Worth A Look: 13.53%
Pretty Bad: 20.96%
Total Crap: 46.2%
17 reviews, 504 user ratings
by John Linton Roberson
SCENE: INT. Nighttime at the home of Jerry Bruckheimer, candles lit at each point of a pentagram chalked on the table, Bruckheimer sitting, sort of fidgety for some reason, at the east end of it, holding a 2-pound sack of what looks like sugar till he does his gums with it.BRUCKHEIMER(smiling): Proper.
"But At Least The Dog Lived"
(He dumps the contents in the center of the pentagram, stealing a tiny snort for himself.)
(After the head rush, he raises his arms and begins the incantation.)
BRUCKHEIMER(nasal, without feeling): Mammon, Asmodeus, and Moloch, thy faithful servant invokes thy mercy. Please release thy most favorite prisoner for five minutes of conference with me, and I shall grant thee points in my next production, and 5% of the Coca-Cola tie-in. O, lords of hell, please hear my--
(The furiously changing face of ASMODEUS appears in a slick in the air of inky-black smoke, looking nauseous. Imagine voice of Geoffrey Holder.)
ASMODEUS: ALRIGHT already. Hk!--BLUH-GAGHHH!
(Vomits up the ghost of DON SIMPSON, encased in a layer of brimstone-scented phlegm.)
ASMODEUS: Goddamn it, anything to stop your girlish whiny voice.
(He disappears. SIMPSON staggers to his feet, shaking the phlegm off onto everything. It carbonizes everything it touches with an icy flame that neither goes out nor spreads.)
SIMPSON(sleepy-eyed): Ohh...sorry about your curtains, man.
(The chains made of tiny spoons laced around every inch of his body jingle as he staggers forward with the gait of a penguin who's had too much beer.)
SIMPSON: So what can I--(spots the coke) --do---for---I---I--(runs at it feverishly) IIIIIIAAAAA! (lands face-first in it; does not get up) MMsnkMMsnkMMsnk...
BRUCKHEIMER: Um...(drums his fingers politely on the table for a moment, trying to look away, whistling for five seconds.) Don?
(knocks on Don's head) DON?
(Bruckheimer grabs the ghost by the hair, lifts up its head. It's barely conscious, and has a coke mustache.)
BRUCKHEIMER: I've only got two minutes left now, Don. Please. The backers are demanding to know the idea of the next movie, Don. You've got to give me something. You know ideas aren't what Jerry Bruckheimer is all about. Only you know what fat, lazy, entertainment-hungry America likes in its trough. Something. ANYTHING.
SIMPSON(audibly blinks thrice; clouds of dust clear around his eyes): mmmmUhhhhh....Pearl Harbor or something?
BRUCKHEIMER: Pearl what?
(Suddenly ASMODEUS reappears, swallowing SIMPSON's damned soul once more, sucking him in legs first.)
ASMODEUS: TIME IS UP! NYAHAHAHAHA!
SIMPSON: AAAAAAAAAAAAA (takes one last desperate snort) Snrk!---heh. Far out...
BRUCKHEIMER: That was never five minutes!
ASMODEUS: BLARGH! (vomits pea soup on BRUCKHEIMER, blinding him temporarily.)
(He wipes it off his eyes; when he opens them again, the candles are out, all the lights are on, and the demon and his toy are gone. BRUCKHEIMER gets a determined, positive look on his face.)
BRUCKHEIMER: Yes! I have my idea! Bay! Get out from under the table, zip up my trousers again and warm up the Porsche! We've got a MOVIE to pitch!
MICHAEL BAY(rising, wiping chin) Cool! What's it about, Mr. Bruckheimer sir?
BRUCKHEIMER: Pearl Harbor.
BAY: What's that?
BRUCKHEIMER: Who gives a rat's ass. If I haven't made a movie about it yet, then nobody's heard of it. Let's just make something blow up.
BAY: Wow, Mr. Bruckheimer, are you the bestest producer ever?BRUCKHEIMER: I just may be, Mikey. I just may be.
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originally posted: 01/29/02 21:26:08