I know in the past I’ve kept my pitches pretty small-scale, but I think it’s time to let loose with some Box Office doozies. You like exploding government buildings, car chases through places in Europe nobody’s ever been, terror, the Apocalypse, cocky serial killers who whisper a lot, global pandemics, stuff about the internet being weird, sequels, and movies lifted from comic books? How about Angelina Jolie in a pleather onesie? Check, check, check? How about raking in cold, hard cash, hand over fist? Checkmate, right? Check… mate.
First up: who would have guessed that a volcano dormant for centuries would suddenly erupt? Well, some tribe in some jungle somewhere, that’s who. And why didn’t anyone listen? Yep: racism. That’s the moral of Lava See No Colour, which opens hundreds of years ago with this ancient tribe dancing naked around the simmering crater of a volcano. Then, smash-cut to a modern-day fat kid building a volcano out of paper maché for his fifth grade science project! What’s doubly ironic is that this self-righteous little fatty’s great, great, great grandfather was the randy anthropologist who introduced gonorrhoea into that volcano tribe. So, boom, poetic justice: the kid dies right away in a tidal wave of molten lava that incinerates everything in its path—exactly how racism works. Like lava, and the clap, racism burns everyone it touches. And it needs to stop.
Too heavy, you’re right. That’s more a late-fall, thinking person’s picture. Something a little more fun, then: know how graphic novel adaptations are so hot right now? You’ve got your silver screen Spiderman, Batman, X-Men, Iron Man, Iron Man 2, Schindler’s List (total Maus rip-off)—pretty much every comic ever made, right? Wrong. Maybe you forgot about a widely syndicated, goofy ne’er-do-well of a Great Dane named Marmaduke? Wait. What? They have? But did they give him a jetpack?
What if zombies invaded heaven? What if angels fell in love with them and spawned some sort of angel-zombie hybrid, flapping around with their skin rotting off their faces and their harps totally out of tune? What if the only person who could stop all this creepy miscegenation was Satan, so Satan was called up to heaven by God and told, like, “Okay, Satan, I threw you out before but here’s your chance to get back in my good books.” Which is a pun, right—viz a viz the Good Book. Oh, this movie’s not a comedy. Not at all.
Hey, though, have you read any good books lately? Those things sometimes make okay movies. Books, I mean.
Next up: Cary Grant: IMAX! Get it? Let me write it down: C… G… I! It’s a word, um, metaphor. So we’d CGI up a walking, talking version of Cary Grant, who has come back to life to destroy the planet, because he’s mad about something that happened once, a long time ago, in Hollywood. He probably got beat up or something. Anyway, Cary Grant has hypnotized a studio (Disney) into casting him in an IMAX movie about the apocalypse, but the team of virgin nerds making all the CGI effects has no idea that, through Cary Grant’s metaphysical matrix of cyber powers, they’re actually flooding a riverside village in Botswana or Canada or wherever. The climax takes place during a movie within the movie, à la William “Macbeth” Shakespeare. Who knows what’s real and isn’t?, is the theme. This one I actually thought about really, really hard.
See Avatar? No shit, who didn’t. Well here’s a little picture in CGI-3D that I like to call Doomsday, Y2K. It’s the year 1999 and all the computers are about to mess up their clocks or whatever, which will somehow launch every nuclear warhead on the planet at one another, and all the ATMs will stop working too. Sound familiar? Yeah, it’s called historical revisionism, because I’m re-visioning history with my artistic vision and Y2K already happened. What did you get up to? I stayed in with my now ex-girlfriend and played Trivial Pursuit—except we didn’t really play, I just memorized the answers to about half the box while she flipped around the TV and we both fell asleep before midnight and when we woke up the dishwasher was overflowing. You ever been in a relationship that feels like it’s more in you more than you’re in it? And it’s destroying you, bit by bit, from the inside? Yeah. Life, huh?
How about those Transformers? Total cash-cow, right? But why stop there? Think of all those other 80s toys, a whole flock of cows just waiting to have their money-milk sprayed into our buckets, or should I say Swiss Bank Accounts. But think where even Transformers 2 is failing: the chick flick market. My sister never gave a shit about Autobots and Decepticons, and since her divorce she’s gotten all mopey and nostalgic, facebooking guys she made out with in high school, so why not strike while the iron is hot, i.e. depressed? I’m thinking of a good old-fashioned Battle Royale: Cabbage Patch Kids versus Care Bears in a CGI cosmic deathmatch-slash-bloodbath. Think 300 meets the My Little Pony movie, if there was one. And it’s a great chance for a Meg Ryan comeback, who’s been pretty much a non-factor since being replaced with Reese Witherspoon.
Right, last one. And, really, I’m up for reworking any of these, or changing them however you want. I’m super easy—which also just happens to be the title of my final idea, more or less: Being Angelia Jolie… Is Super Easy. So we outfit Angie in a pleather onesie, drop her into some sort of time machine, which is actually a portal into her own dreams, which is called inception, but when she crawls out the other side everyone in the restaurant has her face and they’re all like, “Malkovich Malkovich?” And then there’s like a Scooby Doo/Crying Game sort of revelation moment and we realize that everyone’s actually alien angel-zombie hybrids carrying a pandemic rage-virus in their Bluetooths (teeth?), so Angie says, “This. Ends. Here!” and takes out her lava-bazooka and blows all those racist pricks to fucking smithereens.