NO, ISHMAEL REED, YOU’RE THE UNCLE TOM

COLUMNIST ISHMAEL REED DISGRACES THE LEGACY OF RICHARD PRYOR AND ATTEMPTS TO FURTHER THE CAUSE OF BLACK-INSTIGATED SEGREGATION

The SF Chronicle from December 19th, 2005, opinion column from “poet”, “essayist”, and “novelist” Ishmael Reed.

The title itself is enough to make any fan grimace:

“Richard Pryor—comic genius who let Hollywood use him.”

In a nutshell, Ishmael Reed lays forth in twelve sniveling paragraphs his view that Richard Pryor was a comedic genius who was used and abused by a "white" Hollywood which he characterizes as a “landscape strewn with black casualties”. According to Reed, black people still can’t seem to get dignified roles in Hollywood, citing examples such as Dorothy Dandridge and Stepin Fetchit. I’m not sure if Reed just awoke from a coma, but quite a few years have passed since Dandridge and Fetchit. As far as a minstrel show, I think the most recent one to come out of Hollywood was called Bamboozled directed by Spike Lee.

Mr. Reed apparently was an acquaintance of Richard Pryor when Pryor was living in Berkeley many years ago. According to Reed, it was him who warned Pryor about the evils of “white” Hollywood. Of course, Pryor did not heed the warnings and went on to achieve immortality as one of the major comedic figures of the 20th century while Ishmael Reed did. . .well, whatever it is that he does besides write these columns.

To jump ahead to the work’s conclusion, Reed speculates:

“I suspect that if Pryor had remained in Berkeley instead of ‘trying to get over’, he’d still be alive, perhaps writing poetry and performing from time to time at the Black Rep, a venue where black playwrights and actors can present their material, uncut.”

Of course he’d still be alive. After all, it’s impossible to suffer from multiple sclerosis in Berkeley.

And of course, as a comedian, he should be writing poetry.

And the Black Rep—that would have really put him on the map. What was Pryor thinking going off to “white” Hollywood?

After reading this sad excuse for an opinion column, Ishmael Reed has me asking myself, is Denzel Washington really wearing blackface? Why have I never witnessed Don Cheadle do a soft-shoe and sing “Swannee”?

And also, why do we even have a holiday to celebrate Martin Luther King when this kind of segregationist line of thought still runs rampant in—of all places—San Francisco? Is it because white society is forcing us to celebrate the memory of a man who didn’t want to erect a huge wall between whites and blacks? Is it because Martin Luther King didn’t advocate victimization and plantation rhetoric? Or maybe it’s because Martin Luther King, working in tandem with Whitey, was unwilling to label successful black people Uncle Toms.

Let me just say here that Richard Pryor was definitely one of the main—and one of the few—figures from my childhood who made me want to get into comedy. The man was unarguably one of the most brilliant monologists I have ever heard. My penchant for personification was definitely an influence from him and anytime I stay in a single character for a prolonged duration, I imagine his hypothetical approval. On top of all this, unlike any other black comics to follow him, he was able to take vulgarity to the level of intellectual absurdity--thus creating his own genre.

But the bottom line for Reed is his contention that Pryor’s comedy shouldn’t have been available to white folks. To that I say—too bad, asshole. I’ve still got his records. I’ve still got his films. And nothing can eradicate his influence on me at this stage. Looks like his legacy might be a little too color-blind for Reed’s taste.

Reed essentially trivializes Pryor’s life by condensing it into three cookie-cutter stages: 1) Pryor plays to black audiences, 2) Pryor “sells out” to “white” Hollywood and plays to both black and white audiences and therefore 3) “White” Hollywood contributes to Pryor’s demise.

According to Reed, in the last conversation they had together, Pryor told Reed that he wanted to “get over” in Hollywood. Guess what? I’d like to “get over” in Hollywood, too. I heard there’s a lot of money there. I’m not sure if Mr. Reed was planning to pay for Pryor’s food and rent had Pryor chosen to stay in Berkeley but apparently Reed did try to “. . .persuade him not to go, because I’m one of those who believes that Hollywood is no place for a black actor or writer.”

Jesus, I wonder if the same holds true for BET?

What a caring and supportive friend Mr. Reed must have been.

In the following passage, Reed lays down what were apparently the only two choices for Richard Pryor:

“There was also a time when many black intellectuals and writers were torn between an anti-white brand of black nationalism and integrationism. Pryor tried, but he made a poor black nationalist. . .”

Here, Ishmael Reed lays the rhetoric on thick—ironically in black and white—referring to a split between the anti-white black nationalism (for that, read black-instigated segregation) and integration. At which point, he casually sums up the man and the genius of Richard Pryor by implying that there was something bad about Pryor not succeeding at being a black nationalist. To confirm this, in the following sentence he states that Pryor’s “. . .dim view of humanity prevented him from siding with any group.”

The choice of the word “dim” here is very telling. Added to the end of the previous sentence, the implication is that if Pryor did not have a “dim” view of humanity, then the obvious thing for him to have become was a black nationalist. Under this line of thinking, Martin Luther King could also be classified as “dim” because he wasn’t advocating a militant black stance. But again, I keep forgetting, integration was just a dream. Thank goodness Ishmael Reed is there to prevent us from wishful thinking.

If individuality can be construed as a “dim view on humanity”, then maybe Pryor did have a dim view on humanity. As far as not taking sides—since when did limiting your perspective to a single and isolating viewpoint constitute enlightenment?

