you could tell the difference between 200 frames shot on digital and 200 frames shot on 35mm? Do you think the average person could? Let’s go further shall we? Say I have some legendary film… like “Titanic”. Assume further that I am screening this film in theater #1 in 35MM and theater #2 digitally projected and that I charge the same price; which theater will sell out first? Will the viewers have a preference? The answer is no… unless you are a filmmaker the differences between film and digital are so subtle that you won’t notice them. So that begs to ask the question: if I charged a dollar more for digital would people pay the additional dollar for the experience? Let’s go even further and charge a dollar less for film. But we know that movie attendance is heavily dependent on ticket prices (negatively correlated) and viewers will always gravitate to lower prices (that’s why theaters have reduced prices for matinee). What we do know is that the only thing that matters to audience is the quality of the film (story). How it is delivered to them is of no consequence.

5) Digital is the future!

Is it? Are you sure? I am sure that we will continue to watch films as long as we exist, but that is all that I am sure of. Digital does not fundamentally change the way we make and view films. The core business has not changed so what makes you think that this is the only way this can go down? Film is not music. We take music with us, we play music in a variety of different places…not so with film. You can watch a feature in your car, or on you Iphone or in your house on your plasma. But none of that is remotely similar to the spectacle of 35MM projection. Film does suffer greatly from compression and a lack of attention. To truly be appreciated it must be seen on a large screen in the dark with persons who are attentive.

It was due to all of these things that I decided to start my own distribution company, a physical distribution company. In the coming days I will explain it all to you…if you’re still reading me that is?

COOPRDOG

Don't you Believe it...

2008-04-21T09:07:00.000-07:00

That’s the question I have, do they mean what they say? When you go to these symposiums and lectures and meet and greets and meet established film personnel and they say something like “give me a call next week” or “I think I know someone who might be interested in your film, we should talk” what does that mean? It certainly doesn’t mean call me, or stop by my office. This behavior is often met with repeated dishes to voicemail or “he’s in a meeting, can I take a message”. I know I sound like I’m just bitchin’, but let’s seriously talk about this.

We know that most of our industry is appearance. We are well aware that handshakes and business cards don’t amount to very much in this industry. But because this is a relationship business and all of the deals are made by people who know each other in one capacity or another, it behooves you to play this game.

This is where I think we start to stray. We are clamoring to have pretend conversations with individuals who really can’t be bothered. I supposed if they saw a really impressive film, and weren’t in the middle of receiving oral sex or being charged with murder that maybe they would help us. I supposed if they weren’t flying to wherever the fuck they fly to and having “real” meetings, that one of us could get a shot.

But that’s just it. I am starting to think that it’s all window dressing. I’m starting to think that much of our interaction with the Hollywood Apparatus (because I consider myself an independent) is make-believe. Don’t get me wrong, I do believe that real conversations and real deal are being discussed somewhere…just not where they tell us.

I think it is in everyone’s best interest that new filmmakers not become immediately discouraged with the size of the task of making a film. This is where the lip service enters in. I think that those who give us lip service are well aware of the odds and probably chances of you actually having a conversation with someone who can help you; therefore they participate in these round-table-discussions where they are instructing no-budget shooters on how to get a completion bond and what talent agency financing is because it’s a nice way for them to feel good about their chosen occupation and to “talk to the little people”. I’m not saying it’s all ego and lip service, but it’s not like they come to these things prepared to meet the next great director.

I am incessantly bombarded with invites to marketing discussions and limited speaking engagements by film industry “insiders”…and I show up only to hear them bloviate on their experiences in this industry and how they got to the top. The fact that the environment from hence theses projects came is forever changing and old strategies rarely work seems to never be discussed.

Lemme tell you, nothing makes my dick drool faster than a Baby-Boomer who entered the industry at a time when it was geometrically less competitive that it is right now, and tell me that all I have to do is….they have such courage and conviction when telling you to confronts odds that they never would have confronted…do you see the hypocrisy?

The gall, the arrogance of these people who didn’t have to take half of the personal inventory that the contemporaries have to…and elicit advice like “just keep at it”. Please, I would have loved the opportunity to compete in the mid 70’s, or the mid 80’s….but I digress…

Just keep at it: This is the advice given to prodigy’s and people who are utterly and completely wasting their time. The level and intent of the statement utter is identical. You have no real way of knowing if you are wasting your life and you possible retirement income until you blow up or file bankruptcy.

It is for that reason that I don’t give a fuck…I really don’t. I don’t care if my film gets made (lie), I don’t care if I ever get married (truth) and I really don’t care if I die tomm (at least I’d die as an artist that refused to compromise).

Ok..have to book my next movie theater distribution possibility meeting.

COOPRDOG

The Big Thing

2008-04-18T13:39:00.000-07:00

What is the one thing that we seek? What is the one single thing that dictates and motivates this industry? Financing? Is that your answer? No, financing is not what I’m talking about. Don’t get me wrong – financing is what is needed to secure the funding to actually shoot the picture; but financing is a byproduct of having all your ducks in a row. There is nothing magical about raising the financing for your film, it’s a matter of securing all the pieces you need to release the financing.

I’m talking about distribution, plain and simple. That is the big thing that I am working on. That is what has been driving me crazy, that is what I have been not talking about.

First and foremost let’s get one thing straight, I am not talking about digital distribution. I am not an advocate of digital distribution, nor do I think that digital distribution and to a certain extent digital technologies are not in our best interest. I’m not going to devote a lot of time to this topic because most of you either don’t care about the debate or are extremely pro-digital both as a shooting format and a distribution platform.

But I will say this much…many of you that call yourselves filmmakers. Many of you writers turned shooters and actors turned director/producer/editor that refer to the possibilities of these new “technologies” seem to think that it is all academic. You emphatically believe that some form of cosmic transitive property exists to prove that if you shoot inexpensively and distribute inexpensively that the aggregate number of films produced each year will increase – and these films will be “better” films with more inclusive narratives and more diverse casts. The promise of digital technology is to forever level the playing field so that anyone with basic means and a library card can participate. Now if you smoke a lot of weed for consecutive days while having anal sex with your girlfriend (Girlfriend…what’s a girlfriend) you’ll soon come to the conclusion that all these new camera’s available to all these new people who had been shut out of the industry and it’s discourse since its inception will usher in a renaissance of the artform. Gone forever would be the dreams and delusions of old white men who have lived privileged lives and seek to expand the influence of those lives through the media. This is essentially the promise of digital as a format and shooting methodology and it is digital distribution that is supposed to truly delivery this to the humble masses.

But what have we seen? What trends and types of behavior have we seen arise since the dawn of the Cannon XL-1? We have seen an explosion in the number of films being shot and submitted to festivals (Sundance had over 8000 submission this year, I last applied in 2006 - there were 4300 submissions then). Competition for grants and funding is so laughable that many don’t even consider it (not that this is a bad thing). Since a vast majority of the new entrants to filmmaking have little if any filmmaking experience it’s no surprise that the level of technical proficiency (read: prettiness) has decreased even faster than the pace of growth in filmmakers. And what has all this given us? What trends do we see?

1) Ample supplies of economically affordable equipment and inexpensive film stock (DV tapes) have created an environment where the average filmmaker feels that filmmaking is inexpensive and can be duplicated on a small scale for certain results.

This is in my opinion the most destructive part of the digital initiative. A film is a huge animal that eats constantly, that’s truly the only way to think about it. For example, assume that I call you one day and say that I’m buying a Polar Bear to keep as a pet. Now I’m not sure you can even buy a Polar Bear or if he can get a Visa and negotiate all the TSA/Homeland security shit to get into the States – but whatever; say I get it all sorted and I’m going to do it. How many pounds of fish do you think I’ll need to feed this polar bear every month? 300lbs? 300lbs is a lot of fucking fish to store for a month and guess what? A polar bear can hold 165lbs of food in its stomach. Needless to say I’d need a lot of fucking fish to feed my polar bear. The point is that there is no such thing as a small film. There is no such thing as spending a little money. Sure there is a difference between a $3K film and a $200MM film..but 60% over budget is 60% over budget – no matter what the base is. Things are going to get fucked up and things are not going to play out exactly as you have planned them…assuming that you actually had a plan and didn’t try to wing it. My point is that we should never, ever marginalize the massive physical, financial and emotional cost of shooting a film. This attitude is what has led to the downward slide in technical proficiency. There are a lot of things you could do other than shoot a modest short film (like put a new transmission in your car). Don’t underestimate the COST of your film.

2) In an effort to increase festival submissions and hence festival attendance, festivals have embraced low-cost DV films and often hold a film shot by an “amateur” or for lack of a better term “non-solely filmmaking as a career path” filmmakers to illustrate that there is nothing special or intrinsic about filmmaking.

I can’t begin to tell you how much this irks me. Det. Bud and I have had so fucking many conversations about why shitty films get made. Shitty films get made because shitty films get screened…it’s that simple. Festival directors seem to think their job is to give every filmmaker a voice and a means to screen their films because they made them. That’s altruistic bullshit. For starters the job of the festival is to protect the artform for losing its significance and its identity. It does this by only screening films…not TV pilots, not 1 act play that have been filmed, not dance numbers that have been films. The festival is the first real experience any filmmaker has with the “industry”. It doesn’t have to be the nasty, “fuck you – Pay me” thing that it is currently. Filmmakers, you do not get points for trying - just like rocket scientists…if the motherfucker doesn’t fly…you failed. When I go to a festival and a see a short film shot on DV that has a camera that shakes constantly, is shot at night with no additional lighting so we are sitting in the dark listening to voice and catching the occasional silhouetted figure, has extremely poor dialogue or has camera set-ups so poor that it’s often hard to make out what kind of room or structure the actors are in…when I see this…I know that things will only get worse. Sure, I shoot film…sure, I’m what they call elitist, a film-only guy who has the means to shoot it…whatever, call me whatever, but the fact of the matter is this. Camera placement does matter, refocusing and repositioning the camera in the middle of a shot is distracting, bad acting is intolerably, poorly lit shots are unwatchable. It is the festivals duty to prohibit these films from screening…this should be their basic function. But it isn’t and we all know why that is. Cause filmmakers like to send checks. And shitty filmmakers like to send lots of checks. The spending of money is so closely associated with this artform that it’s not that uncommon to meet a filmmaker that thinks their monetary expenditures justifies their artistic claims. And if all that wasn’t bad enough there is an agenda that we have to combat. That agenda is the new “personality” of independent filmmaking. I’ll put it to you like this: it’s a lot easier to sell copies of Filmmaker Magazine if the cover story is on a 58 yr old mother of 5 who woke up one day, shot a film, got accepted to Sundance and is now “in” the industry. Shit, I even wanna read that and I don’t normally care about 58yr old women unless I’m trying to fuck them. But my point is that it’s chic, en vogue to be a filmmaker now…especially one with no training. Festivals understand this (as do booksellers) and they cater to them. Still happy to be a filmmaker?

3) Though filmmakers have the means with which to tell any stories that they choose, they curiously tend to only write, direct and edit along the lines of the traditional Hollywood model in an attempt to break into the industry.

Ok, this makes me fucking laugh my ass off. So, my dear DV shooting, new agey, altruistic, love-thy-neighbor filmmakers – where is the diversity? Why is that even though you now have the means to shoot what you want, how you want and where you want (prettiness doesn’t matter, remember…it’s all about the story) that you don’t give us anything new? I can tell you why. Because newness comes from ideas and you don’t have ideas…you have desire. You have the desire to shoot a film and DV gave you the means. But if you’ve never really thought about film, never really thought about the cinema…then it’s going to be tough to bring something new to the cinema. But it goes even deeper than that. That’s just part of the problem…the real problem is that the Hollywood mindset and archetype is so deeply ingrained in your mind that you recreate it from memory. No, that’s not a joke. Just read Craigslist’s film/TV section and tell me how often you come across a female lead that’s blonde haired and blue eyed. Tell me how many gangster films are shooting, how many horror slasher low-budget horror films are looking for financing…a lot. I think the dilemma was how to use all this new shit to get hired by the people who hired the people who made the old shit…and then sell them some new shit. The problem is when we do get hired we tend to forget about the new shit and stick with the tried and true. I guess I have to be the first to say that a vast majority of the filmmakers that have flocked into filmmaking and have embraced digital have Lucas or Spielberg as their favorite director. I assume there are a few lover of James Cameron and Michael Bay out there as well. None of these directors are challenging the status quo, quite the contrary they are the status quo. I’m not trying to make you pro or con digital technology…I just want you to see what the fuck is going on. Where are the films about the stories that we never hear about? Where are the different points of view that were smothered by the Hollywood model? Where is all this pent up, artistic talent that the man has kept hidden?

The media archetypes that are sold to all of us, marketed to us dozens of times a second have an autoplay back feature. The beauty of the Starbucks commercial is that it makes you act and feel like you are in a Starbucks. The digital liberation has given many of us the means to recreate many of the images and themes that are repetitively sold to us. This is what we are doing, emulating the oppressive imagery that we sought to break away from. I

4) Filmmaking has become “something to do” in a certain amount of time - be it a summer vacation or a semester. The belief is that a majority of the skill set required to assemble a film can be learned in a relatively short period of time.

My main bone of contention is the feeling that filmmaking is no longer a lifelong vocation. You can play a guitar or a piano for a lifetime and not learn everything about the instrument but filmmaking which has vastly more moving parts and is so large that you can’t even see all of it in one glace, but you can learn all you need to know if a few weeks (or days if you take a weekend course. This is a dangerous idea for a number of reason but to explain it I think I need to compare this to other professions. You can’t just become an attorney. You have to go to law school and pass the bar. This is a physical barrier to entry in the industry that insures that only certain individuals will ever be able to call themselves lawyers. This is how we need to think. 5 million filmmakers looking for financing and release dates is nobody’s idea of a picnic. If we do nothing else as an industry we need to reduce our numbers. Yes, I said reduce our numbers. Less filmmakers means less people competing for financing and release dates. My degree is in economics and it’s about restricting the supply of filmmakers. I compete in the arena of first-time feature directors who want to shoot on 35MM. Believe it or not this is not a huge group of people. Sure all of us would like to shoot on 35, but how many refuse to shoot on anything else? Few of us. How many of my competition have shot a long form short (longer than 20 mins) on film? How many are looking for more than $2MM. I am in a small pool of applicants and that’s how I like it. We must remove filmmaking and its jargon from the lexicon of the average American. Filmmaking must become mysterious again. We need to put the curtain back up and not let them know how we make the magic happen. To refuse is to forever put a serious crimp in out importance and our earning potential…filmmaking is revolution, when will you realize this?

5) The act of producing a film and the reception and “successfulness” that the film receives have been forever divorced. It is now acceptable to shoot films just for the sake of seeing if it can be done…promotion of that work and concerns about how it fits into the overall body of film are not of consequence.

I guess our society is to blame for this and filmmaking is just a rather blatant example. There is a common belief that trying is what matters. This no doubt arise from a desire to de-emphasize winning so as not to marginalize all the children that are not overly athletically or intellectually gifted and may not “win” any type of competition. I can understand that…I don’t like it cause I’m an overachiever and I think it gives the less proficient and reason for their lack of proficiency so they don’t try that hard…but that’s just me. When it comes to filmmaking this is an extremely dangerous frame of thought. We make films to show them to people, Period! Any film that doesn’t not make it out of post or is never screened with any level of frequency (festivals, community screenings, conventions) is a waste of resources. I am truly amazed at people who shoot films and screen them only once or twice. Why is that? Does your film suck so bad that you are afraid to show it to people? Or are you too lazy to seek out screening opportunities because it’s so “hard” to do? Whatever your excuse it’s not good enough. There is no partial credit here. If your film didn’t get finished, you failed. If you didn’t submit to festivals…you are oblivious to why we make films. If you didn’t apply to enough festivals to get accepted to even one of them…then you lack the drive to be a filmmaker. This is what it is…if you think this sucks…then guess what, filmmaking sucks (yes, it’s true). Here, let me use myself as an example. I have to raise $4MM to shoot this feature. If I don’t do it, I’m a failure…plain and simple. Fear the failure, fight against it…it’s the only real driving force we have…so embrace it (…and you can still drink soy milk and fuck your vegan GF….But does she swallow meat eater cum? That’s the real question)

I’ve been meeting with movie theaters and discussing numbers. I have realized that Big Hit Productions is not a production company that distributes its own films, it’s a distribution company that shoots its own content. My big idea is to put together a coalition of theaters and 4 wall my film in my own limited release strategy. If I can get a screening agreement/distribution agreement…then I can release my financing…..

Ok… that’s enough for today… I guess.

COOPRDOG

The Nature of Independent Film

2008-04-17T12:17:00.001-07:00

I can’t get it out of my head. I can’t sleep, I can’t think of anything else other than film and that’s no different from every other day of my life except that these are not the illustrious illusions of a director. These are not the political backdrops of my love of Ayn Rand and my allegiance to George Orwell (Rest in peace good Sir) nor are they the rolling hills and elusive imagery of “Watershipdown” or the beautiful taste of the life and the death of “The Murder of Helen Jewitt”. I see no the light at the end of the tunnel or the great precipice that I have at times feared; just a blankness of an absence of thought and absence of reason and of purpose. This is not what I had been told, what I had been conditioned to expect from my subconscious as I began to achieve my artistic potential. No, these are the convoluted thoughts of a madman. I often awake in the middle of the night, drenched in sweat nearly trembling at the vision I have just witnessed. In the back of my head I am sure that we are near the end. I am sure that these are the last days and that I am one of the last directors that will actually create. Soon it will be a self-reflexive system of videogames begetting films that beget TV shows that beget novellas that beget graphic novels that beget webisodes that are developed into a franchise that will release a new version of the videogame “that started it all” on its 20^th anniversary.

I have been wrong all my life, film has a finite existence, the world has a finite existence and we are all about to die; of this I am sure. The terrifying visions that born again Christians fear, pales in comparison to the digital world of mindless and physically implausible stunts, endless romantic comedies with pointless resolutions that are relevant in not even the least capacity and lest we not forget the never-ending children’s saga’s or magical places and whimsical creatures and distressed little girls.

