Hollywood is doing its part to save the environment.

9 07 2009

Over the past few months, there have been reports upon reports of scriptwriters in Hollywood being given assignments.  Not just any assignments, though.  No, these writing assignments include making scripts out of Stretch Armstrong, Asteroids (The game), and the Viewmaster.  Let me repeat that.

Stretch Armstrong.

Asteroids.

Viewmaster.

So it’s really come down to this, has it?  It’s true.  Hollywood has officially run out of fresh ideas.

With my keen skills and ninja-like capabilities that would put Snake Eyes to shame, I was able to abscond the three scriptments for Stretch Armstrong, Asteroids, and Viewmaster.  For all you Hollywood-ian neophytes, a “scriptment” is a combination of dialogue and outline of the film.  Since I have a blog to run and need the web hits, it’d be wrong of me to give all three to you at one time.  Hence, I’ve decided to begin with Stretch Armstrong.

Stretch Armstrong: Man of War

Treatment by I. Kurtz and M. Bay

The movie opens in a desert.  Not just any desert.  A really big f***ing desert.  And there are pyramids.  So I guess it’d be Egypt?  Other deserts have pyramids, don’t they?

Anyway, it’s a wide shot of the desert, and all of a sudden there’s a HUGE explosion, causing sand to go flying everywhere!  We pan back until we’re looking beyond the dune we were looking at before, and there’s CHAOS everywhere!  Two groups fighting, guns blazing, grenades-be-blowing-s*** up!  We can tell one side is American, because they have American flags on their helmets or American flags as bandanas.  Just in case the audience doesn’t get it, we can have a couple of guys talking about America:

SOLDIER 1

This is for America!

SOLDIER 2

You tell ’em, Jimmy!

There’s one guy who isn’t sharing their patriotic banter, however.  This gentleman is our hero, Bill “Stretch” Armstrong.  He’s called “Stretch” because he has very long arms and legs.  His neck is very short, though, and he has to make a considerable effort to turn it.  He’s fighting alongside Soldiers 1 and 2, and he’s had enough of their gung-ho ways.

STRETCH

Dammit, men, pay attention to what you’re doing!  I just want to get back home to my wife and kid.

We then cut to him looking at a torn photo which would indeed prove he has a wife and kid.

Suddenly, one of the guys from the other side throws a grenade into their trench!  Stretch, ever the heroic one, leaps upon it to save his brothers-in-arms.  He looks up to the sky and yells:

STRETCH

I did it, baby!  Your daddy’s going to be a hero!

The grenade explodes, and it’s a blackout.

The next scene takes place at a super high-tech laboratory in Sweden.  You can tell it’s Sweden because all of the scientists talk with a ridiculously absurd accent that sounds like it could be Swedish.  They’re escorting a group of military guys through the base.  You can tell they’re military because they’re dressed in army fatigues, except for the lead guy, who has his dress uniform on and a big, bushy mustache.

The scientists take them into a secluded room, where STRETCH is laid out across a stretcher.  The head Swedish scientist guy looks over at SERGEANT MUSTACHE.

SWEDISH DUDE

Ya, we theenk that we can feex your soldier guy, ya.

MUSTACHE

Good.  And while you’re doing that, give him a few improvements…

MUSTACHE twirls his namesake as the Swedish dudes go to work on STRETCH, doing some science-y looking thing.  Blackout.

STRETCH wakes up in a hospital room.  You can tell he just had massive surgery due a cut over his right eye.  MUSTACHE is at the window looking outside.

MUSTACHE

Welcome back, son.

STRETCH

Who are you?

MUSTACHE

I’m  your saving grace.

STRETCH

Yeah, right.  Listen, I just want to get back to my wife and kid.

MUSTACHE

Sure thing, just go ahead and grab your clothes…

STRETCH looks for his clothes, which are hanging on the back of the door, ten feet away from him.  He begins to get up before MUSTACHE turns, smirking.

MUSTACHE

…Without leaving your bed.

STRETCH gives him a look.

STRETCH

That’s impossible.

MUSTACHE

Don’t know til you try, do you son?

STRETCH grimaces.  All he wants is to see his wife and kid.  He extends his right arm, teeth gritted, eyes narrowed.  Those narrow eyes quickly widen when sees his ARM STRETCHING ACROSS THE ROOM, PICKING UP HIS CLOTHES.  STRETCH, awestruck, looks over at MUSTACHE.

STRETCH

What’d you do to me?

MUSTACHE

Made you better, son.

STRETCH

I’m not going home, am I?

MUSTACHE

I could tell you that you were, but then…

MUSTACHE turns and moves over to the door, opening it before turning back to face STRETCH.

MUSTACHE

I’d be stretching the truth, wouldn’t I?