Becoming a black nationalist—whether that be Black Panther, Black Muslim, or what have you—would have been the worst thing for Pryor. Pryor’s talent, unlike that of Ishmael Reed and any other black nationalist went light years beyond race. In Mr. Reed’s view, Pryor “sold out”, in my view, Pryor “gave to”. I think what we’re really looking at here with Mr. Reed is a case of sour grapes. Pryor became extraordinarily successful while a lot of boo-hoo professional victims like Ishmael Reed did not.

Under Reed’s black nationalistic perspective, “Hollywood didn’t kill Richard Pryor, but it certainly contributed to his demise.”
I’m not quite sure if Ishmael Reed was really the close friend of Richard’s that he claims to be here. Regrettably, I never had the chance to meet Richard Pryor, but I was aware—as was any fan of his—that he had been diagnosed with multiple sclerosis. It’s my hunch that this is probably what contributed to his demise and not “white” Hollywood. Unless “white” Hollywood somehow magically gave Pryor the disease in some vast far-reaching conspiracy to keep the black man down.

Reed asserts that Pryor only did “one good movie”, an excellent film called Which Way Is Up? But after that, he contends there’s nothing in Pryor’s entire filmography of any value.

“Like Whoopi Goldberg, he won over white audiences by creating a list of black underclass characters. . .”

One of those black underclass characters was in the drama Blue Collar in which he and Harvey Keitel both played working class factory employees trying to provide for their respective families. Stellar performances from both leads. Not once is race mentioned. A color-blind movie dealing with the class structure in America. What was Richard Pryor thinking when he agreed to this role? Didn't he realize he was BLACK!

In the next sentence, Reed reveals he has arisen from the coma which struck him sometime after Stepin Fetchit just in time to watch the evening news from a few days ago.

“But unlike the vile, cruel and sick portrait of the black homeless woman on the infamous police video, both Goldberg and Pryor endowed their underclass characters with humanity.”

That’s probably because they're working with scripts in a lead role. I’m not sure you can get a well-rounded three-dimensional character if your only job is to be run over by a police car. But as far as current events go, why not seize the day to make your point? Everybody hates cops anyway. Especially the white ones.

What follows next is an embarrassing example of Ishmael Reed’s clumsy handling of the race card. Don’t worry, you won’t miss it—it’s far from covert:

“Remember The Toy, the film where Pryor was cast as a white kid’s ‘toy’? No wonder he turned to freebasing.”

If Mr. Reed wishes to ascribe lack of choice and a victim mentality to somebody, he should have jumped on the Tookie Williams bandwagon from a few weeks earlier. Leave that pathetic line of reasoning to professional con men like Tookie with a penchant for tweaking the political left. Pryor was a man of dignity who emerged from his drug experiences a survivor who blamed no one but himself. As he says in the opening of his New Orleans concert videotape: “I fucked up!” He then repeats this three or four times afterwards, as if to hammer home the idea to anybody in a similar situation that the choice to do drugs and the choice not to do drugs were both made entirely of his own volition.

Pryor was not a product of society. Pryor could hold his own. He was a true artist, and was therefore bigger than a hypothetical “black nation”. Mr. Reed obviously is not. And Mr. Reed, like others of his ilk, is an insult to his own cause because his rhetoric implies that his skin color is not his strength, it’s his weakness. The color of his skin only serves as a source of problems. And there’s your black and white thought process.

I view race as neither a strength nor a weakness. It is incidental because it involves no choice. Therefore, it must be transcended. So we can integrate.

Pryor transcended. And for that, he was a greater man than anyone looking to pin their mishaps on larger entities like “white” Hollywood or a “racist” judicial system. In addition to this, Pryor released his biopic film Jo-Jo Dancer, Your Life Is Calling, three years after The Toy and again, Pryor admits the mistakes he’s made in his life without ever once pinning it on Whitey.

I ask you, Mr. Reed, is Richard Pryor blaming himself for freebasing here because “white” Hollywood is forcing him to make that declaration?

It’s also important to note that it was around the release of The Toy that Pryor actually decided to stop and not start freebasing. He set himself on fire in 1980—years before he even took a look at that script.

Finally, on a purely aesthetic level, if he can’t appreciate the powerful comedic chemistry between someone like Gene Wilder and Richard Pryor —I’m not sure if Mr. Reed should be qualified to give a judgment on any type of comedy.

Mr. Reed, why don’t you submit some of your little ideas to The Final Call? They’re always in the market for bullshit.

 

 

SAVE THE WEST MEMPHIS THREE

www.wm3.org

Finally, a cause I can believe in.

If you don’t know anything about the case of the West Memphis Three (Damien Echols, Jason Baldwin, Jesse Misskelley), check out a couple of movies called Paradise Lost and Paradise Lost 2. And visit the website—once again, it’s www.wm3.org.

A quick summation:

In May of 1993, the bodies of three 8-year old boys were found in a secluded grove of trees behind a truck stop in West Memphis, Arkansas. One of the boys was castrated. Not a drop of blood was found at the scene.

In June, three teenagers, Damien Echols (18), Jason Baldwin (16), and Jesse Misskelley (17), were charged with the murders. No physical evidence, no motive, no connection to the victims, and no murder weapon were ever used by the prosecution to make a case against the three. The state's evidence consisted primarily of notebooks owned by Echols that contained quotes from Alistair Crowley and a few pentagrams, the fact that Echols had dark black hair and often dressed all in black and the testimony of two little girls who claim Damien was bragging about the murders a few nights afterwards—which Echols denies. As far as Jason Baldwin, there is absolutely no evidence against him other than that he was best friends with Echols.