It is clear to me now, my mission, my reason to write, the reason I have a big dick and a keen intellect…I’m supposed to save someone, something…anything I guess, but I have chosen film.

I carry this burden like a dead dog on my back. Your best friend that you refuse to let go off, that your refuse to leave by the side of the road for animal control or the vultures or the urban wannabe vampires to use for their twisted rituals. It is a pointless and tiresome effort that may change absolutely nothing, yet still I try.

I try to convince those of you that have read (or should I say skimmed) 95 of the 180 pages of the latest “filmmaking is so fucking easy I can do it while I’m sucking cock” – book, that more than practicing making films you need an attitude. My attempts to enlighten and educate the lesser of us only results in my excited utterances of passion that take the form of “yes, I think you should quit, because you suck” or my personal favorite … “No, I don’t think you are part of the problem – I think you are the problem. If you died tomorrow everything would be fucking awesome.” But its statements like that that are why I don’t have a lot of filmmaking friends. Not that I mind much; have you spoken to your average independent filmmaker lately?

The ones with the big ideas who can’t tell you who their favorite director is (because they are so many good ones) or what kind of films they want to make (I just want to tell good stories) and lest we not forget the soapboxers who are really passionate about the topic they are making a film about (hmmm… lemme guess…a social issue?) and film is just a means through which to make even more noise about dolphins in the Tuna nets and all that shit. And yes, that is a tragedy…just not the kind of thing you need primes lenses to explain.

Have we completely lost our fucking way? Does anyone remember what it was like before this age of Hollywood dawned on us? Do you remember packing into a movie theater with 5-7 somewhat drunk and rowdy friends to see a Freddy Kruger film…and cheering every time someone got killed. That was fun, harmless in my opinion. And now what do I have? I have the art of killing, the art of dismemberment and the art of torture. Here’s a confession – I’m a pretty big John Carpenter fan. “The Thing” is the fucking shit. That has to be the funniest scary movie I’ve ever seen – it’s the reason I fucking love Kurt “This is going to take cracker-Jack timing, Wang!” Russell. I mean dogs splitting in half, heads sprouting 8 legs and walking away…fuckin’ awesome! How did that become…stick your hand in here and see if I cut it off? Or even better the “yes, I am going to cut your leg off…but I got to do it slowly and tell jokes..c’mon man, you are only going to be tortured to death once, maybe twice in a lifetime…why the fuck are you trying to ruin it by crying and shit?

Am I alone? I must be alone, I must be the only motherfucker in the movie theater that looks at these previews and is like ….oh yeah… I can’t wait to see another Merchant-Ivory production. Wait, lemme guess…it’s like 17^th century Europe so we don’t have to think about pesky things like a diverse cast or what the fuck is going on with regular old poor people but we do get guys wearing lots of makeup and urinating in the hallways, Hillary Swank is in it and there is a lot of crying in one part. Sign me up, I’ll bring my fraternity brothers and a bag of weed. Oh wait…another trailer…another Superhero film. Haven’t we run out of superhero’s? We must have run fresh the fuck out of superhero’s if Morton Downey Jr. is a fucking superhero. I mean what the fuck is he going to save you from, sobriety? I mean c’mon! It’s bad enough that the Goddamn Indiana Jones billboards are now plastered all over Los Angeles but now I got Morton Downey Jr. talking about being responsible…yeah, right…and Britney is going put her panties on and stop gettin’ fucked up every night….sure! We’ve obviously exasperated this genre. I mean now we’re back to Indianan Jones. I guess if Johnny Quest and his Dad’s grave robbing antics are too distant of a memory for you (FYI Johnny Quest needs representation cause Hagee says he’s owed royalties) we can always resurrect Indy who’s here to prove that museums have more of a right to a society’s stolen artifacts than the Nazi’s do. So fucking what that he’s marauding around the world decimating other cultures and languages (damn Indy…would it kill you to learn a little Spanish or Farsi or something?) I can only assume that we are smack in the middle of the dawn of the age of old white men kicking the shit out of younger ( and at times ethnic) people. First we had Rocky’s Geritol ass gettin’ back in the ring…and then Rambo showed up to demonstrate that he could still throw explosives at you from his wheelchair. And let us not forget John Mclane’s wisecrackin’ car crashin’ lifestyle (why can’t you chill the fuck out like Burt Reynolds and make some car movies man?) What the fuck is going on? Harrison Ford is like a million years old. He’s got a fuckin’ Tyrannosaurs Rex as a high school class mate for Christ sake! Is he going to fight in this movie? Is he going to run around? I’ll tell you what, I hope he is a lot better shape than he was in Air Force One…man that was an awesome movie! What kind of a self-respecting terrorist can’t beat the shit out of a 70 yr old actor playing a 60 yr old president? I mean who the fuck is left.. Aquaman? Yeah somehow I think the underwater dialogue is going to be a bit of a problem…so is the whole “talking to fish” part. I mean really, do you wanna see Ben Affleck in a pair of tights that make his cock wave at you pretending to swim in a 20K gallon wave pool while we digitally insert sharks and stingrays that say things like “…so, do you still talk to J. Lo?”

You know what.. I hope the end of the world is fucking near…I’ll make fucking Jell-O and break-dance to the soundtrack Gilligan’s Island with a piece of fried chicken in my mouth I’ll be so fucking happy.

I can’t wait for it all to be over. I hope the world ignites in a ball of flames right after I complete the premiere screening of my feature. I can fulfill my livelong desire and also end all my pain and suffering…it’ll be the ultimate pleasure and pain…kind of like dating Melissa Childs only the apocalypse doesn’t wear short skirts and tell lies.

You’re right, I’m being bitter. I should really be more optimistic about filmmaking reality TV shows and the rise of mobile cinema. I just can’t wait to have my greatest piece of filmmaking screened on a cell phone while a guy is taking a shit…now that’s what I call artistic freedom. I’m going to try to be nicer. The next time someone’s less than motivated son tells me he wants to be a filmmaker I’m not going to come back with my standard “…why don’t you concentrate on the little things first… like gettin’ all the piss out of your dick before you put it back in your pants…” no, I’m going to be nice.

For now…

Have I mentioned that I’m on the verge of something big…no, I mean BIG

COOPRDOG

What’s stuck up my ass

2008-03-13T07:20:00.000-07:00

What’s stuck up my ass is the utter and completely ridiculous nature of independent film. Regular readers are well aware of my dislike for how business is done in this industry. My competitive and somewhat confrontational nature is legendary on the festival circuit and the few meetings that I’ve managed to secure…but something is eating at me.

As the films get worse and the ticket prices get higher and the technical level of those who call themselves filmmakers decreases and the types of narratives we choose to greenlight and shoot are homogenizing at an alarming rate and the differences between independent and studio blur even further…no one seems to want to change this process that we call development.

If there is one thing that I truly understand (other than the masterful beauty of the straight 6 engine) is organizational behavior. Why should indie film change? Why should anyone assume any of the risk that is associated with introducing something new, something untested? Why should media conglomerates and entertainment banks and venture capitalists and the vast array of independent production companies with development and first look deals risk their line of credit or reputation on an unproven entity? That is not the nature of the organization. Corporations, much like people, are mostly concerned with self-preservation; with insuring that their continually recurring income and their version of the planet earth continues in infinitum…and I guess I don’t blame them.

My issue is that when I was in business school, when I go to symposiums, when I go to financing conferences I hear a lot of references to being a “Jimi Hendrix”. I hear a lot of people talking about finding the “next, big thing”…be it to make a billion dollars or to be the Sire of a cottage industry. I listen to fanciful description after fanciful description of how people want to “change the game” and how the wish to “invert the paradigm” if you stacked all the conversations nose to tail you could walk to London and never get your feet wet. But where is the courage? I see no courage, no fearlessness, no desire to go against the grain and to follow the lust and love that is in your heart to create something that has never existed. At every level of this industry you are confronted with the practical decision, give me a fucking break. If you want to be practical, go to law school. If you want guaranteed income then get your CFA designation. I don’t know what’s more amazing to me the fact that so many people who are “on top” (whateverthefuck that means) are so utterly and completely out of touch with what is going on with the state of the art of screenwriting and cinematography (no, not technology…people don’t pay for technology…just ask Sony about Betamax, people pay for style and substance) and the needs wants and desires of the basic movie-goer or that they have become so blinded by their own arrogance and hubris which was created by their ability to survive in the Terrodome that is the film industry, that they believe that they can actually dictate trends. Do the denizens atop the financing and distribution mountain really believe that the American populace is content to continually watch rehashes of 60’s and 70’s TV shows or the 5^th or 7^th or 9^th episode in a franchise that lost its relevance several years ago? Are we supposed to believe that a world of a digitally animated talking dogs and war narratives that always seem to tell us that we are the good guys, our culture is the good culture and our “religion” (be it Christianity or consumerism) is the good one and all the fights we ensue are just and logical even though a vast majority of us (65%+) wish all the killing would stop? Much of this behavior is being driven by ticket sales since a number of these films do sell a magnitude of tickets. Well, I’d like to point out a flaw in that logic. If I give a group a prisoners a choice between eating runny, horribly tasting sloppy Joe’s and peanut butter and Jelly sandwiches made with organic peanut butter and stale multigrain bread…and they all chose the runny sloppy Joe's…that doesn’t mean that most prisoners really prefer and like runny, tasteless sloppy Joe's. The flaw is in the offerings.

I have learned one thing from the release of films like “The Blair Witch Project”; “Memento”; “Run Lola Run”; “Pi”; Lost Highway”; “What the Bleep”; ect. and that is that there is no substitute for something that is interesting and has never been seen before.

I am a child of Finance, I am a child of Economics, I am a child of free cash flow and ROA, ROI, ROE not to mention the Dupont model and any financial ratio you can muster up…so I understand the cause of the current blindness that afflicts our industry; but what are we really doing?

No matter how much money films make, no matter how many countries you distribute them in, no matter how well coordinated your release is over a number of continents or time zones, no matter how many successful “formulas” you have discerned from back testing and data mining or theatrical releases will you ever get to the point where film is a general commodity. A film is not a form of entertainment. A film is not a diversion of reality, nor is a film escapism. These ideas and concepts are what Madison avenue has projected upon us and in my humble opinion one of the major reasons that new and interesting films have such a tough time finding distribution. We are constantly trying to mold film to fit into the publicity and marketing models of the theater or book sales or television or whatever is the current marketing rage.

Film is wholly different from any other form of entertainment that has ever existed. Be your measure the news reels used in the theaters in WWII or the creation of the blockbuster or the undeniable fact that a film can change your politics and make you call your mother or apologize to your wife. Sure, I sing my favorite songs over and over and practice my flying windmills all the time so that when I get pulled out of the audience at a concert to prove I’m the greatest fan ever…I won’t embarrass myself. But I’ve never be awakened in the middle of the night by a song lyric and had to get up and walk around and make sure that I wasn’t having an out of body experience or being kidnapped by aliens…but I have done that with film images.

I beg of you…I beg of you literary agents, and managers and publicists and distribution execs and filmmakers…esp. you fucking filmmakers to not judge our great artform by the schlock that is rolling out of post currently. The glory days will return, this much I promise. But we have to stop wishing and start doing. Oh, and one last thing…the producers work for you…stop listening to their suggestions and stop being afraid to argue with them. A bad movie has only one person to blame…and that’s the director!

COOPRDOG

The status of things….

2008-03-07T06:53:00.000-08:00

I haven’t give up, I know that’s the rumor; I know that’s what they’ve been saying about me. So fucking what! Let them talk, let them pass judgment on me and my career…what the fuck do they know? For the record I’ve been beating the odds since I entered the film game and I’m not about to let a little bit of stagnant water discourage me.

Here, let me catch you up. All my contacts…are a fucking joke, have done absolutely nothing for me. My latest plan to make me famous – yeah, that was getting a literary agent and let me tell you they aren’t the most fearless and courageous group of individuals I’ve ever met, or maybe I just suck as a writer…the jury is still out. I’m left with approaching the A-list actor that I’ve had my eye on and throwing myself at his mercy…yeah, maybe if I was a blonde-haired blue-eyed white guy I might try that.

So now what? I’m pulling out the big guns, that’s what. I’m going to rely on the only thing I can truly count on, the only thing I’ve always been able to count on…my intellect and my financial background. I’m done fucking around with these people and this “friends helping friends” business. Don’t get me wrong, I get it…I understand how business is done…but fucking come on, Man! Am I really not that fucking worthy? Am I really asking that fucking much?

Ok… let’s list all the things that work that I’m not willing to do:

1 – Write a romantic comedy. Ok, that’s never going to happen. Not only do I utterly and completely fucking hate romantic comedies and the condescending and statistically inaccurate approach that they take towards women and long-term monogamous relationships, but the level of writing is remedial and clichéd and the genre in and of itself is devoid of visual style and cinematic character. I’d rather stick my cock in a garbage disposal while saluting the rebel flag than work in this arena. No fucking way man!

2- Write anything that features cute children or PG-13 rating. Let’s be brutally honest here, the entire fucking industry is playing to children, to non-offensive, non-political, condescending and in my opinion irrelevant plotlines that serve no real purpose but to make us complacent and non-attentive to real world things like the Iraq war, mercury in the fish and a general changing in the quality of life here in the states. I will not participate in this. I’m not going to write about magical teddy bears that help children deal with molestation. If you want to do a film about the issues of pedophilia I suggest you start with the thong panties in GapKids and all the booty shaking videos on YouTube. But see that’s just it, this industry is not concerned with solving actual problems or even talking about them…and I’m not saying that I’m an advocate of the British version of ramming social issues down your throats...but there should be a happy medium. Going to see a film is a political act, I don’t care what the masses think. You are sitting in the dark with hundreds of people that you don’t know, that are demographically and politically different from you and collectively experiencing a narrative…that is the definition of political. What irks me is the need for filmmakers to highlight only the sensational, only the superficial…to be the darling of the studios. There are plenty of musicians who utterly and completely despise the present state of the music industry and wish to burn it to the ground. Film is far more bleak due to the barriers of creation (financing) and the difficulties with securing distribution and yet most of us sit quietly waiting for our turn to get screwed. Fuck the friendly film and anybody who likes the friendly film.

3- Option/adaptation/biography farming. I know that some to the “greatest” films in the history of this art form were adaptations. I am aware that many of the most influential films of my lifetime and my parent’s lifetime were based on true events, I just don’t fucking care! Work adapted to the screen can never move you as far or as interestingly as work written specifically for the screen. But it goes deeper than that; why must the cinema be dependent on the devices of literature? (which is a non-visual art form) or the stage (which is for all intents and purposes a static art form…you can’t travel to several exotic locations in 10 seconds so all you theater majors can eat a dick!)…or any other art form that is inferior to the cinema. Yes, I know that seems a bit harsh to say, but it’s true. What separates the cinema from all other art forms, even music, is that a few frames can halt you in your tracks, scar you for life or change your political disposition. I’d like to see a sentence do that, I’d like to see a portrait do that (porn not included…because porno is fucking awesome). I treat the cinema as special because it is special. It is unique and anyone who tries to base it on lesser art forms is a saboteur and should be shot. We are an extremely young art form and we have much growing to do…so why is the general feeling that all the best films have been shot and all the “cool” shots have been shot and all that there is left is remakes, sequels and reinterpretations? It’s propaganda I tell you…propaganda.

4- Dealing overtly with race. For starters this is the expectation of a black filmmaker (wait, lemme guess, you didn’t know I was black..it’s ok, no…really). It is as if the only thing we have the ability to talk about due to the several hundred years we’ve been in North America is racism. So fucking what we also witnessed a man go to the moon (allegedly…cause there’s no wind on the moon children); seen a president assassinated, a political leader assassinated, survived natural disasters…we somehow lack the gray matter to articulate it. Tom Cruise can learn to be Japanese in a matter of months and heterosexual action hero’s can learn to be drag queens in just a short an amount of time…but someone like me having a comment on an overreaching topic like gender identification or the myth that is manhood is craziness. Well I’m sorry to say, you won’t see me writing hood stories that feature dealers, hookers, evil white cops and crying barefoot black mothers who just can’t understand why their son had to die. No thank you. I’m probably not going to have much of a career anyway, why start shuckin’ and jivin’ to get ahead…makes no sense to me…ok granted most things don’t make sense to me, but this is different.

5- Confirm the falsehoods and fears of the general populace. I am an iconoclast…that means that I destroy sacred images. The entire purpose of Big Hit Productions is to turn things on its ear and making a bullshit film like “Crash” is not my idea of starting a revolution. You don’t want to talk about race, you don’t want to talk about power, you don’t want to talk about rape or abortion…you want the illusion of doing this without abandoning what you have long held to be true. That’s not the business I am in. What’s most important is that I am true to myself…fuck what you like! Scott and I have taken a vow (over a pound of weed) to usher in the new era of American Independent film and this is what it looks like…a weed smoking, sneaker wearing, game playing group of cats that don’t like the work of Steven Spielberg and anyone of his ilk. The end is near bitches!

6- Sell my best scripts …and have them horrible rewritten so that when I do finally get a deal I can attempt to defend all the attacks of “hack writing” for rewrites of my work that I didn’t do in the post-zenith of my writing ability…yeah, that sounds like a great plan. Maybe if I suck cock really well they’ll throw me a bone of a kiddie script and I can write witty, non-offensive dialogue for Vin Desil, Eddie Murphy and Martin Lawrence…never gonna fucking happen! In my opinion nobody is really writing anymore IE there’s not much writer in the Writer/Director and I aim to change that. Every script I have written I plan to shoot, why is that so strange? Maybe if we, as an industry, didn’t think it was acceptable or even necessary to sell the scripts that are near and dear to us to have a career…films wouldn’t suck so much. Yeah, I know…you want to work and that’s all the work they are offering…at least you are writing, at least you are getting paid for it. I’m sorry, I can’t sympathize or respect that point of view. The lines are clearly drawn and you and I are on differing sides.