MUSTACHE exits, leaving STRETCH alone to ponder what exactly they did to him….

Crazy stuff, right?  I think it has the potential to be a blockbuster.

ZA

PS: Oh, and just in case Hollywood does come upon this.  Copyright, Zach Arnold, 7/09/2009, completed at 2:13 pm.

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A conversation between Michael Bay and a screenwriter

26 06 2009

The screenwriter (We’ll call him Gary), waits in Michael Bay’s office in downtown Los Angeles.  His script tucked under his arm, he gazes out the floor-to-ceiling window, soaking in the glamour-filled quagmire that is the City of Angels.  Suddenly, a Blackhawk helicopter comes into view!  The chopper turns, facing the window, and in addition, a panic-stricken Gary.  Over the roar of the rotors, he hears Bay’s voice boom from the loudspeaker attached to the front of the Blackhawk.

Bay: You might want to move aside, man!

Gary dives to the right as the Blackhawk almost immediately opens fire, spraying the window with bullets, shattering the large pane of glass, sending the shards tumbling down to the streets below.  The sounds of car tires screeching, metal crunching together as the innocent drivers crash into one another.  The chopper turns, the door on the side sliding open, and Michael Bay jumping from the Blackhawk into the office, tucking into a ball and rolling in, his body slamming against the wall.  He stands, brushing himself off as the chopper leaves, ascending into the sky.  Gary is cowering in the corner, his script clutched tightly to his chest.  Bay turns and sees the aspiring writer.  His mouth cracks into a wide grin.

Bay: Pretty badass, huh?

Gary: Y-yes sir, Mr. Bay.

Bay: Please, call me sir.

Bay helps Gary up to his feet.

Bay: Or you can call me Mr. Awesome, whatever.

Gary: …Okay…sir.

Bay: Alright, so you’re my 3 o’ clock, right?

Bay breaks into a fast run, jumping and sliding across his desk, landing effortlessly into his office chair, the upholstery decorated with explosions and the words “BOOM”, “POW”, and images of scantily-clad women.

Gary: I…uh, like your chair, sir.

Bay: Oh yeah?  Got it custom made.  All the chicks on there are modelled after Megan Fox.  Used to be Liv Tyler, but was so 1998, you know?

Gary: Sure, yeah, that’s when you directed Armageddon.

Bay: (Irate) Directed?  Directed?!  (Punches wall) I did not direct Armageddon!  I was Armageddon!

Gary: R-right, sorry…

Bay: So tell me what you got for me.

Gary: Well, sir, it’s a coming-of-age story about a young boy growing up in the suburbs of Clevela…

Bay: Are there explosions?

Gary: What?

Bay: Are there any explosions in your script?

Gary: Well…no, sir.  I was thinking that this would be a tight, small drama, with a minimal budget.

Bay: (Nearly choking on his own tongue) Minimal…budget?

Gary: Yes sir.  There’s no need for an explosion…

Bay: (Slams fist on table) No!  There needs to be an explosion, dammit!  How’s the father die?

Gary: (Flipping through the script) No one really dies, sir…

Bay: So you scheduled a meeting with me, Michael Bay, Mr. Awesome himself, to go over a script, where there’s no explosions and no deaths.

Gary: Yes sir, I thought you might want to branch out, do something outside of your comfort zone, maybe present a challenge to yourself…

Bay: Don’t you patronize me!

Gary: I don’t really think that’s the correct usage of that verb, Mr. Bay…

Bay: Awesome!  Mr. Awesome!  (Flips desk, then pours gasoline over it, lighting it on fire) Why don’t you tell me why you’re really here, Mr. I’m-Too-Good-To-Have-An-Explosion-In-My-Screenplay?!

Gary: (Deep breath) Fine…I think you’re a hack, a guy who has yet to grow out of the late 90’s mindset that big explosions, massive T&A, and minimal plot are what the people of the world want to see.  Yes, there will always be a need for that in entertainment, but when your plotlines are so simplistic a 2-year old can create a better story, a smarter man would realize that maybe, just maybe he should push himself a little harder if he wants to remain relevant in the entertainment industry.  However, I doubt you’re ever going to mature into that mindset, Mr. Awesome, so I’m just going to take my script and meet with a director whose vision is not solely focused on exciting adolescent males.

Gary leaves, Bay speechless as the remnants of his desk smolder.  From below, we hear a lone voice rise up from the streets.

Voice from Below: Curse you, Bay, the shards of glass from your helicopter stunt impaled my Maserati!

Bay: Up yours, Bruckheimer!

And that’s my pre-review of Transformers: Revenge of the Fallen

ZA

PS: Am I spot-on of my portrayal of Michael Bay?  Off-target?  Right in the middle?  Leave a comment and let me know.