And as for Jesse Misskelley—which is where the West Memphis police started in their investigation—the police interrogated him for twelve hours, denying him parental contact or legal counsel, only choosing to record forty-six minutes of the conversation. The transcripts of this alleged confession from Jesse—which led to the conviction of himself and the other two—contains numerous errors in which Jesse consistently gets the time and other specifics of the murders wrong whereupon the police remind him of the facts and he simply agrees. On top of this, Jesse has an IQ of 72. Keep in mind, he’s seventeen years old and has been interrogated by the police for twelve hours. According to Jesse, he concocted a story in which he subdued one of the victims while Echols and Baldwin committed the murders in the hopes that the police would finally let him go home and talk to his parents, get a lawyer and try to straighten everything out.

Using this blatantly forced confession from Misskelley, a few notebooks from Damien Echols, and a bunch of wild talk about a Satanic ritual sacrifice—the prosecution managed to get Damien Echols a death row sentence, Jason Baldwin life without parole, and Jesse Misskelley life plus forty years.

Having grown up a few hours away from West Memphis, I understand the type of small-town backwoods idiocy which can lead to a corrupt incarceration like this. As you can see in the documentaries, it didn’t take much talk about a possible “satanic” influence to the murders to get the town riled up enough to put away three teenagers because one of them wore black. Yes, people really are that stupid in Arkansas.

One of the problems is that Damien Echols—(the supposed ringleader of this non-existent cult)—is too smart for his own good. On the stand, he attempts to explain the differences between Wicca and Satanism. Unfortunately, for a jury of twelve Arkansas Christians, knowledge about Wicca and Satanism translates into an admission of guilt.

I can’t get into the side story of Mark Byers—the stepfather of one of the victims, Christopher Byers (the only child to be castrated)—but let’s just say he figures in very prominently as a possible—and infinitely more plausible—real killer. However, by the time evidence began to emerge in mid-1993 which pointed towards Mark Byers’ guilt (most importantly, a bloodstained knife which defense forensic scientists state might have been used in the castration), the trial against the West Memphis Three was at the halfway point. So it’s understandable that the judge, the chief of the West Memphis police, and the prosecution weren’t interested in stopping proceedings to examine other suspects. Had they done so, the West Memphis Three might be free today. As to the bloodstains on the knife, they were somehow lost by the police's forensic team.

Here you have a small-town backwater community like West Memphis filled with mostly fundamentalist Christians who still believe fervently in this entity called Satan and the "powers of darkness". You then have bloodthirsty cries from the community to find the killers—(led of course by the morbidly insane stepfather Mark Byers)—and the police are in a hurry to wrap this thing up. This case was chief of police Gary Gitchell’s last case before he retired, so he himself had a strong motive to “solve” the case quickly and end on a “winning” note. Furthermore, you have a judge who allows ridiculous items like a pentagram written on a notebook to be entered into evidence. And lastly, you have a prosecution team who incredulously has no problem with the fact that there is not a single drop of blood found at the crime scene—which would seem to indicate that this was not a sacrifice in which three children were led out to the woods and ritualistically murdered, but that somebody had murdered the children in a different location, washed away the blood and dumped the bodies afterwards. Yes, this was a cult killing—and the cult was Christianity.

The West Memphis Three have been locked away for twelve years. In ’99 Echols appealed his conviction, asking for a new trial. Sadly, the same judge from the original trial was presiding over these proceedings. Despite new forensic evidence indicating a bite mark on one of the victims which none of the bite impressions from the three defendants match—(coupled with the fact that Mark Byers even had his own teeth removed sometime after the killings)—the presiding judge determined there was not enough reasonable doubt to demand a new trial.

That judge, David Burnett—as well as the local law enforcement and the prosecution—DO NOT want this case to go to a higher court. They are doing all they can to keep it internal to West Memphis. Why? Because anybody on the outside looking in can see that the West Memphis Three are being unjustly held.

Once again, it’s www.wm3.org.

Now--back to sarcasm. . .

 

MORE LETTERS OF HOPE FOR TOOKIE

Dear Governor,

I am an inner-city high school English teacher. My children hate to read anything that does not have to do with drugs, sex, and gang violence. Thanks to Mr. Williams, now they're at least reading something. And those who aren't reading his books are at least watching the movie Redemption starring Jamie Foxx. Please let this man live so I don't have to teach.

Barbara Something

 

Mirster Govonor

in shool i don lik to red but then i red tookies book about gang and now mabe i lern good in shool to gradute

Tookie Williams, Jr.

 

Dear Governor,

I would not be alive today if it were not for Tookie Williams. Three months ago, doctors found a tumor on my left lung. After reading Tookie's Book Gangs And Secondhand Smoke Twenty Feet From A Business, the cancer is now in remission.

The man is a messiah,

Jane Enough

 

Dear Governor,

As a native of Austria, you should know that Tookie Williams is not a Jew and therefore deserves to live.

Otto Himmler

 

Dear Governor,

I am the word "redemption". Since Tookie discovered me on death row, my popularity has been at an all-time high. Please let him live so that people don't use those bullshit Christian synonyms like "salvation" or "forgiveness".