7- Cut motherfuckers up. I mean let’s face it…you guys are eating up the dismemberment scripts…well here’s a little secret; amputation is one of my greatest fears. I love to write, I love to play games, I love to drive a stick and I love to beat my cock… all of which are seriously diminished with the lost of an arm or a hand (go ahead and try to play Tekken with your feet). But that’s not my real issue, my real issue is stylized violence. You wanna cut someone’s finger off in slow, painstaking agony and accuracy…go ahead and be my guest. Real violence is sickening, real violence haunts you for the rest of your waking days. The first time you realize the level of detail and perfection in the ugliness that the lens can capture…you’ll never want to watch anything that doesn’t prominently feature puppies and butterflies. Besides, I have some talent and I’d like to show it…those films aren’t the way to show you’re a badass screenwriter.

8- Shoot a documentary. This is probably going to piss of a lot of people, especially the married documentary filmmaker I fucked the shit out of at the Action-On Film Festival (you had a sweet pussy though…I will say that) but some things need to be said…like I’m a Laker hater and I don’t give a fuck if they do have Gasol now…they still suck cock and I got $20 says Kobe cries again when they get eliminated! Ok, here’s something else you don’t know…I love documentaries. Not doc’s on how many Big Mac’s you can eat till you drop dead (how about I shoot a film of myself downloading Asian porn on a dial up and see what kills me first the masturbation chaffing or the .05K download speeds) or how much a group of insignificant motherfuckers change over 20 years…I like the real historical shit, you know Nazi’s (ok, not Nazi’s…what else is there to possible left to learn about the Nazi and all the shit that happen to the followers of Judaism?), A-bombs, The Black Death, etc. But I don’t want to shoot that shit. You don’t get the opportunity to shoot a nice high-speed sequence and shoot an actor with amazing physical traits in a documentary, and you sure as hell can’t dress then up in the same outfits as your favorite porno scene (ok…maybe I watch too much porn, that’s possible.) I prefer fiction. And here’s a little ditty that I really need to get off my chest…just because it’s a true story, doesn’t make it a good story…you feel me?

9- Shoot a feature as cheaply as possible just to see if I can do it and apply to Sundance and rave about the new digital technologies. Yeah, I think you know where this is going. If I build an oven out of duct tape and tin foil and try to bake an award winning pound cake with it…and it turns out to be marginally better than shitty…I’m not going to expect a magazine feature because my oven had no moving parts. Enough of the ploys, of the experiments or the “mom, look what I can do”…that time has passed. It’s time to birth the new cinema and that approach is not cuttin’ it. If this offends you, fuck you and your grainy DV exploration of your mother’s basement you no location havin’-non permit affordin’-sorry excuse for a filmmaker! There is a reason that NERF doesn’t sponsor the NFL draft.

10- Find a talented female director and producer for her so that together we can get lots of grant money. Fuck grant money, and fuck people that only want to fund one kind of film. Fuck the subsidization of this art form. There needs to be some really high barriers to separate those who are willing to die to shoot (yes, I am willing to die) and those who just think it’s cool to hold a camera. I make no apologies for this. A film has to either return its cost of production (negative cost) or it must substantially move the art form forward. Those are the only two things that justify be allowed to return to the well. Films have to have a certain amount of popularity and strike a chord with an audience…otherwise it’s a tremendous waste of resources (we could have thrown a party with strippers and drugs for that amount of money…no… hot strippers..you know, like in Vegas)

So as you can plainly see, I’m kind of bitter and the chances of my pulling this off appear to be rather slim…whatever…odds are for Bingo and attempts to drive from Hollywood to West LA when your obviously over the limit. But fear not my fellow filmmakers, I do have a few tricks up my sleeve.

Like what you ask.. we’ll here are my top ten ideas to get the film funded this year…

1 – Get Britney Spears pregnant and show up at the first press conference looking like Flavor-Flav after a three day bender in Vegas. Go ahead and laugh but Britney’s burning through $700K a month (after taxes) and if losing her kids and watching her little sister get knocked up isn’t enough to make her take a few precautions…I’m sure the prospect of big dreaded black babies should at least be good for and advance on a book deal. I should be able to get a quick $2MM and the keys to the Bentley if I agree to disappear.

2- Set up a fake charity that supports underprivileged African filmmakers and then embezzle the funds, move to Africa, change my name…shoot my feature and apply to Sundance saying I was defrauded by Cooprdog and all I want is the opportunity that he promised me. Go ahead and laugh…watch me get paid on this one.

3 – Buy a bunch of $1K suits, move into a hotel room on Beverly Hills…put my Bluetooth in and have loud film conversations in the lobby and elevators till I manage to start a ponzi scheme for rich investors who think I’m a cross between Will Smith and Barak Obama (go Hillary), but instead of spending their money on coke and Z parts… I’ll make a film. This is a legitimate possibility…but where am I going to get the dough for the suits? This is a maybe.

4 – Start banging a bunch of UCLA chicks, get them addicted to a controlled substances and force them into prostitution…ok, that’s not really funny…but man I’d get laid all the time.

5- Become an escort and get passed around to rich housewives @ $2K an hour (…yes, I’m worth it…just ask your sister). Yeah, that’s a lot of fucking, but I’m really dedicated to this film so I guess I’ll have to do it.

6- Hire a hooker to go to a Hollywood party and flirt with one of the Hollywood players… and then when they are back in the hotel room I’ll hop out of the closet and photograph them.. and then black mail the dude till he greenlights my film.

7-Sell my girlfriends panties on EBAY and install a hidden webcam in her house and sell the feed on a monthly subscription basis. (of course, I’d kind of need to get a girlfriend first.)

8-Write a book about going to film festivals, become critical of anyone who dares try and shoot and indie film and then re-release the same book over multiple years and just change the cover art…oh wait, that’s been done already.

9- Make a rubber replica of my cock and call it FilmDick and sell it for $29.95 under the guise that you don’t have to move to LA to practice what it’s like to try and get your film financed (Feels just like the film industry and you don’t even have to travel..just ask any independent filmmaker…or Melissa Childs…BTW Melissa, how’s that FICA score? Still shitty I bet.. wanna know how I know.. cause your creditors are still calling my house…handle your fucking business!)

10 – Start a film festival and charge motherfuckers $30 to find out that they have absolutely no filmmaking talent whatsoever. Use my festival to meet celebrities who are in the twilight of their career, hand out bad Xerox copies of awards in $2 picture frames I bought at Staples and lastly, loudly boast that what I really enjoy is meeting an working with indie filmmakers.

Ok…I’m supposed to be writing a business plan, or a shot list or some shit… see ya when I see ya!

COOPRDOG

I'm runnin' shit in here....

2008-02-20T09:41:00.000-08:00

For those of you that don’t know me well, I’m a bit of an athlete; an insane, carbo-laoding, protein shake drinking, ball scratchin’ in public athlete…and I train at 24hr fitness’s Pico Roxbury location. The Pico/Roxbury location is easily one of the worst gyms in the history of the sport. That’s not an exaggeration. Yes, I have been known to embellish. Yes, I have been known to make my descriptions and recollections of situations a bit more colorful than what actually happened; but I swear to fucking Christ (who I don’t believe in) this is exactly how it went down.

I’ve been out of the gym for almost a year due to a series of injuries (shoulder, back, wrist, groin, dick) and about six weeks ago I returned to Pico Roxbury (also known as the dungeon). Well let me tell you nothing has fucking changed in this gym. For starters, the thing is underground and by that I mean no fucking windows, anywhere. Fitness equipment that was installed when Ford was in office, cardio equipment that’s so ancient that many of the pieces should have a disco ball hanging off of them (…cause you really can’t use them to get in shape). No, I don’t really use the cardio equipment. I go to the gym for one reason and for one reason only, to throw steel.

WHAT YOU NEED TO KNOW ABOUT 24HR FITNESS PICO/ROXBURY

The locker room is fucking scary. I’m not going to come right out and say that the locker room is a biohazard or anything; but let’s just say if you need to get some cultures of staphylococcus you are in the right place. There are two stalls and unless you plan on taking a shit before 6am, it’s going to be hella nasty in there. The urinals aren’t pretty either. The piss odor is so strong that the paint on the walls fades in a matter of weeks (I’m not kidding). There’s so many fucking pubic hairs on the urinal you don’t even want to stand that close when you pee (better work on your 3-pointer kid!) and then there are the people who are always in the locker room. I hate all of you people and I don’t apologize for what I’m about to say.

The really old white guys with pencil dicks, balls that hang to their knees who never wear underwear….you know who you are. What is your fucking problem? First of all, just because it’s a locker room that doesn’t mean you have to be naked all the time. Contrary to popular belief the only time you should be naked for more than a nanosecond is when you are taking a shower. This standing around with your balls swinging around is not attractive; and since we’re on the topic of your balls…either shave them bald or trim back that forest of gray hair. Normally I wouldn’t care, but your balls are so hairy that it sounds like someone is trying to breakdance in a snowsuit when you walk (and he walks all over the fucking locker room). Another thing, if you are going to just hang out in the locker room naked with hairy balls…don’t try to make small talk with me. I’m not a homophobe, I’m not even anti-old man…but here on planet manhood – you put your pants on when you wish to engage another male.. that’s the rules motherfucker!

The middle aged black dude with 300+ toiletries that has a 2hr bathroom ritual; ok, you must be homeless. That’s the only logical reason you’d spend so much fucking time in this scary as shit locker room is cause you have no place else to go. I get that. What I don’t get is why you need all these bottles of ointment and colognes and pastes and sprays. Do you have a date? Is she aware that you need 6 layers of lotion to feel secure? Why do you have to constantly walk between your locker and the sink? Do you have so much shit that you have to make multiple trips? Is it really necessary to put a towel down on the counter and then place all your shit on the towel? I actually thought you were a bathroom attendant except you don’t have any fucking lollipops (where’s the fucking blow-pops dude?) …so my question is, what gives you the right to dominate a sink in the locker room for 2 hours. And why do you give me dirty looks when I come close to you to watch your hands? I think you are a serial killer. I think it’s a matter of time till you flip out and try to kill most of us.

Mr. Don’t look in my fucking locker: Ok, I don’t really get you. You have such precious and rare and sought after personal accoutrements that you bring them with you to the gym? I mean really, what could you have that is so valuble that you have to stare down everyone and constantly look over your should till you find the opportune moment to open your locker? If you really think we’re out to jack your shit…why not leave your shit at home, it’s a thought.

Mr. I like to dry my hair, armpits and feet with the wall mounted air dryer. How did you develop this peculiar behavior? What’s wrong with an old fashioned towel and why must the rest of us watch you have invisible sex with the wall as your correctly position your body parts for optimum drying. Has it occurred to you that the reason it’s mounted @ 3.5 feet is because it’s for dying hands? Do you really enjoy hot air blowing on your armpits because that’s fucking strange man…real fucking strange.

So now that’s out of the way, back to the story…

Ok, what you need to know: I’m 6ft, 220lbs…I’ve got a wide back, big fucking arms and I talk to myself when I lift. I don’t intimidate people, I don’t refuse to let people work in. I do realize that I’m kind of an ominous presence cause I’m larger than a number of the people in the gym and I lift about 3-3 ½ hours a day. That seems really strange to a lot of people, but hey…it’s my fucking body.

Also…I started a new supplement last week, it’s called Fast Twitch and it’s made by Cytosport. That’s the same people that make Muscle Milk (I’m fucking addicted to Muscle Milk) and this stuff is the shit. You mix 1 scoop with 16 oz’s of water, drink ¾’s of it 30 minutes before you lift and sip the last ¼ during your entire workout. Well let me tell you the shit makes you an animal. I thought I was going to break something I was so fucking strong on the shit.

I get into the gym portion of the gym and it’s a madhouse as per usual; crowded, bad music, rude people…you’ve got to love the gym. As I start my pre-lift ritual I see all the people I hate.

Mr. Make up your own exercise Guy: C’mon dude, the 300+ exercises we have aren’t enough for you? Is it really necessary for you to stand on top of a bench with a dumb bell in your mouth? How is any of this making you stronger?

Mr & Ms. I’ve got to smell good so I wear cologne in the gym. What is the fucking deal? Here’s a little piece of advice for the aspiring athlete, the only thing more important than correct form is oxygen. In case you failed chemistry perfumes and colognes have a lot of alcohol in them. It hangs in the air and makes a fresh breath of air nearly an impossibility. And since I’m bitching, all of you “wear a lot of jewelry” people can take a fucking leap as well. It’s a fucking gym, not a night club, not singles night…you’re fucking killing me.

Anyway, I blow through this workout like there’s nothing to it. My shoulders are blown, my arms are blown, my chest is blown. I can’t see well out of one of my eyes and I think I’m losing hearing in one of my ears. Now that’s what I call a fucking workout!

I’m staggering to the steps like a bear that just got shot with a tranqualizer and all I really want to do is get back to my crib and eat everything in sight. As I approach the reception desk I noticed that the new dude, the black guy…was kind of looking at me.

BROTHER BEHIND THE DESK
Hey man, they want me to tell you that you can’t use chalk anymore because it’s against the rules.

Ok, so…not only have I had this conversation with like 5 managers in the shitty ass gym over the last 6 years, but it’s always the same old bullshit. I was nice, and I was polite, but I wasn’t going to take any shit

COOPRDOG
Well, I don’t know who told you to say that…but that’s not really true.

BROTHER BEHIND THE DESK
What do you mean that’s not true.

COOPRDOG
Well, there’s no rule on the placard on the wall over there that mentions chalk; neither is there a rule on the contract I signed. Matter of fact, there isn’t a single rule or regulation on the website or in all of 24hr fitness that even mentions chalk. So to flatly state that chalk use is prohibited is and out-and-out lie.

BROTHER BEHIND THE DESK
Hold on…

The brother gets up and walks back to one of the many desks and talks to this short white guy who doesn’t look to happy. After a very short conversation he approaches the counter.

FITNESS MANAGER
Listen, the issue is my clients are complaining because their hands are getting dirty from the chalk

COOPRDOG
Ok, that means fuck all to me. This is a gym, if you don’t want to get dirty you are in the wrong fucking place.

FITNESS MANAGER
Not everyone comes in here to get ripped up and totally messy, we have to provide an environment for everyone and your spilling chalk all over the place isn’t helping.

I removed my professional rock climbing chalk bag (one of the ones with two chambers and two drawstrings), turn it upside down and shake it. No chalk comes out of the bad.

COOPRDOG
As you can see this bag does not spill chalk; so all this talk of my spilling chalk is a myth.

FITNESS MANAGER
Until you get the dust free chalk I’d appreciate it if you’d wipe the chalk of the bars and the dumbbells.

COOPRDOG
You mean residue free chalk, this is dust free chalk (well reduced dust…chalk is a fucking dust)

FITNESS MANAGER
You know what I mean.

COOPRDOG
Listen man, I’m not trying to be an asshole, I’m not trying to give you a hard time, but I’m not the custodian in this place. Look I’ll make you a deal. I’ll work with you to keep the excess chalk off the equipment if you work with me to enforce a number of the rules that aren’t enforced in this gym.

FITNESS MANAGER
Like what?

COOPRDOG
Like…no open containers on the floor, like…no open-toed shoes on the floor, like…no cell phones on the floor, like…letting people work in, like…rack your weights

FITNESS MANAGER
Well, we make announcements and post sign frequently.

COOPRDOG
I understand that, what I don’t understand is why you are going out of your way to discourage activity that is not prohibited, and not aggressively enforcing rules that we already have on the books.

He gets this ugly look on his face.

COOPRDOG
Listen man, I’m willing to work with you on the chalk if you are willing to work with me and enforce some of the rules in this gym.

After that the dude just kind of walked off. I guess I should wear a sign that says “this man can argue his positions”…because Johnny fitness manager was none too happy with me. As a result I’m the “aggressive black guy” now. It doesn’t seem to matter that the fitness manager approached me after I’d been lifting for 3+ hours with a bloodstream full of adrenaline, endorphins, testosterone and various supplements…

Anyway… it’s week 7 and I’m down to 211 lbs….I’m about to be the baddest motherfucker on the Westside. I’m most likely going to quit this gym because I’ve just been here too long and I don’t need to argue with fat trainers about training methodology.

COOPRDOG

I'm not making this shit up (no, really)

2008-02-08T11:55:00.000-08:00

I hadn’t seen Mr. Keats in years. We used to be roommates back in 648 with Shawnus and of course Peckery…who no longer goes by Peckery and his new name is not gonna get any props in this blog since he ain’t returning my calls… anyway…

So I was going to end my British tour with Mr. Keats and his lovely fiancée Kat kickin’ it in Wimbledon. They had a nice flat in a cool neighborhood and it was a refreshing change from the ghettoness that I had become accustomed to living in.

He showed me the couch and his Xbox 360 (gamers are everywhere motherfuckers!) and he told me he was sorry that he didn’t have any weed. Then I broke out the end of the stash I had from Hull…and we sat there and attempted to smoke a blunt. But what I rolled was more like a soggy spring roll because you can’t get any Phillies or Peach Optimo or Swishers in England…at least not in the places I was stayin’, so I’m using the mini cigars that don’t dry and don’t stick together… it’s a mess. I wind up jacking some of his aluminum foil and fabricating a pipe (…note to the young ones, destroy this device as soon as you finish using it. It looks like a crack pipe and if you get pulled over with it you can expect at least a vehicle search and a possession ticket for any substances….uh, not that I’ve ever been pulled over or anything…) and smoking out of that.

I was basically back in a serious roommate situation which meant serious roommate rules.. like, stay out of the house to give people space. This wasn’t really an issue since they worked during the day and I wanted to chase women at night…but here’s the kicker… They were going on Holiday and I’d have the place to myself for my last two days….no, that’s not a typo.

So yeah, my mind starts spinning about how I’m going to place this…a party – no, no…that’s crazy; I fuck den for 48 hours…yeah, now we’re talking…

I promptly passed out and spent the entire next morning playing Need for Speed: Most Wanted. I had this game on my PSP (before I got high and got in a taxi in San Diego and left a case with 12 PSP games laying on the seat)…anyway so I hated this game. The entire premise of Most Wanted is bullshit, but let me explain.

