Chapter 2, Page 5

Yesterday, I experienced a sweet bliss. And you can have this same feeling, too. At my local Hollywood video store, they are now renting entire episodes from TV shows. Apparently, there was a show on HBO called “The No. 1 Ladies’ Detective Agency” based on the novels by Alexander McCall Smith. It takes place in Botswana, Africa, and it was produced by Anthony Minghella, who directed my favorite movie of all time, “The English Patient.” The “No.1 Ladies’ Detective Agency” is a true delight and I highly recommend it. It takes a little time to get use to since the characters seem too sweet and unnatural in their attitudes and behavior (unnatural as in a simple country outlook on life, not stressed out like our society or me in particular). But guess what! The characters really are sweet and charming. For real! The scene when Happy tells Precious of her mystery makes you feel like you are in the middle of a wonderful dream. This week’s topic: Movie remakes. I cannot imagine why Hollywood would remake any movie when there are many writers with creative ideas. (I know I sound bitter but many years ago I submitted a children’s story to Hyperion Books—a publishing company owned by Disney—and they rejected me and six months later, Disney did another remake of one of their own movies.) But if Hollywood does decide to do remakes, I don’t want a remake of a movie that had strong audience sentimentality like Bogart’s movies (Casablanca, the Maltese Falcon, African Queen) or True Grit or Seven-Year Itch or Little Big Man. We love these movies and the actors like we adore our beloved family members. However, there are a lot of very very old movies Hollywood could remake or movies that had a good plot but were considered a B movie back in the day and did not get the best studio resources. First up, I would like to see a new version of Uncle Tom’s Cabin. It was a good story, and recently on Turner Classic Movies I watched the silent version. (In case you are not aware, TCM does Silent Sunday’s, giving you a weekly opportunity to see those movies—we are very fortunate that TCM is doing this for us.) The actress Margarita Fischer played Eliza and I thought she did an amazing job (okay, a little bit too much swooning, but that was the style back then—Lillian Gish was famous for it.) I admit I have not read the novel and I understand the film took liberties of the novel. But you cannot deny the drama and human feelings that were evoked during the scene when Harry was taken away from Eliza on the paddleboat or the scene where Eliza and Cassy (who just learned Eliza’s secret) must fight it out at Simon’s Legree (Dang! What a great name for a villain!) Well, well, well. I just did some fact checking on the Internet and see that Uncle Tom’s Cabin was remade in 1987 with a very fine cast—Avery Brooks, Bruce Dern, Phylicia Rashad as Eliza, Samuel L. Jackson—so egg on my face, but I will rent the movie. I’m not stressing that Uncle Tom’s Cabin needs to be done with the setting of the Civil War period. Akira Kurosawa remade Shakespeare’s King Lear as Ran and Macbeth as Throne of Blood—both were very fine movies (When I was a substitute teacher, one entire summer I watched every samurai, Kurosawa, Toshiro Mifune and Japanese movie I could lay my hands on.) Throughout our world today human slavery is going on, Lisa Ling a renowned correspondent did an expose of girls in the slave trade in India. The following quote came from the Internet from a 2005 Fact Sheet from the U.S. Department of State. “According to U.S. Government estimates, 800,000 to 900,000 victims are trafficked globally each year and 17,500 to 18,500 are trafficked into the United States. Women and children comprise the largest group of victims.” My second runner up for movie remake: “The King and Four Queens.” This was a movie made in 1956 starring Clark Gable and Jo Van Fleet (a truly remarkable actress). He plays a con man who may or may not be friends with one of the outlaw brothers (three of which where killed and burned in the family’s barn by the lawmen; however, one brother escaped). The four outlaws were married to lusty women and unfortunately for the gals no one knows which brother escaped. The step-mother continues to believe the four gals were still married woman and will act respectable. And I forgot to mention, somewhere buried on the property was $100,000 stolen by the outlaw sons. So Clark Gable is the rooster among the horny hen house. (I verified on the Internet that the 1956 movie was the only one made). I really want to see this movie again and in particular remade with the likes of George Clooney and the female cast of the recent “The Women” (Annette, Jada, Meg, Eva, and Debra and Candice Bergen as the grieving step-mother). The only big change I’d make is to write the script with a little more sizzle. This week’s tip: Screenwriters! Think carefully if you do want to do a remake—make it better, not boring. In the “No.1 Ladies’ Detective Agency,” Precious wanted to be a detective to catch the bad people who were bringing shame to her beloved country, Botswana. Screenwriters, you too, can write a movie that impacts so many people’s lives and might lead to positive changes in this world, too.