Sincerely,

Redemption

 

 

BLACK CHILDREN NEED MENTORS!

Rethinking Race in the Age of 50 Cent and Eminem

by Mary Caucasian

Dr. Random Arbitrary, African-American Studies For Whites

November 23rd, 2005

for "Tookie"

I. IN THE FILMS WITH 50 CENT

I don't think it's fair that 50 Cent's film Get Rich Or Die Tryin' is being compared to Eminem's 8 Mile. These two films are worlds apart.

True--both films do deal with an arrogant, ignorant and illiterate piece of shit without any pretense to talent who somehow arbitrarily manages to get a bunch of money thanks to the communal retardation of the modern media and today's youth.

However, if you look closely when watching these two films, you can see that 50 Cent is undoubtedly blacker than Eminem.

I don't know if the people reviewing these films are color blind or what, but I sincerely believe that 50 Cent has a much darker skin tone. It's not surprising that the majority of these advance reviews are coming from white people--for it's common knowledge that white people don't know anything at all about the black experience including the ancient African-American tradition of being born with black skin.

Eminem and his earlier incarnation as The Beastie Boys along with other white hip-hop artists (if I may use the word "artist" loosely--in fact, as loosely as possible--in fact, so loose that it loses all its original meaning) have pilfered enough from the African-American experience. For four hundred years, throughout slavery and Jim Crow, black people have survived by splicing together loops of other people's music and rattling off endless streams of randomly conceived freestyle rhymes. In Get Rich Or Die Tryin' 50 Cent is attempting to reclaim for Africa-America a sense of pride in the principles of greed, misogyny, gluttony, and a gross reward for minor achievements that are the hallmarks of black history.

True--both Get Rich Or Die Tryin' and 8 Mile have a poignant moment where the lead characters realize they should probably be going to trade school and learning how to repair simple appliances whereupon this realization serves as the catalyst for them to learn how to use a drum machine and make use of words like "gat" and "nigger"--yet 50 Cent manages to have his epiphany with a more obsidian pigmentation.

That being said, I cannot overstate the importance for inner-city African-Americans (or "niggers" as is the common parlance in their native ghettos) to take a day off from McDonald's and go see Get Rich Or Die Tryin'. Undoubtedly, they could learn some very important lessons from 50 Cent. The sad truth is, black people have enough role models who are professors of literature, noted physicists, and neurosurgeons. Where are all the rap artists, basketball players, and ex-gang members like Stanley "Tookie" Williams who are willing to step up and give back to the community?

II. ON DEATH ROW WITH "TOOKIE"

Let's take Stanley "Tookie" Williams for example. Here is a guy who murdered four people in 1979, has written books telling children not to murder people like the four people he murdered in 1979, and currently has numerous celebrity activists like Snoop Dog rallying for his life because he murdered four people in 1979.

I would much rather have black children learn from Stanley "Tookie" Williams than a black person who never murdered anybody.

The fact is, every single black child will grow up and join a gang and murder somebody at least once in their lives. Luckily, Stanley "Tookie" Williams has been there to tell black children not to murder anybody--or if they do, to write a book about it and be a mentor for other black children who may want to murder somebody in the future. There's a potentially booming market in mentoring for future black murderers. As "Tookie" has demonstrated, the fact that a black person has violently murdered somebody doesn't necessarily preclude someone from living a fulfilling and useful life up until they are humanely put to death at the hands of the state.

I don't think I'm generalizing at all when I say that black children learn best from death row inmates like "Tookie" Williams. In an ideal world, I believe that the faculties of inner-city schools should be composed entirely of death row inmates. How can we expect black children to learn anything if the person teaching them isn't some asshole in a doo-rag and wife-beater with at least two murders under his belt?

There's not much in today's overly-censored media that portrays black people in an illiterate, gangsta thug, death row light. Sure, there have been a few brave souls unafraid to push the boundaries like Dave Chappelle who were among the first to portray crack addicts on television--therefore transmitting the much-needed message that, yes, even black people can do drugs. But that's about it.

Fuck Rosa Parks. Who did that bitch kill? No one. And black children are supposed to learn from her? You might as well have white people teaching black children. That's no way to integrate.

In conclusion, I believe that Stanley "Tookie" Williams not only deserves the Nobel Peace Prize, I believe he should also be freed from prison, knighted by the queen, sainted by the Catholic Church, and given the key to the city where he murdered his four victims. This isn't much to ask for somebody who did, after all, murder four people in 1979.

God I hate my skin color.

I'm the problem.

I wish "Tookie" would have killed me instead.

 

 

 

CAFE DU NORD: CALENDAR OF EVENTS:

November through December, (Monday through Sunday):

A bunch of indie bands, probably a DJ or two, overpriced drinks, a ridiculous cover charge, empty-headed yuppies, and a pool table.

All of January 2006:

More of the same.

February 14th, 2006:

Celebrate Valentine's Day at the Du Nord where we'll have a bunch of indie bands, probably a DJ or two, overpriced drinks, a ridiculous cover charge, empty-headed yuppies, and a pool table.

Coming in March, 2006!

A new pool table!

April 20th, 2006:

Local up-and-coming upcoming new edge edgy indie alt-rock scene band Hitler's Birthdaytakes the stage with a fusion of fusion and grunge-alt-dropkick trance hop with a side order of breaking new ground and creating a new genre aftershave at 9pm. At 9:15 pm, stick around for the sweet sounds of a bunch of indie bands, probably a DJ or two, overpriced drinks, a ridiculous cover charge, empty-headed yuppies, and OUR NEW POOL TABLE!