So in “Need for Speed: Most Wanted” you’re a street racer trying to mod your car and win races to move up the latter and unlock tracks and cars…cool. What distinguishes this game is that the cops often catch you racing and chase you…which should be fun…and now that I think about this I think I mentioned this in the PSP buyers guide review..but whatever. So the police cars are fast…I mean really fast. You wanna know how fast the police cars are in this game? Let’s say you were in the middle of a street race, on the highway… and you crest a hill and you see a cop in front of you…you’re doing like 115-120mph as you pass the cop you get on the nitros and you hit 143mph. Now think of how surprised you are that a cop driving a station wagon closes on you in less than a mile. I mean the police cars are faster than the cars you drive (for the most part)…and also the police can really drive. I mean I’ve been chased through traffic for 15-20 min’s making all kinds of crazy recoveries and barely staying on the road…and there’s three cops who are doing it behind me….anyway I’ve never played it on a big counsel..and you know what…it’s a lot more fun. It still sucks hairy ass because you can never finish a race without being chased and who the fuck is really going to race in a town where they dispatch police helicopters to chase you. What’s next? Tanks and mines?...but maybe it’s just me…

Anyway I unlocked like a billion things in this game. Cars, tracks…you name it…I was the man but had the nagging feeling that going out in a analog stick blaze of glory was not really the way to end the trip of all trips. So over dinner I inquired about when Mr. Keats wanted to do some real drinking. He had to big jobs and then they were off for holiday…there wasn’t going to be any drinking really, so I was on my own.

Kat suggested that I check out this coffee e shop/bar that was down the street. She said that it’s always full of really artistic people and that I should fit right in. I was a bit skeptical at first…long walk, coffee shop, art people…man that could mean a lot of things. If I had learned one thing from being here is was that certain things don’t translate…I was wondering if I could trust it? I had weed to smoke and this apt is really warm (man…the difference was day and night)…I kinda didn’t want to go.

But I decided to check it out, I’m supposed to be some internationally traveling, filmmaking cat…I’ve got to make the most of this stay. And with that notion I grabbed my laptop and my bag with a few screeners in it and headed for the spot.

It was about a 20 minute walk down some very crowded streets. I was like a cross between a theme park atmosphere and a college campus. Lots of yelling and aimless walking around and a lot of loitering, it was a cool feeling. I broke into the bar and it was kind of crowded but not packed. I got a nice pint of Guinness (totally fucking awesome pour) and had a short chat with this old Italian guy who couldn’t believe that I like Guinness (he literally hugged me)…say what you will, but I’ve never seen that reaction happen to a Bud Light drinker.

I made my way to a little table/booth thing just off to the side and tried to right while stealing glimpses at all these hot chicks. I mean I’d been here in England long enough to tell who is who and man are there some contestants. There are two big women in the corner…no, I mean tall, muscular…think east German swimmers. To my left is a pair of chick that are definitely from London with those calf boots and the pencil skirts (British women’s taste in footware makes me want to lick pussy)…it’s about to go down in here. I wasn’t quite sure what I could pull off. I mean I’m one of the only black guys and I’m one of the only dudes in here (meaning I’m wearing jeans and boots…let’s just say there’s a lot of loafers and tasseled footware going on with the male population.

When I was at the bar I tried to chat up the east Germans but they weren’t having it (Lesbians…must be) and the bartender never goes my way so fuck it, I returned to my little booth and order a steak and another pint…if my night’s gonna suck…then there’s no need to be sober. And no sooner did I think that then did this guy and these two hot chicks squeeze around this small table across from me. They all looked very uncomfortable huddle around this small table and I made eye contact with one of the women initially. I was a bad man thinking bad thoughts as I smiled at her briefly…and then I just went for it…I waved them over. They all looked very perplexed and then the guy got up and came over to see what I wanted.

BAR DUDE
Is there something wrong?

COOPRDOG
You guys can share my booth if you want…I’ve got a ton of space over here.

He immediately smiled and turned around and waved his friends over. I couldn’t believe that worked, I mean I totally fucking amazed myself with that one. I’d never do some shit like that in the states, let alone LA…are you fucking nuts? Real estate is expensive in LA…but anyway…

We all sit around and begin chatting…

COOPRDOG

Sorry to be so forward but you guys looked really cramped at that table…and I have this entire booth to myself so I thought it was the least that I could do.

At this point well all got kind of cozy; all I knew is that now there were two women and two men and he came with them which meant that he’s probably only fucking one of them and the other will be willing to play around as long as her friends are near

CHICK #1
That was really nice of you.

BAR DUDE
Yeah man…thanks.

CHICK #2
So where are you from?

COOPRDOG
The States.

CHICK #1
Oh, that explains it

COOPRDOG
Explains what?

The two chicks say something I couldn’t hear….

CHICK #2
How come you speak such good English.

BAR DUDE
American… you speak good American.

COOPRDOG
I’m sorry there’s a difference?

CHICK #1
Yeah if you were English you’d be uptight and unfunny.

COOPRDOG
So I take it you’re not Brits

BAR DUDE
Jesus!

CHICKS TOGETHER
Oh fuck no!

COOPRDOG
So where are you from?

CHICK #2
South Africa

CHICK #1
South Africa Baby

COOPRDOG
Baby?

CHICK #2
I’m sure it’s not the first time you’ve been called baby… ok, well maybe with your pants on.

…ok, now, when the fuck have you ever had a chick say some shit like that to you right when she meets you. Man, I gotta move to the UK…they know what’s up. I finish my steak (yeah, undigested meat in my colon…whatever...why don’t you shut the fuck up and finish your soybeans) and then prepare to head for the bar.

I pick up the next round (I don’t know seemed like the thing to do…besides if I get these chicks loaded who knows what’ll happen).

I return with the pints and it like a little party. They are really appreciative and very interested in what I’m doing here. I explain the film and suddenly I’m way more interesting (I’m not joking….filmmaking can get you pussy….I said can…moving out of your mother’s basement will also help with that desire…) I just roll with it.

CHICK #1
So what brings you to the UK? Did you run out of chick to fuck in the states

COOPRDOG
Let’s just say I got too many points on my dating license.

CHICK #1
Oh, I bet you’re a heartbreaker with that Lenny Kravitz shit going on.

COOPRDOG
Careful…that’s how people wind up losing their panties

Both of the women and the dude literally spit out there pints due to laughter.

COOPRDOG
Have I mentioned that I’m a writer.

CHICK #1
What do you write porno?

COOPRDOG
Well you shoot porno and you write erotica…sounds like you’ve had a few “screen tests”

CHICK #2
If you only knew…

CHICK #1
Shut up bitch….and why are you trying to front like you’re all worldly and shit.

COOPRDOG
Excuse me??

CHICK #2
Yeah you kind of need to drop that act.

COOPRDOG
I’m here for the culture

CHICK #1
The culture of get women out of their panties.

COOPRDOG
I’m sorry did I do something to…

CHICK #1
Relax, this is how South African’s are when they drink…of course that next to fucking impossible with these fucking exchange rates.

COOPRDOG
Tell me about it… it’s like 2-1 for the dollar.

The dude shakes his head and giggle.

CHICK #1
2:1…I’d suck cock in an alley for 2:1. The Rand is a 5:1 conversion.

COOPRDOG
Oh, that’s fucking ugly.

CHICK #2
So have you been here long?

COOPRDOG
About 10 days…I like it. The women are sexy.

CHICK #1
Please, the Brit’s can dress but they’re all afraid of cock.

COOPRDOG
Uh.. did you just break up with somebody, you seem to be going through cock withdrawal.

BAR DUDE
Yeah… since birth.

The table cracks up.

At this point the dude got up to get a smoke and took one of the chicks with him. I swear to fucking good it was too easy. I mean c’mon…I’ve got a big cock and everything…but when the fuck does this happen.

For the next 6 minutes there is a lot of flirting and eye contact. This is like the hottest chick I’ve met since I’ve been here and she’s vulgar and she likes to get fucked up (man, I should work here).

Before I could get around to finding out exactly how deep her pussy is, her friends returned. There was more bullshittin’ and the next thing I knew we were talking about cocks again.

CHICK #1
You don’t have to be shy…I know you stretch chicks out with that big black cock.

COOPRDOG
I don’t know what you are talking about.

CHICK #1
Baby don’t be shy

COOPRDOG
I’m telling you that’s a rumor that white guys started. I’ve got a small cock.

CHICK #1
Please…do you know who you’re talking to?

CHICK #2
She’s seen a lot of cocks…

BAR DUDE
And a few of them were in porno’s

The table cracks up. She reaches out to grab my arm.

CHICK #1
Baby I know… I’m south African…I’ve been staring at your brothers and cousins since my pussy could get moist…most of ya’ll are packing.

Ok so at this point I’m pretty sure I’m going to get fucked. I mean you just can talk about my cock that much and not put in your mouth a few times…I mean what the fuck?

Ok, so my plan was to go with these cats and see if this chick let’s me fuck her and listen to her speak in her native tongue (man… that’s the greatest). I get another pint and they refuse. Suddenly it’s about “we have to go soon”… “I have to work tomm.” ok…here we fucking go.

I counter and ask them if they’re weed smokers?

BAR DUDE
This isn’t the states…everybody smokes here.

COOPRDOG
OK, well…I’ve got about a ¼ that I need to smoke before I skip the pond.

CHICK #1
Oh.. man that’s tempting, but I have to be up early… how about tomm.

COOPRDOG
Tomm…

CHICK #1
C’mon I’ve been working all day and don’t smell as good as I normally do… besides you and me need more time than a few hours.

Yeah…I might have to marry this chick (ha..ha.. me, marriage?...sure, right after I sell the Z and cut off my dreads.)

She promises me deep throating and ass fucking and panties to take home to show my friends (uh… do you have an intern program??? …I’m interested)

I decided to not be so greedy and to wait 15 hours before I scramble her eggs (oh, is that not nice to say?). We exchange numbers (uh… I get the numbers of both of them) and they all jet. Now this is not a bad thing because now I can get drunk and belligerent and still have a goto plan for tomm.

Now here is the dilemma. I really want to fuck #1…man, she’s got a potty mouth and let’s just say she’s a fan of cardio exercise. But her friend is gorgeous , I mean like classic beauty kind of gorgeous…I mean what are the chances of a three some with South African chicks in Wimbledon? Isn’t that like a triple word score or something…man… I got to fucking move here.

The rest of the night was kind of uneventful because all I wanted to do was go home and beat my dick (oh…like I’m the only one) and wait till tomm. So I boogied back to Mr. Keats apartment and blew up his fucking Xbox 360…he should give me this fucking thing I’m so good at it.

I woke up the next morning to a note that he and his lady had bounced. That means that I have this motherfucker to myself…ok.. time to call this chick. Now the first phone is real dangerous thing…you would be amazed at number stupid and idiotic things a man will let fly out of his mouth when he things he’s going to be laid. My goal is to not be that guy and to be so funny that it makes her pussy wet (it’s all about humor boys). The call goes to voicemail. I don’t leave a long message, I don’t try to be to witty…just the facts…

Like 4 hours goes by and now reply… and then next thing I know nightfall is approaching and still nothing…great. The super freaky South African chick was talkin’ shit. What is the deal with you women? I mean I would have been perfectly content to feed her beer and stare at her tits and leave it at that…but no…she had to start talking about my big cock and how I like to stuff it in little white girls (uh..ok, maybe she didn’t say that…but I do like to fuck little white girls…in case you’re a little white girl looking for a friend to keep you company)

So I smoked most of my remaining weed and went through my phone book on the Blackcherry. Not a single response from any of the 6 million people who I’ve met since I landed here…now what?

Well no one like a quitter, so I got dressed and headed back to the same bar to see if I could make lightning strike twice. Yeah well, it doesn’t. It was like a different bar this time (what is the deal with bars that change their persona every night?...how are the addicts supposed to get fucked when you keep switching it up on us??

It was a real uncomfortable vibe and shit and I drank like 4 pints and got shot down by 6 women and decided that it was time to bounce, besides I was fucking starving. I stumbled out of the bar and low and behold there was a Burger King right next store. Now, I haven’t ingested fast food in nearly 5 years but I was fucking starving. Ok…a burger is out…I’ll just get some fries.

Dude, I couldn’t believe how much fat and salt were in my mouth after one bite (Kind of like a Melissa Childs impression when her rent is due…shut up. I haven’t made a Melissa joke all year) and I was instantly about to puke. I crushed the coke and went outside to get some air and toss this bag o’heart-attack.

Outside is where it got interesting. There was a pack of teenagers (I mean am I that old now?) getting rowdy in front of the Burger King and they were really starting to upset the security guard and not to mention every woman that walked by.

I had the feeling these dudes were about to be out of the game so I moved away from them. 15 seconds a 4 pack of Bobbies came running out of the tube station and arrested all of them. The dudes tried to protest but were told that all of their actions had been caught on CCTV…man, that shit has got to go!

Having just dodged being arrested (no, I’m not with them...) I wandered up the street looking for a bar. I was kind of liquored up and in no mood to just download porn. I made it to the crosswalk and pushed the button and played with the Black Cherry as I waited. I then heard this voice from a distance yelling at me. I was about to miss the crosswalk light. I holstered my Blackcherry and made a run for it…and made it just before the light changed.

I thanked the dude for his kindness.

COOPRDOG
Good lookin’ yo’!

He had no idea what meant but said you’re welcome. We struck up a conversation seeing as we were both stinking drunk and having trouble standing. Right behind him was a rowdy bar with people stumbling out of it literally every 2 minutes. Then this chick comes out (she’s hot)…

HOT CHICK IN FRONT OF THE BAR
Hey Gavin, I’m about to leave, but you should go back in. That Canadian chick and her friend were asking about you and all the rest of the guys in there are dicks…you might have a shot…if you had a wingman….and she left.

He thanked her briefly and stated that he was entirely too drunk to move…and then I went to work.

COOPRDOG
Dude, c’mon we have to go inside.

DRUNK DUDE
Dude, I’m totally pissed.

COOPRDOG
Hunker down camper! Your country needs you!

DRUNK DUDE
Listen man, I’m about to piss my pants, besides I’ve got no game and you’ve got an American accent…I’ll just be slowing you down. Just go in and act like you’re my friend that was supposed to meet me…see if that gets you in.

The man was a genius; I hadn’t even considered that angle. I bid him farewell and enter the bar. It looks like a serious Irish Bar with a huge wooden bar and lots of types of Whiskey. As I come through the door a catch a glimpse of the hotties…only, there’s a problem. They had their jackets on and were kissing a bunch of people goodbye…so much for that plan.

I vaguely brushed against them as the left and slowly made my way to the bar. It was obvious that this night was going to suck and I wasn’t going out without a fight (or an abnormally high Blood alcohol level).

I get my pint and I lean against the bar and assess my options…hmm, let’s see: smoking hot model chick in a plaid min-skirt, petite chick at a corner table drinking wine by herself and then there are the party girls that are going around the bar flirting and getting men to buy them drinks…this is bullshit!

One of the big leather chairs near the fireplace becomes vacant and I make my move over there. I’m seated for about 5 minutes before I wound up talking to the guy sitting across from me. Turns out he’s a journalism student and so are all of his friends.

Well let me tell you, nothing gets my cock hard like publicity so I broke out some screeners and my PSP and started my ad-hoc SLZ sales pitch.

I do really have this shit down to a science I mean if this was an Olympic event – all you bitches would be fearing me. Anyway, I begin to talk about the film and this dude asks if he can take notes. Then he wants to know if he can do a story on me….hmm, let me think about that. A story on me, in a bar, in another country…uh..fuck yeah!

We shoot the shit for about an hour and I buy a round of pints (you got to pay to play). I hand out about 5 screeners and everyone is really happy. Again they can’t believe that I am giving it to them; if you believe nothing else I’ve said…know that DVD’s are worth their weight in gold; because most filmmakers are cheap motherfuckers so if you spend the cash you will realize a serious advantage.

Before I knew it I they said they had to go and get back to the dorm, the dude that interview me asked if he could call me tomm to follow up. (…that’s what I’m talkin’ about)..and they were out. It was again just me and the Guinness chillin’ and lookin’ for pussy…uh, I mean some companionship.

I broke the fuck outta there as soon as I finished my pint. I was kind of liquored up (read: plastered) and walking was becoming increasingly difficult. At this rate I was either gonna wind up passed out on a park bench choking on my own vomit or become a victim of crime. I wasn’t really down for either of those options so I kept trekkin’ on.

In my drunken stupor I was fitting right in to Britain. People were high-fivin’ me as I passed and sayin’ shit like… “Yeah, Mate! You’re Pissed!” I knew that I had to get off the street because I was going to stumble at anytime, but ever bar a passed was a bar and not a pub. I didn’t want to talk, I wanted to drink and hear some old British dudes argue about how their Bird ain’t got shit in common with Princess Diana and she’s been dead for a minute and you still can’t talk shit on her.

The best I found was what looked like a cross between a Friday’s and a college bar. The floor was kind of sticky, the population was a little shady and the music was fucking loud. I tossed like 5 quid on the bar and demanded a Guinness & Black

BAR KEEP
Guinness and Black?

COOPRDOG
Black Currant Man!

The barkeep smiles and nods his head and gets busy. A few minutes later a have a freshly cascading Pint in a proper Guinness glass and it the center of the effervescing foam is the dark red (like purple) residue of where the Currant went it. It makes the pint very balanced and makes the aftertaste a pleasure. There are purists out there who despise the idea of anything in your Guinness. I, for example, have no respect for the Black & Tan and I hate to see it. As if my Guinness is some fucking high school experiment. I mean sure, I do the same density trick when I make my world famous 420 Iced tea…but this is different, this is drinking…(this ain’t ‘Nam Smokey…There’s rules).

As I make my way through the bar I’m trying to decide if I should try and do the whole eye-contact thing or if I should just sit down next to the next hot chick I see and see what I can make happen. I’m about half way through the pro-con argument with myself when I see something I thought I wasn’t going to encounter…a Golden Tee machine.

You have got to be fucking kidding me. I ran over there like a little kid and emptied my pockets of all their quid. I selected the back 9 of a course that didn’t know and got ready for battle. As I teed up on the first hole I felt someone watching over my shoulder.