***Twink is upset for those previous pages full of self-reflection. I explained that Mr. Celebrity had to be positive that dumping Lydia was the best decision for him, and a great roller coaster ride always starts off at a snail’s pace.

…I know it sounded weird but it was as if Brown’s personality never truly left me.

“Good grief,” I muttered, “that was over twenty years ago.” And now I was forty and over the hill. I remembered the birthday card from my best friend, Buster. Inside, he quoted Victor Hugo: “Forty is the old age of youth; fifty is the youth of old age.” I hope he was right. It still amazed me that Buster Drew—the coarse possessor of willing beauties—for once, was insightful and mature. He was in post-production of his first reputable movie with major studio backing. I’d known him for ten years and he was nothing like the bad boy image, and I was glad the world will see him as a gentleman and a first-rate producer. However, if any gorgeous gals were nearby, then he was exactly how the media portrayed him.

Hey! Why waste time bemoaning my fate when the luscious housecleaner eagerly waited to be romanced by me. But first, she must fulfill my neglected urges. Maybe, I should step out of my comfort zone and imitated Buster’s impersonal relationship in regards to women and sex. After all, it was just an ordinary housekeeper I’d soon be bopping.

I opened the bathroom door and stepped into Lydia’s bedroom. Suddenly, I sensed a presence directly behind me.

“Hey!” I yelled.

Before I could turn completely around, a fierce punch to my diaphragm crumpled me forward, which forced the breath from my lungs. Then a Heimlich-type squeeze expelled out whatever oxygen remained. I dropped down to the pale pink carpet, and then my body was shoved into the deep plush pile. A yellow box of plastic wrap protruded from under the bed. Strands of dark brown hair dangled in my peripheral vision as a knee was roughly jabbed into my back while my arms were painfully wrenched together like turkey drumsticks.

Wasn’t the housekeeping bitch thrilled to meet me?

After a few more seconds without oxygen, I experienced the sensation of entering a house on a brutally hot summer day and only seeing black and gray images, with color and light gradually vacating the premises and quickly replaced by despair and bad vibes.

With my chin still aching from the fall, I endured new carpet burns to stare into the floor-length closet mirrors to figure out what the hell was going on! I watched Toilet Paper Chick quickly hogtie my wrists using the rolled up plastic food wrap. It sickened me how easy she accomplished the task—a common expression one attributed to a “professional.”

Oh God!

She obviously performed this a few times.

I now recalled Lydia mentioning a stalker harassing her. Big deal! I never thought further into it because every celebrity had an undesirable fan base.

So this weird woman was Lydia’s stalker.

What was I supposed to say? Or scream?

Also, words required air to be voiced, and air was a natural resource I currently lacked. Plus, I’d need to recite from a Stephen King script to penetrate her contaminated mind and convince her to stop. In the mirror, her solemn purposeful eyes briefly met my panicky ones. She obviously had an important job to do and no time for chitchat.

My tiny shallow breaths now made me dizzy and nauseous. I closed my eyes for just a second to pull my senses together, but I soon felt myself slowly doze off. My over-heated body felt like if I didn’t get out of the Jacuzzi soon, I’d soon drown.

Drown! I snapped my eyes open.

Crazy lady gently rolled me onto my back, and I greedily gulped air even though every breath hurt like hell. My diaphragm stilled ached from where she struck me with the force of a drunken stuntman. My arms continued tugging at my shoulders from my body weight, causing me to arch forward. I feared my arms would soon be disjointed like when I busted up a chicken to fit it into a soup pot.

Man, the pain was a killer!

T.P. Chick appeared to hesitate. Will she change her mind and set her idol free or did she have something more nefarious planned? She gently straddled my groin area and deliberately not bear weight on me. The typical Monty Davis stunned expression of adoration returned; unfortunately, it only lasted seconds. Crazy Lady burrowed her nose into my chest, loudly sniffed my cologne and moaned pleasurably.

Okay, it still fed the ego of a dying man to know the ladies still dug him.

She lifted her head, and her eyes were still closed, but her greedy smile seemed full of genuine satisfaction.

Creeeeeepy!

She was demented and I was doomed.

She finally opened her blue-gray eyes, with her smile changing to a forced tightness, which dispersed the remaining warmth in the room and infused my bones with a rigor mortise chill.

She was getting scarier.

“Oh, Monty,” she cried.

My teeth started to chatter.

“Why did it have to be you?” she pleaded.

I reflexively shrugged, causing intense pain to my shoulders.

She shivered.

I was positive demonic hallucinations were commanding her to eliminate her beloved.

Me!

Dear God! Because my insecure psyche demanded total attention, I allowed a deranged stalker to overpower me so she could begin the initiation ritual to become “Satan’s” Number One Fan.