April 21st, 2006:

SPECIAL TRIBUTE NIGHT! Join Cafe Du Nord as we celebrate the memory of our old pool table with a bunch of indie bands, probably a DJ or two, overpriced drinks, a ridiculous cover charge, empty-headed yuppies, and OUR NEW POOL TABLE!

April 22nd, 2006:

POLITICAL NIGHT! Local dreamboat Matt Gonzalez stops by to kiss the girls, talk about why he doesn't wear a necktie, and address the fact that his last name qualifies him as an authority on immigrant day labor.

ONGOING:

Weekdays, 10:18am to 10:20am:

Happy hour! All drinks 1/24 off!

MUSICIANS!

If you are a local musician and you would like to play at the Cafe Du Nord, move to another city and THEN ask us if you can play so we can put "Direct from. . . ." on all of our marketing materials on the offhand chance that we say yes.

If you do not wish to relocate, you may send us a CD but be aware that we will not listen to any CD unless you have big tits.

Please include a photo of yourself with your big tits on the cover of your CD. Make sure that the CD is shrink-wrapped and has fold-out liner notes and is available for purchase internationally.

Also, please be aware that owing to our hectic schedule, we are unable to book anybody with talent.

Anyway. . .

At the Safeway in the Castro--just a couple of blocks down from Cafe Du Nord--there are currently some petitioners outside who are lobbying for yet another tax to be placed on cigarettes--with the provision that all proceeds from said tax be donated to breast cancer research.

I'll repeat that.

. . .all proceeds from said tax be donated to breast cancer research.

What is it about this cause of breast cancer that is driving the kids wild? First Elvis, then the Beatles, then all that other shit from 1970 to the present--and now Breast Cancer!

"I'm just absolutely mad for all the folk music!" --Tabitha Tabithason, 23, Social Chiropractor, Long Island

"Well, the ribbons are to die for!" --Joshua Eastmeetswest, 52, Leader Of The Berkeley United Front For Individuality, Ivory Towers, California

"Lung Cancer is so. . .you know. . .working class!"--Norma Rockwell, 27, Cunt, Palo Alto

And from the pages of The Daily Victim, Wednesday the 7th of the Month of the Moon Goddess in the Year of the Doormat--

THE UNENLIGHTENED: Don't you find it strange that you're not asking for taxes on cigarettes to go to lung cancer research?

THE FOLK SINGER ON THE HILL: No, for Breast Cancer is all and all is Breast Cancer. The cause of Breast Cancer flows within us and without us. Flonase--proud sponsor of Breast Cancer Research.

THE UNENLIGHTENED: So you don't consider any other causes to be of a higher concern?

THE FOLK SINGER ON THE HILL: No, for the first and primal cause is Breast Cancer according to St. Thomas Aquinas. In the beginning, there was the cause and the cause was Breast Cancer. No other cause manages to kill germs and fight plaque as well as Breast Cancer. Listerine--proud sponsor of Breast Cancer Research.

THE UNENLIGHTENED: Why not stand outside Victoria's Secret and ask for an excise tax on bras?

THE FOLK SINGER ON THE HILL: Because bras aren't evil. Victoria's Secret--proud sponsor of Breast Cancer Research.

THE UNENLIGHTENED: Bras could be evil if you strangle somebody to death with one.

THE FOLK SINGER ON THE HILL: But they'll never be as evil as cigarettes. Phillip Morris International--proud sponsor of Breast cancer Research.

THE UNENLIGHTENED: Where did you learn that word--evil?

THE FOLK SINGER ON THE HILL: I grew up in the evil Midwest where the evil Christians taught me about the evil good and the evil evil. That's what happens when you come from a red state. Crayola--proud sponsor of Breast Cancer Research.

THE UNENLIGHTENED: So what do you mean exactly when you say that cigarettes are evil?

THE FOLK SINGER ON THE HILL: Well. . .come down here with me and I'll tell you. . .

 

One time, I was walking to my car after a show and just as I was getting ready to open my door, I was attacked by a cigarette wearing a ski mask. The cigarette put a knife up to my throat and told me that he would kill me if I said a word. And then he raped me. After the cigarette was done raping me--almost as if to add evil on top of evil--he lit a cigarette and walked off.

THE UNENLIGHTENED: I think you're confusing rapists with cigarettes.

THE FOLK SINGER ON THE HILL: Well, you're just in denial.

This interview has been a proud sponsor of Breast Cancer Research-

Breast Cancer Research--a proud sponsor of itself.

 

THE DREAM OF LARS I

FADE UP:

We are looking at a snow-covered peak in the Alps. At the top sits a young man, Lars I— head in his hands, sobbing into his mittens. Presently, his friend, Lars II appears from around a bend—with a big grin, he gives Lars I a pat on the back only to see a note reading “I’m very sad today, don’t ask me to turn around.”

LARS II : “Hey, Lars I—what’s the matter with you? You look sad.”
LARS I: I am, can’t you read?
LARS II: What’s going on?
LARS 1:Music was better in the past because people had royalty to impress.

When an individual is purported to have been hand-selected by The Divine One to rule with absolute authority, the need to impress is greater than ever.

Now that anybody can become a king or queen—
Form is meaningless, there’s no need to exert any effort—
For nobody is divine, says this new indie rule.