Keep in mind that I’m kind of fucked up and the track ball on this machine is not what I’d call properly calibrated (it’s ass)…but still I’m smacking the ball 270-290 yards. I’m even after two holes and then this dude over my shoulder starts givin’ me advice. Now, I’m a friendly guy…but piss off…I’m playin’ golf…get your own machine.

We begin to chat a little and I wind up letting him hit the next ball. Ok, this guy is plastered…I mean I’m kinda plastered, but he’s like really fucking plastered. But he can stand so I think he’s ok to play. He tee’s up and smacks the ball. It’s an ugly slice the lands him deep in the rough on the side of the fairway. He curses and I let him take the next swing and it’s even uglier but he gets some spin on it and it lands on the fairway. He winds up being two over on his first hole; not bad…but c’mon dude…you were givin’ me lesson’s a few minutes ago. We continued to drink and play. I started trying to short cut shit and managed to hit every single fucking tree around this one hole…and I still beat him by two strokes. And for all you Golden Tee-er’s out there…we were playin’ stroke play which I really don’t like because you’re really just waiting for someone to make a mistake whereas when you play Skins – every hole is different (there is a pot for each hole, the lowest stoke wins the hole. If two golfers tie for the low number of strokes, the wager (Skin) is carried over to the next hole and the two purses are added this continues till one person undershoots everyone else) so it’s really a game of momentum (and not getting’ too fucked up to putt (Yes, That was a crack on The Gamb….who’s the Gamb…hah, I ain’t got the pages to explain that shit Sun…back to the story.) Another round of pints and we’re on the last hole (I don’t know…somebody brought’em over, somebody left them…I don’t fucking remember…but I didn’t pay for shit and neither did the other dude.) The free acquisition of the beverages and the geometrically declining Golden Tee play of the both of us…made us like good friends…but don’t get me wrong, I still whipped his ass! Golden Tee is fucking Golden Tee, I don’t give a fuck how drunk you are.

So I win and I do a little dance and rub it in this guy’s face that my Yankee ass just spanked him. He tells me his name is Badger and he offers to buy the next round. We’re drinking, we’re chatting and the dude’s like looking at me. I mean not like he was about to kiss me or anything, but he had this look on his face.

BADGER
You play sports?

COOPRDOG
Sports?

BADGER
Yeah, you know …exercise

COOPRDOG
I lift, I play a little flag football

BADGER
Flag-Football? What are you afraid of gettin’ hit?

COOPRDOG
Uh, yes as a matter of fact…I have to work in the morning.

BADGER
You should play Rugby.

It was then that I realized that this guy was wearing a windbreaker with a Rugby club stitched into the back. He knows like tons of people in this bar. I get introduced to like 10 or 15 people in about 6 minutes. He then stops drinking and looks square at me.

BADGER
So what are you doing here in England?

COOPRDOG
I’m a filmmaker from the states. I’m here screening my film.

BADGER
You flew all the way to this fucking island just to screen your movie?

COOPRDOG
Yeah.

BADGER
Don’t you have movie theaters in the States…like a fuckload of them!

COOPRDOG
Yeah, we do…but they’re full of fucking Americans

Badger bursts out laughin’ and then toast my pint.

BADGER
Ok..ok…I can’t fuck with you anymore, that was fucking hysterical.

The next thing I know this huge dude comes out of the back and talks to Badger. Now when I say huge I mean like 6’5” 260lbs. They rap for a second and then I see Badger point at me and then the dude and Badger walk over to me.

BADGER
This is Cooprdog. He’s a fucking American.

COOPRDOG
Wassup!

ALEX
So you’re from the States?

COOPRDOG
Yeah

ALEX
Where are your mates?

COOPRDOG
I have no Mates. I’m here by myself.

BADGER
He’s been traveling around the fucking country side talking to fucking sheep and shit.

COOPRDOG
I said I looked at a sheep. I never said I spoke to the sheep.

BADGER
I think he fucked a sheep

COOPRDOG
I did not fuck any sheep.

ALEX
Sheep. That’s plural. Just how many sheep did you fuck? I mean fuck, man! Save some for the farmers.

COOPRDOG
First of all it’s both singular and plural.

BADGER
See…that’s a drunk man talking.

COOPRDOG
I am not drunk…I’m getting’ drunk and I will probably eventually be drunk but I can still whip a motherfuckers ass in Golden Tee.

BADGER
It was one game you cheeki fucker!

COOPRDOG
Hey…in the states. A “W” is a “W”…you’re just mad because you have and L…which I believe stands for Looooser!

ALEX
Oh he’s fucking mental!

BADGER
Tell me about it. This American is trouble.

Just then this black guy comes over, he’s also a friend of Badger. His name is Mark and he is a hella sarcastic.

MARC
What’s up man. I’m just gonna dap your hand cause I don’t want none of that sticky American juice on my hands.

Everybody started laughing, me included. I was fucking hammered and these cats were rippin’ on me for the being a Yankee…but I was meeting like tons of people and the bartenders just keep the pints coming. I had no idea what time it was or how much longer I’d be standing…all I knew is that I had to take a piss.

On my way to the head I bumped into this British MILF in the back of the bar drinking wine and bitchin’ about men.

MILF
Oh look at this one…he’s thinks he’s a fucking American Cowboy.

COOPRDOG
I’m not actually a cowboy, but I’ll ride you like I was one.

It just kind of flew out of my mouth and she wasn’t expecting it. It could go either way and the longer she waited to respond the worse her reaction was probably going to be

MILF
Why don’t you take your little friend in the room and stop by on your way out.

I did as I was told. I continued into the pisser wondering if I just got blown off. I took what had to have been the world’s fastest piss, washed the Mitts and was out the door.

As soon as I exited she waved me over. I sat down, I got cozy and I started flirting. There was laughing, there was touching…I was starting to think that getting fucked was a given…now fucking both of them…hmm…is that even possible?

Next thing I know the dude Marc is standing right next to me.

MARC
Hey. We’re about to play Golden Tee so you can defend your title.

COOPRDOG
Let’s do it.

I told the Chica’s I’d be back and I followed Mark to the Golden Tee Machine but only he walked past it and back to the bar. He led me to Alex and Badger.

BADGER
I mean what the fuck was that?

MARC
He likes old birds and sheep. He’s outta control.

COOPRDOG
What, rugby guys don’t get pussy? I’m spending like $2K to be over here…I’m fucking something.

BADGER
That’s a poor attitude that only gonna get you smothered to death by some big girl who sweats too much.

MARC
Man, I did not need that visual

ALEX
Totally Mate!

BADGER
I did it for the American.

COOPRDOG
Ok..can I have a nickname other than “the American”

BADGER
Sure …sheep fucker.

ALEX
Ahh that’s right, you like to fuck sheep!

COOPRDOG
Listen I fucked one sheep…but she was fucking asking for it.

Everybody starts laughing.

COOPRDOG
I mean I really was just trying to punisher her for being bad sheep…you know…and she started movin’ and shit.

BAR CROWD
Ooohh….ahh…fuck you! Shut up!

COOPRDOG
And I had her right there so I had to give her a couple of pumps…you know….. just to see if she could take it.

BAR CROWD
Really, shut the fuck up!

COOPRDOG
OH, now nobody wants to talk sheep…you fucking pussies! A real man can talk sheep fucking in any state of mind. I’m a Sheep fucking American and I just can’t take it anymore!

Ok…I was drunk at this point. But they stop calling me Sheep fucker so it was worth it.

I went to take my second piss but the Chica’s didn’t look up when I passed them. I was going to reintroduce myself…but I think she knew what happened and if I go over there I’m going to regret it…it’s best to lay low. I took yet another gargantuan piss and staggered back to the group.

There was a bit of a ruckus at the bar when I returned.

MARC
These fuckers already called last call.

COOPRDOG
When.

ALEX
Yeah, that’s what I said. They obviously want us the fuck out.

Now, had I have been sober I would have immediately realized the trend here…but I was wasted so it took me a while to put two and two together.

We broke the fuck out of that bar (Me, Badger, Marc and Alex) and began to walk up the fucking street. They were loud and obnoxious…my kind of party.

MARC
So I take it you’ve never been out with these blokes before?

COOPRDOG
Uh, no.

MARC
Yeah well, you’re in for a real treat.

I wasn’t quite sure what the fuck he was talking about till I started to listen to the conversation that Badger and Alex were having.

ALEX
I want to go

BADGER
No, you don’t

ALEX
Listen Mate. It’s been a Royally fucked night and now I’m losing my buzz, I want to see some titties.

BADGER
Yes, I understand but you don’t want to go to Vauxhall.

ALEX
Why the fuck not.

Badger was walking quickly but he begins to walk even more quickly as he takes a huge drag off of his cigarette.

BADGER
Listen…I love a nice set of pink nips like the next guy, but let me tell you about Vauxhall. You don’t want to go to Vauxhall, all right. There’s only three types of people who go to Vauxhall; Cops, spies and judges. And I know this because a Cop took me once and introduced me to a judge and a spy.

MARC
Badger is out of control

BADGER
Believe you me Mate, that’s not what I’d call the friendliest crowd to spectate with and it’s only a matter of time till you get, shot, kidnapped or charged with a serious crime.

At this point Badger started handing out cigarettes to the entire group and when he got to me I decline.

COOPRDOG
I don’t smoke.

BADGER
(beat) What do you mean…you don’t smoke?

COOPRDOG
I don’t smoke.

BADGER
Lemme ask you something, are you a woman.

COOPRDOG
No.

BADGER
Are you French?

COOPRDOG
Uh…no.

BADGER
Then you’re a man and men smoke when they drink.

COOPRDOG
But I don’t smoke.

BADGER
Yeah well it’s time you started you fuckin’ panzee.

And with that Badger lit a cigarette and stuck it in my mouth. So now I’m faking being a smoker as we quickly walk up the sidewalk. Then we all heard this sound…very loud and very bad Drum & Bass music. It was emitting from a rather small car with lots of ground effects and hella tinted windows.

BADGER
(Yelling): Mate! I can’t hear your stereo could you fucking turn it up!

People begin to laugh on the street.

BADGER
See, that’s why we need guns. If we had guns, none of that shit would be going on.

Suddenly we stopped in front of this bar. I was kind of pushed to the back so the Rugby team could do the negotiations. So hard looks were exchanged and then the bouncer pointed at me.

COOPRDOG
What’s going in?

MARC
These cheeki fuckers won’t let us in, they say it’s after last call, but they just let a whole group of birds in.

COOPRDOG
Chicks get over on a regular.

MARC
I know. And without the Blokes, who’s going to buy the fucking drinks and make jokes…who’s running this shit?

Badger gets animated and then Marc approaches to try to broker the deal. He returns to give me an update.

MARC
Yeah, that’s not going to happen.

COOPRDOG
Why what’s the deal?

MARC
Well it’s kind of tough to get into the bar when you beat the shit out of the bouncers last week.

COOPRDOG
You guys mixed it up with the bouncers?

MARC
No, the rugby team mixed it up with the bouncers.

COOPRDOG
You’re not on the team?

MARC
Are you fucking nuts? I like my ear lobes and my teeth…I’m just a hanger-on. Besides he hates American’s so…

COOPRDOG
Really?

MARC
Oh, that was like the first thing he said after “I don’t feel like tussling with you two”. I don’t know what to tell you Mate, a lot of people hate the US and your president. I mean you’re like cool as shit, if I were you I’d lie and say you’re from Canada.

I didn’t know if Marc was serious of not, but as we got rejected from the next three bars and nearly got into two street fights (these dudes really like to mix it up)…I was really considering going the Canadian route. And then we came upon this one bar with a bunch of hot chicks standing outside. Badger knew all of them and started rapping with them.

Suddenly there was a plan for us to get in. The chick he knows used to fuck the dude at the door and now there was a deal on the table. He looked us over and she whispered in his ear and he still didn’t look like he was with it…and then she grabbed his cock. Ok, I didn’t actually see her hand on his cock but her hand went forward to his crotch, he leaned forward, she whispered something in his ear…and then he let us in.

I think this chick agreed to be assfucked if he’d let us in. Now that’s what I call a friend.

It’s way past midnight and this place is still serving. We immediately order like three rounds of pints and started flirting with every chick in sight. I was doing my stand up thing, rub up against a nice tight British chicks ass and she smiled (should I press my luck?)

I, of course, had to take a piss and when I went to the back of the bar…I saw the same chicks that I was hitting on in the first bar.

COOPRDOG
Hey…

MILF
Heeey…. What’s up? I see you found a place to drink.

COOPRDOG

It’s been a total fucking ordeal.

MILF
All you had to do was follow us…but I guess your friends are more important.

Did you hear that? That was the sound of my pussy opportunity bursting.

Over the next 6 minutes I really ran at her and she was polite but wasn’t buying

MILF
Under normal circumstances I’d get on my knees and bite a pillow and let you have at it…but I kind of like this guy I’ve met.

COOPRDOG
Have you gone out with him yet?

MILF
No, but I don’t want to jinx it.

COOPRDOG
How are you jinxing it?

MILF
Because I have a good feeling about him…and I’m still willing to play, that’s not good…besides, you don’t really want to fuck me…you just want to fuck someone.

COOPRDOG
True, but I was really hoping it was you, cause your ass is slammin’

MILF
You’re sweet…maybe next week if this guy fucks up.

And with that I decided to sail on. I mean I guess if I would have played it differently I might have gone home with her…whatever.

Badger was pretty upset by this point. He was waiting for a hook-up and his boy apparently got popped by the Bobbies…so now he’s dry. He’s on a mission to score more and wants us to go with.

I took a hard look around at the four of us, how drunk we are and how offensive we are to passers-by. I decided to cut my losses and bid this dude farewell. I shook some hands and gave them the last copy of SLZ….I then caught a taxi back to Mr. Keats flat and passed the fuck out..

I was at Heathrow less than 6 hours later and by the time I cleared security I had forgotten nearly all the crazy shit that happened.

England is a fucking cool-ass place…I have to move here one day.

COOPRDOG

Barrow in Furness

2008-01-25T10:15:00.000-08:00

Though Kingston Upon Hull is not geographically that far from Barrow it would still take me more than three hours on the train due to their only being one way in and one way out of Hull and having to ride a train south to connect to a train that took me back up north. I wasn’t really that inconvenienced, but goddamn am I starting to spend a lot of time on these trains.

Jo Hutton (Cumbria filmmaker’s network) picked me up from the train station and was really happy to see me. You can never get tired of British hospitality – I don’t care how much of it your experience. Since I’d already kicked it with Jo and her partner Phil I kind of felt at home. She had secured a room for me at a local bed and Breakfast in the center of town (uh, as if there is a center of Barrow) and I was ready to party. The old man running the place was a real riot; I mean this dude is 100% old school British. He wasn’t feeling baggie pants, hip-hop or dreadlocks all he wanted to know was if I would pre-pay.

I told him not to worry and broke out about 40 quid to pay the room stay and I cracked a joke about how convenient it would be to be staying in a room above a bar. He didn’t even acknowledge the comment which I should have known then was a bad sign.

I did my roaming around town thing and read a few newspaper articles that mentioned my visit to the town…wow, I was moved. I don’t get any real newspaper press in the States but I assume because I’m a black dude and a filmmaker and an American… and people (in the states) kind of don’t stop to hear what any of these groups have to say…but here, here I had an accent and I had crazy stories to tell and everyone wanted to hear how they ended…I should fucking move here.

The room in the Bed and Breakfast was small and dimly lit. I only had two days to stay here so I didn’t think it was really worth arguing about. I wasn’t screening till tomm. night so Jo took me on a little sightseeing, well really sight-shopping; we went to the mall. I was a total fucking trip because I was a mall rat in high school. I’ve spent more time in food courts sucking down Icee’s than most people in the English speaking world and I really wanted to see what the UK mall shit was like.

After 45 mins I realized that things are the same where ever you go, because they also have like hundreds of stores full of nothing that I really wanted to buy…but then I saw a store that sold Playstation games. I told Jo that I just wanted to see what kind of stuff they were selling, 6 min’s later I was playing the demo for Sega Rally on the 360. Let the record show that I’m really not a fan of the Xbox and before I have to endure the PS3-fanboy taunts and all that shit let’s just set the record straight – shall we?

Yes I do play 360 with Det. Budd and I really love Rainbow 6 III – Vegas… it’s a sick shooter. But I’m still pissed at Billy Gates for the dog that XP is and what the fuck were you thinking with Vista? Other than the fact that nothing is where it should be, Word isn’t backwards compatible, it’s a memory hog and I really hate the skins…I mean didn’t this release get pushed back like nearly 2 years and this is what you release? So why the fuck should I trust the 360? I love Tekken and Need for Speed and all that shit. I guess there’s a lot to be said for gamers being gamers and 360 or PS3 is really the same kinds of people just different platforms. Ok, I can concede that…if we exempt the Wii people. I don’t give a fuck how much fuck you have with your friends and your Wii parties…if I was trying to make friends I’d shower more often…I mean c’mon. And when the fuck do we out grow Metroid and Zelda and Mario. I mean how fuckin’ old is Mario now? 80??? And he’s still just a plumber? Him and Luigi could start a franchise or export a bunch of jobs to Mexico like any other self-respecting American businessman? And let’s just call a spade a spade…Nintendo means kids, it means running noses and crying and people who ask too many questions when I’m hittin’ the bong. So I’m not a Wii fan…so kill me.

Anyway I love driving games and I really love Rally games so I had to jump on the demo. two minutes later I was in a battle for 3^rd place…ha, and this is my first time playing…ha, ha… this game sucks ass. I mean sure it’s got pretty colors and lots of flashing lights, but I have two words for you…true Physics. Sega never heard of them and really expects me to play a game that defies the laws of the third dimension. For example how the fuck is it possible that you can get the rear wheels to break loose with the slightest over emphasis on the throttle, but you don’t have the torque to climb any of the hills without losing speed? Hello, this is a rally car…this isn’t a Datsun B210 (fuck you… I love Datsun’s) or a Chrysler K car. But maybe I’m being harsh so here, let me state it plainly, if you like cars that can only accelerate when you are going into a tight turn and cars that only handle on straight-aways (IE..they don’t handle at all). Needless to say I used my superior gamer skills and catlike reflexes to fight my way to a second place finish. Of course I did a fair amount of head bobbing and weaving and cursing to animate the driving to make all that happen and when I looked around I had a bit of a crowd standing around me. I wasn’t sure if it was my superior driving skills or the “animated American” thing that did it…but I was gettin’ noticed so I didn’t trip.

We beat a hasty retreat out of there and headed for the nearest music store. Here Jo and I had a bit of a disagreement because she was really reluctant to buy anything. She opted to download all the tracks she wanted, which is a fair thing to want and very European because they’re much less open to seeing what a record label can do for them. The issue was that I’m into underground hip-hop and you can’t really find a ton of MF DOOM and J-Live on iTunes…and I don’t really like the taste of Steve Jobs’ balls in my mouth so I kind of avoid the whole IPod thing (but I do have a shitty insignia player and if anyone from Rhapsody is reading…you guys suck hairy ass!!)

I found a rare (rare to me) Stones Throw records compilation and I had to buy it. It was like 18 quid which is a good $36, but hey, it’s Peanut Butter Wolf…how could I resist? So after I spent entirely too much money on a few T-shirts we decided to go and get a pint. The Brit’s really have the pint thing down, the consistency across the island for pint quality is fucking amazing. Jo and I sat there and talked shit on the UK film council and indie filmmaking in general before we stumbled out of there and she took me back to my bed and breakfast.

I screened in an Audio/Visual center that was state of the art. Huge fucking image, great sounds I was in heaven. I wasn’t the most packed attendance I’ve ever experienced but I can’t really complain…shit, we had about 8-10 people there and a few were industry people (rumored).

They treated me like more of a big deal that they had done before and was really grateful. It was a bit of a rainy night and that seemed to have depressed the turnout a bit but we still had a sincere crowd. I did the introduction and screened the film and when the lights came up it was literally silence. I was of course loaded so I didn’t really care. But was I conducted the Q&A it became obvious that again the Brit’s couldn’t understand why everything had to be so “big” so “over the top”.

Since these were shooters and producers, I gave them the straight dope. I told them that the excess production values allowed us to compete in a different talent pool; we tended to be seen as professional trying to do something professional and not some SoCal kids who were fucking around with a camera. As per usual it was a tough sell at first and we began to focus on “the strength of the script” and shit like that. I particularly enjoyed this Q&A because it gave me the opportunity to shatter the myth of the script.

“Myth of the script”

The myth of the script is, in my opinion, the belief that all of the risk of film production and specifically principal photography is solely tied to the script. So, in theory, if you have a well written, well vetted script you are not only facing less risk, but you have taken a significant step in the right direction to shooting a good film. This is not at all true and I took the time to explain why.

No matter where we go, no matter who we speak to, no matter what their skill level is in filmmaking they will tell you that it’s all about the script and if you are fortunate enough to meet an actor or writer or producer that has been around for quite some time they quote you some esoteric shit like “if it ain’t on the page, it ain’t on the stage”. These are very harmful statements to make and I want to explain why.

The script is a rough idea at best. Yeah, I know a lot of you screenwriters take objection to that, but that’s the true. You would be hard pressed to find a competent director or producer who hasn’t started with an “awesome” script only to have a number of problems in principal and specifically post. But it goes even further than that if you speak to financiers who will tell you relatively quickly that many a bad film has been shot from a good script and many a great film was edited from less than stellar principal photography dallies…why is this?

In my opinion this results from the fact that there is only so much you can envision and control in a script. There are a number of shooting issues and editing issues that will not be apparent when you are writing be will be extremely evident when you are shootin and editing, but that’s not the real issue.

The real issue is that there is a real difference between writing a deeply moving scene and shooting a deeply moving scene, I know that sounds confusing but bear with me. A script is a collection of isolated events in time that you can almost fully assess and understand in written form. Now when we film these scenes things changes, that’s because we now have moving pictures and sound design and atmosphere tracks and attractive actors and camera lenses all of which bring added dimensions to a scene, sequence or film that aren’t perceived clearly in the writing stage. Here, I’ll give you an example…you’re at the climax point for your breakout feature and you’ve written a really heartfelt scene…problem is, it doesn’t come across as heartfelt for any number of reasons like the scene isn’t visually interesting or the viewing audience is distracted by the sequence that proceeded this scene or are preoccupied by a scene or sequence that they anticipate appearing on the screen quite soon. Either way we have a problem that the script cannot fix. Only by the addition, deletion or rearrangement of the/a/many sequence(s) can we get the desired effect.

Therefore it is my belief that the “myth of the script” is an almighty, never differing, never altering book of knowledge is what’s causing a lot of the problems. Now this is not meant to insinuate that I just go out and wing it…to the contrary I suss things out and vet my projects to an infinite extent…the difference is that I know that I don’t really know what I have till I see the scene on the screen/monitor. This is why I think plain ol’ screenwriters are at a serious disadvantage to writer/directors because a writer/director can refine the vision step by step using all the tools in the box when as the spilt positions of screenwriter working with a director can be a more cumbersome process.

As I stated this in Barrow I saw people begin to chew on the idea that it’s not just about the source material. I told them that in my opinion filmmaking is about your ability to make adjustments not to follow a predetermined path. One of the concerned filmmakers asked me what I would say to someone who had used the “myth of the script” process flawlessly for a number of films…I replied that a production problem was inevitable as soon as the negative costs became significantly large enough where you couldn’t envision every single thing that might happen. I told them that it ‘s the practice of not know what to do and figuring it out on the spot that we practice and not just following the plan we made last fall. There was some groaning and hard looks at first but as we continued to debate they began to see my approach to it and why I opt to shoot more expensive films than less expensive films (if you want me to explain this…send an email or post a comment).

It was a good screening and there was a lot of exchanging of ideas (ok.. my ideas, but fuck you…it’s my screening). And then guess what happened? The dude that working in the A/V place asked me if I liked to play Playstation? Are you fucking kidding me? The next thing I know were playing Ridge racer on a huuuge fucking screen. Ok, I did get my ass kicked but I fucking hate ridge racer and the cute little Japanese chick that comments on your driving (I prefer a British dude screaming at me). I drank another pint and then got my ass kicked again and then the bar closed (what is the deal with the 12am closing time…how’s a Yankee supposed to get fucked?)

Well I left with Jo and Phil and followed them back to their flat and they made me some eats and we watched a crazy British indie film ( Withnail & I) . I ate and drank and laughed my ass off before stumbling back to my bed & breakfast…which was locked up for the night (no, I’m serious). I was kind of fucked but I just went back to Jo’s and passed out on their spare bed.

I was up at the crack of dawn and on my way back to my room and then to the train… I was on my way to Wimbledon….to see Mr. Keats…this out to be money!

COOPRDOG

I can see clearly now...

2008-01-18T08:35:00.000-08:00

I woke up really early because it was cold (when is it not fucking cold in England?) and because I had to screen today. Not that there was anything wrong, but the opportunity to screen is an opportunity to fall flat on your face. You have to take it pretty seriously because your reputation is on the line.

Gary said that we didn’t really have anything to do other than hang out at the festival (The Hull International film festival). I had really wanted to check out a number of the screenings but I was also screening today, so I’m not really going to be able to move around too much…I have shit to take care of. I did manage to get Gary to take me to a UK council “Financing your film” Seminar.

Gary was less than thrilled that I wanted to attend. The phrase “UK film Council” seemed to make him ill, I would sound find out why. We scampered about the festival till we found the symposium. We were in a small auditorium that held about 50-75 people comfortably. There were maybe 30 filmmakers in attendance. Before the thing started I was excited. I wanted to hear theses cats speak and see what kind of advice they give and more importantly they were going to screen some of the work that came out of their grant program. Gary seemed more irritated than ever.

We mingled and spoke to a couple of filmmakers and did the typical squaring off and defending our films-thing…and then it started.

The moderator introduced the exec’s from the Film Council who were accompanied by a filmmaker and a screenwriter. I was not too happy that they had brought a screenwriter, I mean I like screenwriters (I am a screenwriter) but I don’t think their points of view are too relevant. I am a director and I like to speak to other directors and producer because I wish to talk about the realities of film production. If you are merely a writer than in my opinion you can only really discuss their difference between what you intended and what was actually captured on film. The screenwriter that I was listening to speak had a lot to say about what the film should look like and feel like, but she had no courage to direct so in my opinion she doesn’t want to do the dirty work. She liked the “idea” of filmmaking but wanted someone else to come in and do it, but wanted the respect as being the sole creative entity behind the project. That was laughable to me. I guess she thought that the director should stop and ask her for her opinion every time he had to make a decision, or maybe she just wanted the ability to interject her feelings on how the scene (and film) should play out. Either way I don’t care. Filmmaking is not a group effort, filmmaking is not decision making by committee. Films are made by one person who is executing their vision and I know there are a lot of people who disagree with that statement and to those who do…I suggest you try shooting something complicated, something with multiple shooting days…trying shooting something that will only grow in complexity in the editing suite and tell me how much unwarranted advice you want to hear.

So we watch the four films and I begin to understand why Gary didn’t want to come. While the films were very well shot and well acted, the social awareness of the films became burdensome. According to the UK Council, you can’t just shoot a film…the film has to have some overreaching social message to tell you. I didn’t mind it at first, but then I felt the weight of social morals weighing down the cinema. I suddenly knew why the crazy British films were really crazy and why Simon Pegg really puts it down.

The lights came on and we began the Q & A period. Only, no answers were really forthcoming. I listened to several arrogant filmmakers who weren’t even filmmakers (because they had yet to shoot their first film) go on and on about what kind of career they could have if they got this money. The whole funding the film, editing the film, exhibiting the film-thing seemed like water under the bridge for a lot of the assembled “filmmakers”. It was tough to listen to. All of these assumptions about how you will eventually get a shootable script, how you will eventually get the thing edited because it’s just editing…for the assembled ones here a career was a foregone conclusion.

I didn’t hear any talk about bodies of work or who you make films for. No, the UK film council has a great plan to kind of take over the International film world…too bad it seems to be killing the filmmakers. It was really shocking to meet directors and filmmakers who had worked with the film council and have vowed to never work with them again.

I was kind of crushed. I had traveled here because I had admired the UK’s model. I thought it had offered opportunities and a level of egalitarian-ness that didn’t exist in the states. I now clearly saw the advantages that the US has over the UK. I mean yeah, shit is hella expensive here in the states. Bribery and coercion are a way of life, it’s all about who you know and how much money you are going to make someone else…yeah it kind of sucks. But at least your film is your film. The UK filmmakers had not nearly as much to cheer about. While the UK does offer funding and national recognition, they want to control projects. I can’t imagine who it must feel to finally get your project funded and into serious pre-production and then have “suggestions” made to your script. I can’t imagine how it must feel to deal with a large bureaucracy that has “other” intentions for you film.

I felt now that US and UK filmmakers were much more alike than we have previously assumed. While we deal with astronomical economic barriers and ridiculous interpersonal politics we still get to shoot mostly what we want. Overly anxious producers and meddling exec’s are the cost of big films not all films.

I went up to speak to the main UK guy and man was he a cock. I mean how often do you meet a filmmaker from another country who’s traveled to your home court to give you props on your financing model (which I have since thought of as bullshit) and the least you could do was attempt to engage me. I mean c’mon dog, I know you’re like the main dude and all that shit…and that you get more ass than a toilet seat…but how about some professional courtesy?

After that we got the fuck out of Dodge. Smoked a gang of weed and got ready to screen.

We arrived at the bar/screening venue a little late (I only say that because there was a full house that was kind of staring at us) and all I really wanted was a pint. The crowd was friendly, very friendly and I really felt at home. As this trip progressed I begin to see my screenings in a different light. There are still the litmus test by which I live and die; but they are a product of their environment. I have really begun to understand that there is only so much emphasis that I can exert on any individual screening and while I don’t ever think you should de-emphasize the importance of how your film is seen, I do believe that a good amount of meeting people and shaking hands can have an effect.

The people here really seem to like me. I’m not able to touch a pint to my lips without someone coming over to me and asking me a question about Los Angeles. In their minds it’s an amazingly wonderful place that is full of opportunity. Which is basically true, although it can be amazingly wonderfully bad and dangerous and yes anything can happen, including your being shot dead by LAPD, being forced into the porno industry (uh, I went willingly) not to mention a few other things. To be completely honest I loved the idealism of the Hull residents. It really made me feel like I have taken my chosen city for granted.

Gary stood up and introduced the return of Slack Video. I don’t really know how to tell you what Slack Video is…other than to say that it’s a collection of the left of center, not really understood and not really thought about pieces of film. It’s the kind of films that you won’t necessarily rent but won’t be able to take you eyes of off when it’s on the screen. The closest approximation I can give your is the neck of woods the David Lynch writes and directs in. The traditional view points for watching and assessing film don’t work here. Slack video is a place where you have to put most of what you know and what you like aside and trust in the Slack Video crew. For that I was grateful, because my film has been included in this lot. I do believe I have transcended the categories of “calling card” and “Show piece” and moved into an arena of relevant and edgy.

The screening goes without a hitch. Ironic because Slack video made the smallest deal about their screening, they made the smallest deal about who they were and what they were trying to do…they just put up the films and got people loaded. I was congratulated for the look and the feel of the film and then they all dispatched to go out outside and smoke and continue drinking. I mingled and mingled and then there was a weird little wink-wink, nudge, nudge thing going on. The last time I witnessed something like this the cops busted in and tried to arrest nearly everybody.

Gary then asked me if I wanted to go hang out and smoke mad ganja…uh, let me think about that. What followed was about 7 hours (I’m not kidding) of drinking and smoking. I mean these Hull motherfuckers can really put’ em back. I walked into this guy’s house and then he pulled out a 10X13 Tupperware container that was full of weed. I can’t believe how high I was. I mean I’ve been really high before but I was cat napping on clouds I was so high. It was really unsafe to be speaking out of your ass in such a highly intoxicated state. But I’ve always been a risk taker (have you met my ex’s) so I was like what the fuck…let’s have at it.

We began by talking about our favorite films, or I should say they talked about their favorite films…all I did was just listen. That was until “Crash” was brought up. I really did try and resist the comments but they held the film in such high esteem that I had to get a little critical on them. I took a huge hit of the spliff (half weed-half tobacco…Brit’s.. I get it, but what the fuck?) and let them have it.

COOPRDOG
So you like the film?

BRITISH FILMMAKING CATS
It’s brilliant.

COOPRDOG
What makes it brilliant?

BRITISH FILMMAKING CATS
It’s a courageous film to make about race a topic that we are afraid to talk about.

COOPRDOG
Yes, we are afraid to talk about race. But the film doesn’t really talk about race, it merely expounds and somewhat justifies the fears of non-people of color in LA.

BRITISH FILMMAKING CATS
What are you talking about? The opening scene is about race?

COOPRDOG
Well other than being wholly inaccurate in the way that Blacks and whites relate to each other in LA, the scene is about power and not race if you want to get technical, and it’s a false and romanticized depiction.

BRITISH FILMMAKING CATS
How so?

COOPRDOG
Black people are pulled over and harassed by LAPD all the time in LA, as are most ethnic minorities. I don’t care how much money you have, I don’t care how far you are up on the entertainment latter…if you get pulled over by LAPD in that manner and the cops begin to speak to you in that tone, you aren’t going to fuck around.

BRITISH FILMMAKING CATS
Ok..ok.. but you’re speaking as a …well forgive the term.. “hoody” black guy…so of course you read this differently. But the characters weren’t… uh..hoody…so they probably didn’t realize what was going on.

COOPRDOG
Ok, I’m going to speak from an informed “African American” opinion…since I’m the only Black motherfucker in this town.

BRITISH FILMMAKING CATS
Hey…we got a black guy who works at the train station

COOPRDOG
Yeah, and he knows my brother…anyway, The feeling of harsh treatment or even unfair treatment from LAPD is not something that only poor blacks feel and worry about or have the ability to recognize. If you have dark skin and were born in the US you know exactly what is going to happen. It’s only a strange and bizarre situation to the white majority.

BRITISH FILMMAKING CATS
So, you’re saying that you get pulled over and have your wife finger fucked in front of you a lot?

COOPRDOG
Uh, no…I’m not married. I’m saying that the feeling, the situation, the taste of the air of a pending racial incident is something that black people in the US know very well. It’s not possible for them to misinterpret or misunderstand. It’s learned behavior and it’s not something that you get wrong.

BRITISH FILMMAKING CATS
That’s bullshit. You can’t say that?

COOPRDOG
Oh? Have you ever been in a fight? Have you ever been punched out? If you have you can recognize immediately when things are about to escalate…that’s a feeling you instantly recognize if you’ve been in the situation.

BRITISH FILMMAKING CATS
He has a point.

COOPRDOG
Please remember that I’m not attacking “Crash” even though it has the same name as a brilliant film by David Cronenberg…but that’s not my point.

BRITISH FILMMAKING CATS
What’s your point then?

COOPRDOG
My point is that this is a film about redemption, which, correct me if I am wrong, is a concept that Christians dwell upon on a regular.

BRITISH FILMMAKING CATS
So you think there is religious propaganda in the film.

COOPRDOG
I think my country is forever caught up with the “right” way to do things and hence almost everything we produce has some level of religious or social emphasis in it.

BRITISH FILMMAKING CATS
You should try living here Mate!

The place erupts in laughter.

COOPRDOG
Yes, this much I have seen. But what I’m driving at is that this is not really a film about race. We don’t really get to see how Blacks or Latino’s or any other ethnic group feels about race or specifically their feelings about the white majority… only the misconceptions of the white majority.

BRITISH FILMMAKING CATS
That’s a generalization!

COOPRDOG
Is it? Do you really think Sandra Bullock’s character has spent a lot of time around Mexican’s and Latino’s? Do you think she’s really spent one on one time with convicted felons?

BRITISH FILMMAKING CATS
Does she have to?

COOPRDOG
Yes, she has to because she dresses down a Mexican guy with heavy Tatt’s over his body, publically. She’s quite comfortable with making these derogatory comments literally to his face.

BRITISH FILMMAKING CATS
I still don’t see your point.