WE are all divine. Always have been. Always will be. No matter what life you try to sell us.

"Come on," said Lars II--"you can't fool me. I'm your best friend, Lars I. What's really going on?

After a hearty sigh, Lars I BEGAN:

LARS I: Last night, I was visited by a dream. I don’t have dreams like other people. I’m visited by them. They appear at the foot of my bed, night after night, cloaked in some dark-colored quilt. They stay curled up in their blanket, standing over me anonymously for a few minutes.

At which point, like clockwork, I arise and say “who are you?” Even though I already know from years of experience, that it is a Dream. It’s in this script, you see, this unseen script—my line is always “who are you?”

And it always responds, “I am a Dream”, in a voice not unlike my own.

Last night this happened again. I was visited by a dream. It stood over me. I asked its name and it said “I am a Dream”. . .

And the Dream revealed itself to me, and it was thus:

The Dream showed me the outspoken leader of a well-known feminist organization down on her knees, performing oral copulation on the male CEO of a major multimillion dollar corporation in exchange for his lending of that company’s brand name to be associated with the fight against breast cancer.

“I’ll give it to you! I’ll give it to you!” he moaned as he neared climax.

The next day, all around town, banners were unfurled—the newspapers all bore the legend which read:

“MAJOR MULTIMILLION DOLLAR CORPORATION JOINS FORCES WITH THE FIGHT AGAINST BREAST CANCER!”

There was a photo beneath which showed the CEO shaking hands with the feminist organization leader.

LARS I: And then the dream took a turn—

The CEO began to have other amatory interests besides the feminist leader. Jealous, she vowed to expose him to his wife and children. She threatened him with a sexual harassment lawsuit even though she never officially worked for him.

The CEO panicked.

CEO, PRINCE OF DENMARK
A PLAY IN FIVE ACTS BY WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE

SETTING: Corporate account penthouse in Midtown Manhattan.

ENTER CEO:

CEO: Blither and dither and what-be-gone! Indeed she threatens—with what whistles she intends to blow as once she did blow me! But soft—what secrets were once locked away let keep locked! (Aside) Indeed, my coffers still o’erflow though not as once was—perhaps money shall silence her flappish lips!

(LARS I (with italics): Even though his company has been spending millions per year in the fight against breast cancer already, he vowed to give even more if she remained silent concerning his affairs both past and present. And they lived happily ever after. . .or did they?)

LARS I (without italics): And then the Dream switched channels. They do that sometimes, these dreams—you think they’re going to follow a storyline, you know, just some simple basic narrative—and then wham! You’re smack dab in the middle of another hypothetical!

On this different Dream channel I saw a made-for-TV movie about the Lashaun Harris case. NBC, FOX, ABC, MTV, and VH1 Classics had all been apparently scrambling for the rights to her story no less than twenty-four hours after she had dropped her three children in the San Francisco Bay. In the end, MTV won out above all the others because—

a) as the television station preferred by today’s troubled youth, MTV was able to sell Lashaun Harris on the idea that MTV was the network that would most accurately portray schizophrenia in a positive light.

b) similarly, as the home to many of today’s emerging rap and hip-hop artists, MTV writers would be able to differentiate between ebonics and schizophrenic word salad when drafting the screenplay

and

c) they were offering the most money.

 

LARS I (CONT'D): So here I was in the context of this Dream, watching the MTV made-for-TV movie about the Lashaun Harris case. I don’t know why I was watching MTV—oh, wait, I remember why—it’s because Fox News Channel told me to watch MTV.

So there I was, brainwashed by Fox into watching MTV. And nothing’s running on MTV all day long other than the Lashaun Harris movie.

The name of the Lashaun Harris movie was Can’t You Hear Me Falling? It featured an all-star cast of first time actors including Penelope Dumpling (Three Strikes Are The Limit, Don Quixote) Roger Infestation (Go Tell Momma The Shoe Shop’s On Fire, Weightstone) and Oprah Winfrey (Bigger Than Rosa Parks, Look How Much I Care) as Lashaun Harris.

I thought Oprah’s performance was especially believable until I found out that she wasn’t playing herself.

A little trivia I found out about this film during the Dream--

1) The film was the first made for TV movie to be shot entirely in retro. Over four thousand giant Afro wigs were used on the set. Howard Davidovich, who composed the score, had to work around the clock twenty-four hours a day for twelve weeks to make sure that the music stayed just bad enough to be good. A completely retro television film was unprecedented in the history of Herstory.

2) However, it was never intended as a retro film by Director Heath Bronnewaker according to this interview below by TV Guide (LARS I:which I had a chance to read as the Dream and this movie within the Dream seemed interminably long. And as anybody can attest to, what seems in our dreams is usually real (real in the context of the Dream). So presuming that this seemingly long passage of time really was a long passage of time, I decided in the context of the Dream to pass it by flipping through a nearby TV Guide dated October 4th, 2006)

MARLON BRANDO: Heath Bronnewaker. . .this film. . .what was. . .your intent. . .with this film. . .on a razor’s edge. . .like a slaughtered pig. . .?

BRONNEWAKER: Well, I wanted to tell the story of Lashaun Harris in a way that was true to the way that I wanted to tell it.

STEPHEN HAWKING: Tell. Us. About. The Afro. Wigs. What was. THEIR. PUR. Pose?

BRONNEWAKER: Well, even in my earlier films like Tarantino and Tarantino: The Myth, The Legend, I was a big believer in getting actors to wear big Afro wigs and bell bottoms. It adds an authenticity to the film that modern-day dress just wouldn’t accomplish.

CRISPIN GLOVER: But she threw her children in the bay just a year ago.

BRONNEWAKER: Fortunately, that’s not the way I saw this film. Because if you look at the footage of the film—we actually have a little DVD extra on the making of Can’t You Hear Me Falling!—you see that the actors are all wearing bellbottoms and Afros. So we wanted to be faithful to the film as I made it.

CATHY FROM THE COMIC STRIP “CATHY”: Well, let’s go ahead and take a look at a clip from Can’t You Hear Me Falling!

(editorial note from LARS I: At this point within the context of the Dream, the TV Guide which I had been reading had morphed into a daytime television talk show hosted by Cathy from the Comic Strip “Cathy”. I was later informed by the Dream himself (or herself, I don’t know), that there never was a TV Guide in the first place but that we had simply gone from a commercial break after MTV showed the titles to Can’t You Hear Me Falling! to that brief interview between Cathy and Bronnewaker and then back to the film. I’m not sure if I believe the Dream in this regard. I’m sure that copy of TV Guide exists one year in the future and once I get there—(only 365 days left)—I’m gonna get my hands on a copy just to prove that Dream wrong. At any rate, the film soon started—we dimmed the lights—and me and my dorm roommates (oh, yeah I was a female college freshmen at this point in the dream—even though the Dream denies that as well) grabbed a tub of popcorn and some Kleenex and prepared to weep at the sad, sad, sad tale of Lashaun Harris and her children.

TITLES:

Primordial Pictures Presents

A Bronnewaker/Individualistic Stamp Of Approval From Society Moving Picture Production

In Association with MTV 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, and MTV Liftoff, MTV Kids, and MTV Infants.

Can’t You Hear Me Falling!

Based on the novel Can’t You Hear Me Falling? with a question-mark instead of an exclamation point at the end by Stanton Riveria Garcia Lopez.

Starring: Oprah Winfrey and Co. Booksellers Ltd.

Penelope Dumpling

Roger Infestation

PAGE ONE

“The world will be a better place when everybody throws their children in the bay”
--Dr. Lee Meredith Compassion, social worker, freelance psychiatrist and legal adviser to Lashaun Harris, 2005.

FADE IN.

Camera on LASHUAN HARRIS. An African-American woman who looks older than her twenty-three years because of the actress playing her. Nevertheless, she has on a giant AFRO WIG and is lying in her queen-size bed, covered up with a STAR WARS BLANKET. We are in the private bedroom of her homeless estate. She snores peacefully as we look down from above. Suddenly, there is a BRIGHT SHAFT OF LIGHT which SHINES DOWN UPON HER followed by a CLAP OF THUNDER. Lashaun AWAKES:

LASHUAN: Who is it?

We hear (and we hope you hear too as you read this screenplay) the SOUND OF THE VOICE OF GOD. It is a BOOMING and THUNDEROUS VOICE which does not contain any LISP or any other sort of SPEECH IMPEDIMENT. It is a CLEAR HETEROSEXUAL VOICE PLEASING UNTO ITSELF--ezekial 19:86

VOICE OF GOD: Listen to me. I am the Voice Of God. You will do exactly as I tell you! Do you understand?

LASHUAN:Yes.

VOICE OF GOD: This Wednesday, you will go to—do you have a pen and paper—?

She GETS a PEN and PAPER from her night. . .STAND

VOICE OF GOD (CONT’D):You will go to Pier 7 along the Embarcadero—the one by the big ferry building out there, I think Muni goes near there—take your three children Joshoa, Taronta, and Treyshun, and throw them into the Bay! Do you understand?

LASHUAN: No sweat.

Lashuan arises and throws on a very, very, extremely retro HOOP SKIRT, CORSET, AND VELVET BONNET OUTFIT and rushes out the FRENCH DOORS

CUT TO:

EXT. NIGHT. FRENCH COURTYARD VISTA OVERLOOKING THE SEINE

LASHAUN AND HER THREE CHILDREN Joshoa, Treyshun, and Taronta, are being helped into their CARRIAGE by a PORTER.

AFTER a PAUSE, the carriage driver BEATS the HORSE and they LEAVE

CUT TO: EXT. NIGHT. PIER 7.

LASHUAN IS STANDING WITH HER THREE CHILDREN, joshoa, treyshun, and taronta,on Pier 7. She has already UNDRESSED them and is preparing to THROW THEM INTO THE BAY. IN the BACKGROUND, we can see the CARRIAGE DRIVER still BEATING the HORSES. Behind the carriage driver, we can see an eyewitness getting ready to SEE SOMETHING.

LASHUAN:Most merciful and gentle lord in heaven, here I stand with the fruit born of my womb intent on sacrifice in your name.

VOICE OF GOD (OFF-SCREEN): Good. Now throw them into the Bay.

In one SWIFT MOVEMENT, Lashaun swoops her three children UP with ONE ARM and THROWS THEM INTO THE BAY

LASHUAN:And I ask now, Lord, what shall I do? For you know all, you see all.

VOICE OF GOD:Actually, I don’t have a clue. I’m not God.