COOPRDOG
My point is that in the real world, in the real Los Angeles that individual would make it a point to make her feel very uncomfortable by violating her personal space and by staring her down. But we don’t see these things happen. It’s an open area for racial conflict yet the minority is forced to adhere to the rules of decorum. God forbid he would react like a real convicted felon that’s trying to set his life straight and let her see just how unwise it is to make those kinds of statements in the presence of said individual.

BRITISH FILMMAKING CATS
But he’s an individual, he might be a pussy.

COOPRDOG
Yeah he might be. But he’s also a pussy when he’s daughter is almost killed by the Persian cat who blames him for the robbery. If you know anything about Hispanics and Latino’s it’s that their families are sacred to them. So not only is he not willing to defend himself but also he’s daughter and this goes down if front of the dude’s house…so it most definitely reveals his status as a man and his ability to protect his family. And when he learns that she has not been killed he has no anger, he doesn’t lash out…he doesn’t even utter a single harsh work… he just walks into the house.

BRITISH FILMMAKING CATS
You think that’s bullshit because he’s Mexican?

COOPRDOG
I think it’s bullshit because he’s and American and an LA resident and Mexican. Any one of those three would more than likely get you shot…but again we see no anger…just restraint. Seems odd to me.

BRITISH FILMMAKING CATS
Ok.. I hear you…but it seems like all of this arise from how the black characters are treated.

COOPRDOG
Well the film is a no holds barred attack on the black family.

BRITISH FILMMAKING CATS
Oh, come on…how can you say that?

COOPRDOG
Dude! We see the initial assault where the Black man does not defend the Black women. We see their relationship completely fall apart and you open see both of them question their marriage. Only to see the black male shun his wife when she shows up at the set…crying her eyes out and then he takes his rage out on another black character (Ludicrous) and he’s left in a tense standoff with LAPD.

BRITISH FILMMAKING CATS
Well that could happen?

COOPRDOG
Could it? If the Black family is so fragile, so easily rattled then how is it that we made it out of bondage? We’re talking about more than 200 years of “harsh” treatment at the hands of the white majority. So either that is a wholly false depiction or we never survived lynching and dismemberment and Jim Crow laws and all that shit.

BRITISH FILMMAKING CATS
So you are saying that it’s false because Black people have dealt with and do deal with much greater racism all the time.

COOPRDOG
Yeah, that’s exactly what I am saying.

BRITISH FILMMAKING CATS
Well… I still like the film.

COOPRDOG
Hey man, you can love the film…but it’s kind of bullshit as far as a racial introspection is concerned.

As the night drew to a close we argued a lot more about film and let me tell you that it wasn’t like when I argue in the States. This was more of a discussion of ideas and while it did get heated at times, it was never disrespectful. It was an honest attempt to see what I thought and to pick my brain. I think that is what I respected the most about this place is the intense curiosity. I really felt like there was a meeting of the minds and I was happy to participate.

On the walk home Gary and I talked about what had happened to night and if I had been beat up a little. I told him that that was why I was here. As we talked I was just overwhelmed with how vividly these filmmakers saw the shots that they wanted to shoot, but funds and equipment are so scarce. I was humbled and felt that I had taken many things for advantage…I have to do better.

The next morning Gary drove me to the train station and gave me a big hug. I’d only been around this guy for about two days and I was really going to miss him. But I had to get him and Hull out of my mind…because I was on my way to Barrow in Furness…my fourth screening in 9 days.

COOPRDOG

The mad dash to Kingston

2008-01-10T22:24:00.000-08:00

When I got back to the hotel it was a mad dash to get all my shit packed. This is not the way I like to do things, this is not the way I like to approach travel but what can I tell you I kind of fucked up. I say fucked up because I didn’t really break out a map to see exactly where Kingston Upon Hull was. I had assumed that it was within 50-60 miles of where I was staying...yeah well that was kind of a colossal mistake. Not only was I going to eat a day in this hotel (I pre-paid the entire hotel stay) but I had no idea what train to catch or what time it left or any of that shit (hey, pussy will do that to you).

I was really just trying to get all my shit inside this hockey bag and get the fuck out of dodge. I didn’t have time to whine about not being prepared or “oh my God, how am I going to do this”. I wanted to be a world traveler and this is what it is, spontaneity. I took me about 45 minutes to pack all my shit. I sent a flurry of text messages to my new London peeps (I had since spoken to Matt and Jody and realized that my Blackcherry never received a bunch of text messages) and told them that I’d be back in a few days.

I hopped the 47 to Vauxhall station and then it was the train dance (2 connections over 150 kilometers) all the while afraid to go to sleep because if I missed my stop I was fucked. I spoke to Gary a few times during the trip and he told me not to worry, it’s kind of hard to miss Hull. I was sure what he meant by that but I made a note of it.

The train stations were frustrating as usual. I still had a heavy American accent which will get you fucked in urban places like London; it’s when you go out into the rural areas that things start to change. Take the train station for instance, I have to repeat myself several times and ask a multitude of persons about where to go, not because Briton’s don’t know their shit but because you tend to get several different answers to the same question. You quickly learn to try and figure out yourself which platform you need to be on and then ask people and see what they tell you. If you ask four people follow the majority opinion and you should be fine. This is a traveling technique that I could use other places I’m sure. It made me wonder how non-specific I’ve been when someone asks me directions in Los Angeles.

I didn’t know shit about Kingston Upon Hull till I got there. All I knew was that I received a strange reaction when I repeatedly asked which train went to Hull. I was unaware that there is only one stop for Hull on the train and it is at the end of the line. I noticed that the dress and manner of the people on the train changed a little as the train got closer to Hull. We entered the station and I disembarked with all my shit and started looking for Gary. He left me a message saying he’d be at the station looking for an American (“whatever they look like”). It initially seemed like a joke, but once I got to the station I realized that there are not a lot of travelers that come to Hull.

I met Gary outside the station and then we trekked about 50 miles to his flat (I’m not joking we walked forever…but hey, Brit’s like to walk). As soon as I hit the door he packed me a bowl and put on some tunes and then made me something to eat. Gary is a straight-up Homie who’s really into the Roots, that totally tripped me out that I was thousands of miles from Philly and I’m sittin’ here talkin’ about Black Thought and Ques-Love…trippy.

We chilled for a few hours, smoked hella more weed and then we hit the bars. As we walked through the town the place had a strange feel. I couldn’t put my finger on it at first but I knew something was different.

We went to this reggae spot that was off the chain. It was kind of weird at first cause I’m a dread and they are all Brit’s and we’re listening to Peter Tosh and they know all the words and I don’t and people are wondering how that’s possible. I’ll have to give the Brit’s credit because never once did they assume that I was Jamaican or Rastafarian which is always the assumption in the states. I met a bunch of his friends and we all started drinking…no, I mean drinking. It was then that I learned that Hull is a rather violent place that is plagued with unemployment and poor access to education. As soon as he said that I knew what I was feeling. I was all my years of economic training and my finance background that kicked in. As soon as he said that I knew what these people were facing and had faced for more than a generation. It is one thing to read white papers and to climb over demographic data and census extracts but it’s another when you meet people that make up statistics.

It’s cold in Kingston and many of the houses are kind of rundown…not that the place looks like some type of a ghetto in a movie or Public TV special…but evidence of neglect, of a lack of priorities and the like (not that I’m dissin’…just reportin’.) When federal and city governments gut social programs, this is what happens. Even more startling was the way Hull is viewed by the rest of the country; they try to forget it. They try to pretend that it’s not there which really explains why it takes so long to get there on a train and why there aren’t that many trains that travel there.

I was here to talk about my film and filmmaking in general? Are you fucking kidding me? I was overwhelmed with emotion. Gary had told everyone that he introduced me to that I was a filmmaker from Los Angeles which seemed to amaze everyone. They could not understand why I would travel to see them, and what I expected to get from it. I replied that I’m here to meet Briton’s… real Briton’s and last I checked Kingston Upon Hull was still part of the UK…they were tickled.

As the night progressed I had wild experience after wild experience. For starts these motherfuckers can drink. And please keep in mind that I went to undergraduate in Pittsburgh which is famous for its occupants drinking till they puke and then drinking some more (it’s called making room)…I should also point out that I lived in Phoenix for nearly three years and witnessed how much 115 degree weather will make you drink…and none of it prepared me for Hull. Let me clearly point out that the excessive drinking is not alcoholism. I didn’t see anywhere near the level of sloppiness and public passed-out-ness that I saw in London when I was in Hull. Drinking is a part of daily life as is weed smoking and bitching about Parliament.

I really have never been physically embraced by as many people as I was when I was in Hull. I was getting hugged all the time and all I did was answer questions. It was really tough not to feel the massive emotional and cultural distance between me and them. For instance I met several people who had never seen a blackberry (or any other Smartphone) for that matter. It’s kind of strange to meet people who don’t know their email address but have them written down at home…I was flabbergasted.

As Gary and I sat down and chopped it up over a pint. He told me about the 80’s and Margaret Thatcher and the 1^st George Bush and how it affected his town. Gary is a character…he’s a rebel, a revolutionary and provocateur. You can’t just make a statement in front of the guy without defending it. I had many lively debates when I was in his house, oh did I mention that he put me up. That I lived in the guy’s house and shit in his toilet and smoked a lot of his weed and made international phone calls and he was totally cool with it. I mean I know peoples like this…but they are my peoples, I’ve know them for decades but a totally stranger…amazing. Say what you want about the Brit’s being uptight and shit but I’ve seen nothing but hospitality since I arrived on this Island and this is the height of it.

The next thing I remember I was dragged out of this bar and we started walking to another bar. It was hella fucking cold and I was starting to thing that I should be in Philly or some shit. I mean it had to be like 30 degrees in this bitch. We walked fast and tried to avoid the Bobbies. Apparently the Bobbies have scanners on their police cars and when you drive by they scan your license plate and they find out your registration, if you are insured, if you have unpaid parking tickets, if you are behind on your taxes; I couldn’t believe it. Gary barked about it and about the man and about being under the thumb. As we crossed street after street I noticed these black fences around all the intersections with small opening for you to cross the street near the corners. Gary told me that this is the most clear example of how the British government tries to dictate every aspect of your life…even where you cross the street. In an act of protest, Gary climbed over a few of the fences as we traversed the streets.

Yes, I am a revolutionary, yes…I speak ill of the American government but not like Gary. He had an insight and a passion that I could not match. He’s down for whatever and though he’s not a large man, he’s definitely a scrapper and I would not recommend mixing it up with this guy.

We went to this afterhours club where the owner is a personal friend of his (talk about being connected). We walked past the entire line after a few hello’s and we were in the club. Half of the club was like a top 40 mix and the other half was house music…yes, I said house music. For those of you that know me personally, I’m a house slut. I proceeded to drink 5 more pints and dance by myself. I mean it was bad enough that I was like the only black guy within like a thousand miles, but I was bustin’ out this 90’s era Philly House step that these motherfuckers had never seen before. Before you knew it I was on top of a speaker shaking my ass and rubbing my chest like an extra in an 80’s Madonna video. Gary and his friends were cracking up as I showed no shame.

During a respite at the bar, Gary asked me how I got so into house music. I told him I’m from Philly…Land of house music. Tightly packed clubs with scantily clad people dancing on speakers is a situation that is very familiar to me. I drank and I flirted and I flirted some more and then I hit on one of Gary’s friends…and then I hit on another one of Gary’s friends, none of which was successful, but hey…I’ve never been one to hesitate so if there are attractive women around I’m probably going to say something.

The night wound to a close and next thing I knew I was back at Gary’s house…passed the fuck out on the couch.

COOPRDOG

Let's just say I did some drinking...

2008-01-04T00:14:00.000-08:00

I have two days to kill till I have to move again and Matt and Jody are promising me a hell of a night...yeah I’ve heard that before. The room is an utter and complete mess, I mean if I stand any chance of gettin’ laid it’s going to have to be an away game. I’ve been trading emails with Slack Video in Hull to make sure my next screening is cool; but I haven’t heard a thing.

The first order of business is food, cause I plan on doing some drinking tonight. As I’m walking out of the door my Blackcherry starts to buzz. It’s the chick from the store and I’m really not trying to deal with that situation right now…so I let it go to voicemail. I called her back in about 30 min’s and I couldn’t get through. Her phone was temporarily disconnected which seemed odd. I redialed the number to make sure I hadn’t entered it incorrectly and I got the same message. I mean what’s the deal? I don’t know about the UK but in LA when your celli is turned off people think you are dead, I don’t really get this shit.

About an hour later I received a phone call from an unknown UK celli and it was her. She told me this story about how she’s calling from her friend’s phone and how she’s out of minutes. My age starts to show because I don’t fuck around with anybody who has less than 2K minutes. In addition you need to have unlimited text messages and be kind of quick on the keyboard. I could overlook these things but I sensed that she was young. Maybe it was the polite way she told me that she didn’t smoke weed and didn’t like to drink and didn’t really like to go out. I mean sure…if you are 50 but she was 22-23 at the oldest so I knew that was a lie. Also she wanted me to come to her which I know is the gentlemanly way to handle things, but I’m a fucking foreigner and I’m lucky if I can get back to the hotel in a timely manner – the chivalry is on hold till I start recognizing street names.

4 hours later I hadn’t hear from Jody and Matt and was thinking that I got blown off. Which wasn’t really upsetting me, but then I’d have nothing to do and wind up with the young chick who had already revealed that she wanted to drink wine and chat. Yeah, I paid a few thousand dollars to sit around drinking cheap wine and telling lies to underage people I’ll never see again – No, thanks. Sure, me blowing her off isn’t the coolest thing to do, but this isn’t my idea of a vacation and she’s not my girl …so sue me.

Matt and Jody hit me up and it was all good. All I knew is that I was meeting them in Victoria station and that Jody was getting me a day pass for the tubes (think of it as a present Mate!) We hopped two or three trains and checked out some of the chicks on the trains (man…it’s like a hottie convention). And the next thing I knew we were in Soho. The plan was to work our way up and down this street hitting bar after bar. From jump we are pounding the pints. I knock down three pints and we’re off to another bar, this time we’re drinking Bulmers Cider (with the ice, Man it’s out off the chain). We’re talking film, talking shooting, talking directing…it’s a regular round robin. I’m not really checking out women…ok, that’s a lie I am checking out women but I’m not really checking out woman (I’m in the league). I’ve decided to not be so aggressive and to see what comes to me (it’s called being lazy…have you heard of it?) I was getting lightheaded, beginning to stumble a little and talking about Z-cars constantly…I’m just about ripe.

We scramble out of that bar and into this nightclub, then it gets crazy. Being an American in England is one thing, being an American in England when an American recording artist comes on the sound system is quite another. Did you know that when you’re outside the states and Jay-Z comes on or Beyoncee comes on that British women grab an American and start dancing. I wouldn’t have belived it if it didn’t happen to me. So here I am, knee deep in drunken Brit’s pretending like I know the words to every Jay-Z song ( I really don’t feel him like that) trying to mingle. It’s so fucking loud that small talk is just not going to happen. I need to find a willing and intoxicated victim and get at her.

It doesn’t take me long till I see a group of drunk model looking chicks. Not really my deal because as far as I am concerned the smoking hot chicks can’t fuck, but these are the only chicks paying any attention to me. I move near them, order a pint…pretend to spill it, try to flirt a little…it’s all pointless. So I just kind of grab her hand and motion to the dance floor. She smiles but refuses then she looks at me and whispers something to her friend. Man do I hate that shit.

I spy Matt and Jody and they are drinking it up and chatting up this exotic dancer looking chick (ok, she’s a stripper). All I know is that inside of the first round of drinks she’s already agreed to get naked and do a lesbo scene in their film. See, I never have the balls to say that kind of shit. I really feel like a pussy when I’m over here; the Brit’s really don’t give a fuck they just go for it…if they get shot down, they get shot down. I need to start freakin’ my shit like that…I need to get a little UK flair going with my smack talk.

I roam the floor looking for the type of women I that I like to knock down and climb on top of (I mean date…the type of women I like to date) and it’s not what you think it might be. I like big girls. Not necessarily “fat” girls (though I’ve been known to ride a few), I’m talking large athletic types. 5’9” to 6’ big hips, long hair and lots of attitude; I like not knowing if we are going to fuck or fight when I get home. Makes my life much more exciting that it normally is (you know ‘cause I get so tired of all the interviews and shit).

The only problem with my strategy is that this is not the states so most of the women whom I’m attracted to are actually models. So instead of “hey, how ya doin’”…I’ve got to switch it up to compete with all the “I’m a producer…I’m a booking agent” lies that are being whispered into these women’s ears. After a few walk-bys and several failed attempts to make eye contact I decide to leave this quest alone. I mean we all know that the best way to get their attention is to totally ignore them. But to be complete honest I’m giving up on all my normal approaches and modus operandi’s…I mean what is it really getting me?

It was just at that moment that I saw this cute girl. She was a little plump but who doesn’t like a nice plump chick from time to time (and man are they fun in bed). What ensues is me accidentally bumping into this women like 4 or 5 times before she starts to bump me back. It’s a real nonverbal thing that we’ve got going and to be honest with you I really don’t want to speak. This is like the most successful relationship that I’ve ever had and I’m not about to fuck it up by speaking. She moves away from her friends and goes to the bar. I slowly follow her staring at her big ass the entire way. I move closer to her and stand right behind her. I lean in to order a Guinness and press my cock right against her ass. She pushes back without looking to see who’s rubbing against her. Yeah, that’s what I’m talking about. This might be one of the times I fuck the shit out of somebody and never know their name. yeah, I know all you religious types thing that’s really disgusting…well so is being married for 30 years and almost never having sex. So let’s make a deal, you don’t talk about my promiscuity I won’t talk about your sexual repression.

So I’ve been grinding on this chick’s ass for a good 3 or 4 minutes. I’ve moved closer and put one of my hands on her hips and pulled her close to me. I whispered sweet lies in her ear, she knew it and I knew it. She reached back to grab on to me right when somebody grabbed my arm.

It was Jody, he was wondering what the fuck had happened to me, he said it’s time to do more drinking. This time it was shots and then more pints. I’m sure that it’s just a matter of time before I puke. I’ve got probably 8-10 pints in me and they want to start drinking whiskey…are you fucking kidding me?