For ONE FRAME of the FILM, Lashaun suddenly TURNS INTO GARY COLEMAN FROM DIFFERENT STROKES. AND SPEAKING FAST ENOUGH TO FIT INTO ONE FRAME, THE FOLLOWING LINE IS COMPLETELY INCOMPREHENSIBLE AND CAN ONLY BE DECIPHERED BY SLOWING THE FILM DOWN BY AT LEAST 50 PERCENT)

GARY COLEMAN:Whatchyou talking ‘bout, you’re not God?

VOICE OF GOD:I’m just the Voice Of God.

And in this NEXT FRAME, Gary Coleman turns into Kirsten Dunst for thirty-four FRAMES, just enough time for HER to SAY THIS:

KIRSTEN DUNST:Well, where’s God?

VOICE OF GOD:There is no God. There’s just the Voice Of God.

And now KIRSTEN DUNST becomes IMMANUEL KANT, author of THE CRITIQUE OF PRACTICAL REASON. He can take as long as he wants to SAY THE FOLLOWING:

IMMANUEL KANT:So God is just the Voice? Astounding. And so those of us who hear this voice within us can claim to be our own Divinity and therefore operate by our own individualistic conception of morals. Yet could this not lead to pure anarchy?—or at least a soulless moral relativism? No—this cannot be. We must embrace the categorical imperative as a means by which a great number of people may be united under a single moral law that does not preclude its own inherent subjectivism.

All of THE PRECEDING TEXT IS SUBTITLED:

SUBTITLE: So as the Voice Of God, do you have any special powers?

At this point IMMANUEL KANT has transformed back into OPRAH WINFREY who has never quite transformed herself into LASHUAN HARRIS.

OPRAH WINFREY/LASHUAN HARRIS: So as the Voice of God, do you have any special powers?

VOICE OF GOD: Well, as the Voice of God—not to blow my own horn or anything—but I have been known to get people to do some pretty stupid things.

LASHUAN HARRIS (OPRAH’S GONE):Do you mean like getting people to throw their own children into the Bay?

VOICE OF GOD: Yeah, something like that.

He gives a LOUD GIGGLE and with another CLAP OF THUNDER, he DISAPPEARS even though we never SAW HIM.

CLOSE-UP ON LASHUAN’S FACE. She SLAPS her hands to her FACE like the WHITE BOY in HOME ALONE.

LASHUAN HARRIS. . .NO MORE OPRAH IN THE BIG HOUSE:

Uh-oh. I made a boo-boo.

CUT TO: PIER 7. DIFFERENT ANGLE

We WATCH the CHILDREN FALL into the BAY. They have been FALLING since their MOTHER threw them a few MINUTES before. Apparently, it’s a pretty TALL PIER. The children are NOT REAL. They are COMPUTER ANIMATED by PIXAR, a LOCAL BAY AREA COMPANY. They FALL in SLOW-MOTION, but they SPEAK like they’re FALLING at a REGULAR SPEED

TARONTA: Hey Treyshun, what do you think is going to happen when we hit that water?

TREYSHUN: How am I supposed to know? I’ve never been in a Bay before. Why don’t you ask Joshoa?

JOSHOA: Leave me outta this. I’ve gotta think.

But it’s TOO LATE.

SOUND CUE: There is a LOUD SPLASH

CUT TO: UNDERWATER IN THE SAN FRANCISCO BAY

PIXAR-DISNEY has now TAKEN OVER the creation of the FILM from MTV, but PIXAR-DISNEY has AGREED that MTV will still be permitted to air the film on television simultaneously with its THEATRICAL RELEASE THIS JUNE ONLY IN SELECT THEATRES.

We are in a COMPUTER-ANIMATED UNDERWATER GROTTO. There are a lot of MULTICOLORED COLORS AND SWIRLING STUFF. Suddenly, we can SEE taronta, joshoa, and treyshun SINK TO THE BOTTOM OF THE GROTTO. But they’ve DEVELOPED GILLS through the MAGIC OF DISNEY.

TARONTA, TREYSHUN, JOSHOA (UNISON): Whoa! Cool!

FLAPPY, a FLOUNDER, stands up on his HIND LEGS and WALKS OVER to taronta, treyshun, and joshoa.

FLAPPY (PLAYED BY GILBERT GOTTFRIED):Okay, guys, let’s get one thing straight—my name’s Flappy. And this here is my Bay and I don’t want you guys eating any underwater potato chips and getting crumbs all over my underwater carpet if you’re going to stay here or I’m gonna be pretty underwater-mad!

The boys START TO CRY, but stop when FLAPPY SAYS:

FLAPPY:Say, do you guys want to play some Underwater Sony Playstation?

TARONTA, TREYSHUN, JOSHOA (UNISON, WITH EVEN MORE OF A TWINKLE IN THEIR EYES): You bet! Way cool!

We see the COMPUTER ANIMATED children go with the COMPUTER ANIMATED FLOUNDER to his UNDERWATER REC CENTER where they will play UNDERWATER COMPUTER ANIMATED SONY PLAYSTATION DISNEY GAMES FOR ALL OF ETERNITY.

TARONTA, TREYSHUN, JOSHOA: (UNISON, WITH A HINT OF RESIGNATION AT THEIR NEWFOUND UNDERWATER ETERNITY)

Thanks, Mom!

FADE TO BLACK:

CREDITS

LARS II: Wow, Lars I. That sounds like an amazing dream!

LARS I: Wait, you haven't heard the best part!

LARS II: What is it?

LARS I: I woke up. It was all a dream.

. . .or was it. . .?

FADE TO BLACK AGAIN