The chick has returned to her friends but now she’s staring at me and I’m staring at her. I get a text message from Jody that says “where the fuck are you?” Ok, he’s trippin’…I just did a shot with this motherfucker. So I delve back into the huge crowd and find Jody about 6 minutes later.

COOPRDOG
Dude what’s up

JODY
I don’t know….what’s up?

COOPRDOG
You just sent me a text

JODY
Mate I sent that text nearly an hour ago…get a real mobile phone!

That was the beginning of a trend that I would be slow to realize. T-mobile is kind of booty in the UK and I was about to find out just how booty it really was.

20 minutes later I’m on the dance floor, drunk.. stumbling grabbing and groping her. I don’t give a fuck what happens or if I get my ass kicked… I’m drunk and she’s letting me touch her…what more do I need to know.

So some techno-Brit-pop shit comes on and I’m all about it. I’m attached to this chick like ex-wives to alimony and nothing is going to change that…that is until the lights come one…(dude, can I get a two minute warning). The peeps in the place start to scramble like roaches in the kitchen (that’s a poor people joke). Her friends are grabbing her and she’s looking at me and I have no idea what I should do. I mean I know I need to make a plan and follow her home…but I still have a pint to finish.

The next thing I know I’m outside (uh…I think it’s called a blackout) and a bit confused. Her friends are whispering and I can’t find Matt and Jody. This is not good…I don’t even know how to get to the fucking tube station…and then I see Jody…

JODY
Hey…we’re going to get some money from the Bank Machine…

That was the last I saw of Jody or Matt. I couldn’t find them after that and then the chick was leaving..

CLUB CHICK
Hey…I’m about to leave…you wanna go with us?

Five minutes later I’m in a taxi cab with a pack of women. I have no idea where I’m going all I know is that they all live together and somebody said they had weed. Next thing I know I’m in this small house passing bowls and talkin’ shit..and then everybody like passes out (fucking lightweights). The chick takes me upstairs to her room and it’s on.

Clothes are flying and there is a lot of biting. I don’t want to love her.. I don’t want to hold her I don’t want to build a life with her…I want to violate her. I tell her these things as I’m putting a massive hickey on her neck (hey…the Brits bruise easily…I’m not a biter). I heard her giggle and felt her skin goose bump as I ripped her jeans off. She smiled a huge grin as I pushed her panties to the side. I sank my finger deep in her juicy pussy. She let out a little coo and I couldn’t be bothered…I wanted to feel her.

She grabbed my face with both hands and looked me right in the eye…. “What do you want Cooprdog?” I told her that I wanted to hit that shit from the back.

She rolled over and stuck her ass high in the air

CLUB CHICK
Is this how you want it?

And with that I gripped her ass and pushed my cock into her. What followed was the hardest, nastiest, stankiest most athletic sex I’ve had since I got thrown out of the priesthood (oh, c’mon… I never make religious jokes). I’m inches deep in her…smacking her ass making her recite British history and admit that the straight 6 is an amazing fucking engine. I fucked her with her socks on… I pulled her hair and made her bite the pillow (I love pillow biting). We fucked till the sun came up and a few times after that.

Around 8am I sat straight up in the bed and realized that I had to screen tomm and I’d yet to hear anything from Slack video…it’s time to hammer.

I slammed down a cup of tea, kissed her goodbye and got directions to the nearest tube station. I was back in the hotel 35 min’s later (man the Brit’s got the public transportation thing down)… I got on the laptop and checked the email…Slack video responded…only, there’s a wrinkle. Hull is like a 3hr train ride from here, which means I can’t come back after the screening…which means I’ve leaving London in a few hours…fuck!

COOPRDOG

You act like you know me...

2008-01-01T17:59:00.000-08:00

Opening my eyes and focusing on the ugly walls and the industrial carpet I realized that my memories weren’t just a dream… I was still in London and I had just had a killer night. I needed to top it. I had another three days in this place and I had to make more shit happen.

All I really wanted to do was find some weed and sit on my ass and blaze before the screening but that’s probably not going to happen because I’ve never been able to allow myself to relax long enough to just chill and I still didn’t have a weed hook up. Personally I think that’s bullshit, when you are as cool as me people should be walking up to you and giving you weed every fucking place you go…but maybe that kind of shit will start to happen when I shoot the feature.

I wandered out of the building and decided that I needed to find some grub. This is always a dicey proposition because these motherfuckers cannot cook. I’ve literally been eating once a day because I can’t deal with the fucking strangeness of the shit that I order. Now I know that you have no idea what the fuck it is that I am talking about….here, let me explain. In a certain town that I will leave nameless I wandered into a small shop (eatery) because my stomach was beginning to growl like I was one of the Ethiopian motherfuckers on TV with the fly’s all over his face (ok.. maybe that’s a little drastic, but you get my point). I have learned in my few days here that if you are careful about what you order that the chances of you having a plate of fish heads and cow balls delivered to you are quite slim.

I decided to play it safe and get a chicken sandwich. I mean how badly can you fuck up a chicken sandwich? Its chicken and bread…that’s simple right? Well when the motherfucker came it was more like chicken salad…only the mayo wasn’t mayo… I mean it looked like mayo…but it tasted like cum and toothpaste with a little bit of bleach for flavor. I actually took a bite and almost spit the shit out on to the plate. I vowed after that incident that I’d only eat every 15 hours and I’d stay with fast food…I mean grease is grease. So I’m now on a grease hunt.. how bad can that be?

Well I took a few steps down the street and saw this eatery that I’d passed a couple of times. It’s a small little place with some outdoor tables, basically a roach coach in a fixed place if you know what the fuck a roach coach is. I get a really strange feeling every time I walked by this place.. and I never know why. I had the distinct urge to burn the motherfucker to the ground though I’d never eaten there, never known anyone who has eaten there… I wasn’t sure what my problem was.. then I actually read the name of the eatery …”Uncle Tom’s Cabin”. No, I’m not making that up; no…that’s not a joke. I’m standing in like the middle of the street with this fucked up look on my face because that’s a fucked up name for your shitty restaurant and no one here seems to understand why it’s fucked up. Ok, so now I’m in kind of a foul mood. I’m walking with east coast attitude and hoping some motherfucker says some shit to me. And then I see this other wonderful sight. A sign warning me that a lot of motherfuckers got jacked for their IPods on this very street and that I should beware. I should beware? Or skinny British motherfuckers should beware…cause there ain’t a lot of guns over here… that means it’s good old fashioned fisticuffs and I think I can go a few rounds with a motherfucker.

As I continued to stamp around being pissed I remember that I’m probably being sensitive because I don’t have any weed and I haven’t been fucked. Well I’m going out tonight so maybe I’ll be able to remedy both of those problems and if I’m really going to have any shot at that happening I probably need to get some shoes….but I’m still fucking hungry. I wandered to this little eatery thing and took a seat. This place was a little upscale and pricey, but the bargain basement shit was killing me so I thought I needed to change it up a little. Well lemme tell you my waitress was this sexy eastern European chick. I mean she was like smokin’ hot and had a killer accent. I’d have given her all my money and my Z if she’d have smiled at me. I ordered some lamb chops and a salad and man was it tasty. I was seriously contemplating asking her out…but how do I swing that? I’m not even going to be here till the end of the week…maybe I should tell her she has a great ass and ask her if she wants to fuck (I mean it could work). I opt not to do that and to just enjoy the beautiful site that is her firm breasts under the apron.

I beat it out of there and asked a few locals where to find some thrift stores. I received a really complicated set of directions that I was sure was really going to get me lost, but I’ve learned to use my Blackcherry and I wrote a note every time I crossed a major street – I wasn’t getting’ lost for nobody. Before I knew it I was on a bustling street with busy shoppers and I was really in heaven (not that I believe in old white man and pearly gates in the sky). The problem was I couldn’t find a single pair of shoes that wasn’t totally fucking ugly. I mean what the fuck??? Europe is cool but you cats can wear some wac shit. I’m a dude, I’m a Westside livin’, east coast representin’, weed smokin’, Z-car driving cat and there’s a lot of shit I can’t wear.

I wandered into this store that looked kind of hip and began to look around. The store had mostly female employees and most of them were hot. This is what I call “not a good situation” because anyone who knows me will tell you it’s only a matter of time before I say something. I decided to follow the “when in Rome” rules and not start acting like I’m blowin’ tree’s in the 90034. I walked by ugly shirts and even uglier pants and became sure of only one thing…I am definitely getting’ older. I mean who the fuck pays this much for a pair of jeans…they’re fucking jeans man! You wear jeans when you work on your Z and when you go drinking…they should be able to absorb few substances wiped on the thighs and they should last a good long time. The next thing I knew…I was approached by a woman who was cute…but she was young.

RETAIL CHICK
Are you being served?

COOPRDOG
Uh…I didn’t know we were playing tennis

RETAIL CHICK
No silly, have you been helped. We call it served here, you’re from the states aren’t you?

COOPRDOG
How can you tell?

RETAIL CHICK
Cause you smell like French fries and you dress like you are 10

COOPRDOG
First of all it’s not my fault that you cats still recycle the fry grease from the ‘70’s…and I don’t dress like I’m 10, I am 10…I have a growth disorder.

RETAIL CHICK
Does this little number get the slutty American girls all hot and bothered?

COOPRDOG
It’s virtually impossible to be female and talk to me and not be hot and bothered and I don’t think of American girls as slutty…they’re just very forward thinking.

RETAIL CHICK
Yeah as long as forward means over a desk biting a dictionary.

COOPRDOG
So I take it you’ve studied abroad.

RETAIL CHICK
Did you need some help Mate? You look like you need help.

COOPRDOG
Oh, what makes you say that?

RETAIL CHICK
Because this is the woman’s section.

COOPRDOG
I could be looking for a gift

RETAIL CHICK
You could be. But we both know that you’re not the type of man that keeps a girlfriend.

Ok…this is what a secret agent looks like. In a matter of hours I’ll be drinking Margaritas and flirting her right out of the skirt. And then just as I’m about punish her for white cotton panties and the prettiest eyes I’ve ever seen…the KGB will bust in. I am sure that that is what is going to happen. Sure, I’m paranoid…whatever. I’ve met a lot of women in my life and they are never this cool. This has to be a trap.

COOPRDOG
Girlfriend is a subjective term and my ability to acquire and maintain said designation is not always a function of my actions.

RETAIL CHICK
(Chuckles): Does it get more believable each time you say it

COOPRDOG
Anyway…

RETAIL CHICK
Anyway…the shoes are over here.

I didn’t ask how it was she knew I was looking for shoes. I didn’t ask if her hair was always this long. I followed her to the back of the store and merely enjoyed her female figure as it led me. There was laughing and joking and then I gave her a copy of my film…and then she was impressed, but I told her not to be impressed. I told her that thousands of people shoot films, and most of us suck…I might suck… so…

I flirted a little more and then acted like I had to go and get some money. Yeah, I know…seems like a weird thing to do when a woman is feeling you, but hear me out. I like to make sure that the woman I’m about to fall madly in love with and give half of all my shit too actually likes me. I do this by giving her an out. I leave abruptly and say that I’ll return in about 25 minutes. She has that amount of time to make herself scarce or to completely ignore me when I return. Maybe I’m just a pussy, but whatever.

I take a little walk down the crowded street and basically scope a few pubs before I return. She’s still there and still enthusiastic. I buy a pair of boots tell a joke, get her digits and a promise to hook up later…James Bond ain’t got shit on me.

I check the time and it’s gettin’ late…time to get back to the “hotel” and get ready to rumble. As I’m making the walk back and making scattered eye contact with random Brit’s I really start to come into my own film identity. I already have unique looks with these massive dreads on my head and my affinity for 420 T-Shirts but I’ve begun to chuckle at myself when I get looks. You see in my mind I’m an international superstar. They will each remember where they were when they say the crazy film cat, hell… I’m going to make a lot of dive bars famous…

Anyway so as I’m coming out of my own delusion (I mean what’s the point of shooting a hideously expensive short film and flying to another country if you don’t’ compliment it with a good delusion?) as I get to the door of the hotel. I’m sweaty, kind of stinky and I don’t have a lot of time. I love this part.

I break in the room and see just how much disarray I had left it in. Piles of dirty clothes, stacks of screeners, posters, stickers, EPK’s…it’s like a fucking command center! I move methodically and pack 15 screeners, 20 posters and a few EPK’s. I decided to wear my super-huge “Westside” T-Shirt and let these motherfuckers know from jump who brings the pain!

I’m lugging two bags as I walk out of the hotel. I give shout to the Serb cats (What up, Sun?) and they tell me they’re chillin’ (I don’t know…maybe they watch a lot of rap city) and ask me if I want a taxi. I answer in the affirmative and they place the call. It takes the taxi about 40 min’s to arrive and that really makes me start to trip. I’m a director Goddammit! The cabbie shows up in he’s this 75 yr old African dude and he’s funny as shit. I mean don’t get me wrong he’s the slowest fucking driver in the world and he can’t get the GPS to work. But he tells me this amusing story about this woman who wanted him to drop her in a bus lane and he refused. Stating that it’s a 50 quid fine and that she’d probably survive the accident at these speeds. He told her that if she was willing to pay first, he’d drop her some place where the buses would be moving fast enough to kill her on impact so she wouldn’t have to bleed to death in the ambulance.

Next thing I know I’m there. I pay the guy and tip him cause he’s totally money and bounce out of the cab. I’m screening for Dime Novel Screen. It’s a monthly screening of shorts where the audience picks their favorite film of the night. Sex-Love has really no chance of winning this distinction because shorter, enclosed narratives will always win out over something long-form and discontinuous. There’s a bar called BarStory and behind it is this little tent looking thing that’s really a huge room (I’m being a Yankee dick) there’s a DVD projector in the rear of the room and a huge screen on the other side bookended by two huge speakers. I introduced myself (which always is kind of weird) and I kind of catch people by surprise. They’re struggling with their sound check and trying to be professional about it…so I leave them be and return to the bar. The bar is mobbed and three of the hottest, slowest bartenders in the English speaking world are working. Apparently it’s Mojito night and the hot chicks don’t like to muddle so the line is massive. It’s a good 25 minutes before I can get a Grolsch (you think I’m gonna let the Barbie patrol try their hand at pulling a Pint…please!). I return to the screening room and they got films playing but the sound is still crackling and popping. They’ve copied all the films onto a laptop and play them sequentially through the projection system. It’s a popular thing nowadays and I understand why. I understand that no one really wants to deal with Amary cases and scratching DVD’s when you are going to screen 10 or 15 films, but I fucking hate the Laptop system. I can’t deal with my film being copied in any form without Det. Budd and I personally overseeing the operation. I know that that kind of thing is not going to happen but fuck, I can dream can’t I? So Sex-love is trapped on the Hard drive with a dozen other films and apparently there wasn’t a software update or the wrong version was installed or whatever…but the sound is very choppy and not dynamic (meaning the volume doesn’t increase and decrease like it should). They finally got the sound to be dynamic and not choppy…but it’s hella loud. No, I mean…Hella loud! The Dime Novel crew screens my film nonetheless and gives me a great presentation. The Q & A is lively and I really have nothing to complain about. They segue to the next film and that film is really loud…no, really loud…unwatchable type loud. They decide to go to intermission.

Patrick comes up to me and apologizes for the poor sound and I told him that it was cool. I mean yeah, I would have liked to have perfect sound; but compared to the blood bath the ArcLight did to my film, compared to screening my film on a trash bag in Manhattan, compared to the numerous times the contrast has been dark, the screen dimensions strange or any other number of things I can think of. It was really obvious to me that Dime Novel takes a lot of pride in screening films and takes short films very seriously. They had just come off of a sabbatical and the sound problem just kind of landed on them. I had nothing but praise for their screening me…and this is why I booked multiple screenings.

I got back to the bar and it was pandemonium. The Brit’s were drinking hard and I wanted to be part of it. I met a ton of people and handed out all my screeners and a bunch of posters. Then I met these two dude.. Matt and Jody. We talked smack all night and they asked me if I wanted to drink some pints and chase some Birds tomm… and I said fuck yeah… Then the lights came on and everybody got up and left (no bullshit). I mean say what you want about us Americans…but we don’t just leave the bar when the lights come on, we keep drinking till the bouncers threaten you. But hey…this ain’t my country.

COOPRDOG

I guess I should explain

2008-01-01T17:41:00.000-08:00

I guess I should explain where the fuck I've been for the last two months. Well, I wasn't on a trip anyplace, I haven't fallen madly in love with some woman and been knee deep in a love affair. Nor have I been arrested (Fuck you)...I've just been sitting here on my ass...

What I need for you guys to understand is that under the male bravado, under the jokes, and the Z cars and the weed smoking... underneath all of that...at the base of the filmmaking mountain that I've erected for myself...I am still very much an artist.

This blog is a love hate relationship for me. I think that blogs are pretentious wastes of time for the most part and have had nothing good to say about them...till I had to start this blog. This is some of the best writing I've done in the past 3-4 years which I'm kind of not thrilled about because I wonder what I could write if I would just sit down and concentrate.... anyway... here's the deal...I don't like to disappoint you guys. I don't like to post shitty blogs talking about what I ate for breakfast so the regulars know that I sometimes hold back but then deliver a good blog. Well that trend continues because I've got 4 blogs to post and so much I want to write... so I think I won't bore you...but I'm getting off topic.

I have to write about once every 3 days to have something ready by thursday night (when I normally publish)...that makes it work. What happens is that I hate the pressure of having to be witty and funny and go through this obsessive compulsive cycle of hating all of you. I don't want to work for you...I don't want to work for anyone...and I get bitchy. Also, I really fucking hate the holidays. They tend to coincide with the moment of truth for all my wanna be relationships....so I'm especially moody in December (which is why I didn't post)....

I will try to return to my normal publishing schedule and things will probably be fine for most of the next few months....just remember that I will sometimes disappear because the blog gets too funny, too popular or I suspect that you guys aren't reading...so stop writing to teach you a lesson....

...so please try to understand that artists (writers in particular) are prone to this kind of behavior....

ok... better start reading... there is a lot coming....

Cooprdog