Tag: tv

Bill C-10: It’s Not Porn, It’s Art

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Say NO to C-10! Grrrr!

Those of us involved in the Canadian creative community (and those of us pretending to be, for the purpose of this story) are worried. The government is trying to introduce a Bill called C-10, a draconian law preventing artists from using government loans to finance ‘challenging’ movies. Canadian banks are often reluctant to finance such movies, citing pathetic excuses like “They’re usually drivel”.

Just in case C-10 passed, I thought I’d better get my claim in with the Tax Credit Department before the men in grey totally destroyed my freedom of expression. I felt my luck was in with my latest venture, a scarifying indictment of capitalist urban society entitled The Cock Whisperer.

Auditions were going very well.Based on a true experience, The Cock Whisperer is the powerful story of a girl who has the gift-like ability to banish men’s rampant and uncontrollable sexual desires by sitting in a room with them for five minutes. I’d assembled a cast from the many out-of-work actors in my neighbourhood and spent several hours sweating over the script.

Unfortunately, the Tax Credit Department did not share my enthusiasm for the project and demanded vicious rewrites before they would consider scribbling out any cheques. They claimed my touching tale about touching todgers was merely an excuse for me to film attractive gentlemen without their underpants, and was not in the Canadian public interest to fund it.

I remonstrated that actually the Canadian public wanted, nay, demanded to sit in a movie theatre for two hours looking at men’s units – all my friends had said so. Apart from the male ones. And the local vicar. And my neighbour, who actually called the cops when I asked to borrow their hot tub for a few scenes. I think the cops are beginning to tire of being called to my street.

My fight with the Police State suits will continue as I refuse to compromise my artistic integrity. Like filming Titanic without the iceberg, you cannot have a story about cocks without cocks.

Failing that I’ll borrow my mate Sparky’s video camera and produce the bloody movie myself without their stupid tax credits.

Anyone got a hot tub I can borrow?


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Porn Queens

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Porn - you can't help but look.

Pornographic movies – they don’t make them like they used to. Nowadays the internet is awash with amateurish peep shows made by wannabe porn stars. It seems everyone and their dog (or goat) has filmed a shoddy prick-flick with no thought to the subtleties of plotline or atmosphere. Not like the classic porn of my youth.

Before internet porn, kids had to satisfy their sexual curiosity by peeking at crispy Playboy magazines or raiding their parents’ stash of ancient pornographic VHS tapes. My pre-teen buddies and I would giggle our way through greasy German epics like Frau Doctor and the oddly-translated Tiger Bitch. The movies were a celebration of wobbly camera work, wobbly breasts and a soundtrack that sounded like a stoned James Last Orchestra playing in a washing machine.

Tongues
The plotlines were fabulous. We couldn’t wait to see how Frau Doctor’s first day on the job went. And the action! Boy on girl, girl on girl, boy and girl on… not quite sure, the camera was out of focus again. Tiger Bitch could unwrap a man in a minute using only her tongue. And she did rude things to other ladies too! We hadn’t thought of that before.

I wonder what will happen next?

Our impressionable minds began to fill with confusion. How were we going to remember all those positions? Were all men that hairy? Should a penis really go there? And despite the badly dubbed moans of pleasure the ladies didn’t seem to be having much fun. Frau Doctor looked like she needed a dose of painkillers rather than another hairy patient with a swollen crotch problem.

Silly Boys
Sadly, the lessons we learned from these classic movies went to waste. By the time the boys in our class discovered that their thing wasn’t just for pissing, we had all got bored of sex and Tiger Bitch. We dedicated our energy to raiding our parents’ drinks cabinets instead.

Who knows, maybe the good Doctor and her Feline-Canine pal are still entertaining the masses via webcam from their Rhineland seniors’ home.

VHS porn Queens, we salute you!


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Kill Your Television: TV Shows Coming Soon?

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Modern TV is rubbish

There’s something wrong with my TV. It only shows CSI. No matter which channel I flick to, I still see Gil Grissom prodding a mutilated carcass. Every fucking channel. The CSI team continues to probe blood-spattered bodies all evening. A perfectly coiffured woman slices into a cadaver and harps on about seminal fluid and slash marks. There’s a time and a place for seminal fluid and it isn’t while I’m eating my dinner.

My faulty TV is now subjecting me to a visual horror show. Sweaty fat guys weld motorcycles, plastic teenies squawk Whitney Houston songs and hyperactive Americans demand I buy Super Bam Power Juicer. Realizing this parade of televisual twats is what constitutes entertainment these days, I’ve decided to cash in and develop my own shows to flog to the networks.

Big Brother with a refreshing twist

Celebrity CSI: A reality show contestant is brutally murdered. A team of other reality show celebrities don rubber gloves and tap bleeping computers to work out who did it. Of course this being a reality show, the unlucky celeb will be sacrificed for real. The victim’s family should be informed of their loss live on TV – think of the ratings!

Infomovies: Movies are practically two-hour long infomercials these days (yes David “Ooh, product placement all over my new movie! Nike! Buy Nike!!” Schwimmer, I’m talking to you). Why not have movie-length commercials? Get Brad or George to pump the Bowflex® Home Gym for two hours. Throw in a sub-plot involving terrorists, homicidal pirates and a shower scene and you’re on to a Bowflex® marketing winner.

Everybody Loves Everybody: Nice middle class family (with a seemingly endless supply of money) headed by lovable chubby guy called Jim. Crime, disease and ethnic minorities do not exist in Jim’s world, apart from one token black friend who gets all the worst lines. Hilarious plots include:

– Jim sneaking out to watch the ball game – just wait until Mrs. Jim finds out!
– Jim arguing with his cantankerous mother-in-law. She’s not bitter because she’s lonely and marginalized, of course.
– Trailer trash neighbour stealing the lawn mower, barbeque etc. Stupid poor people are funny!

It’s a tried and tested sitcom formula so why do anything else?

Nice Fluffy Family Happy Fun Time: To keep those right-wing religious zealots happy, I’m developing a family show just for them. Imagine a wholesome hour filled with children’s spelling bees, jolly songs about Jesus and how lovely he is, children petting puppies, jolly ladies doing jigs, puppies judging spelling bees and jigging children petting Jesus. And knitting. There should be a lovely knitting segment, with sweaters and spinning and jigging. None of those nasty liberal wool colours like indigo and orange. Just nice shades of beige. Amen.

Cherubic children's Christian Choir. You have been warned.

House on Houses: Cranky medic Dr Gregory House helps young couple get on the property ladder by showing them around overpriced apartments (how the hell young couple can afford them is a mystery). Deal closes just in time for House to rush back to hospital to save a young girl from Lupus etc, etc.

Why struggle for original ideas and innovation when you can make easy money recycling the same old formats over and over? And if it makes Rupert Murdoch and Jim Shaw even more money, it can only be a good thing.
Can’t it?


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Tiggy’s Hollywood Movie

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You like me, you really... oh, maybe not.

I didn’t know what Hollywood scriptwriters looked like until I saw them on the picket lines during the recent writers’ strike. They looked normal enough – they didn’t drive up in their Ferraris flashing botox smiles like Tinsel Town big shots. They wore normal clothes, had normal faces and probably had messy houses and an overdraft like everyone else.

Hollywood needs them. Can you imagine if they were filming CSI: Las Vegas and the director says to the cast “Hmmm, maybe someone can pretend to be dead, here’s some fake blood. Fucked if I know, just make it up as you go along…” Gil Grissom wouldn’t look like such a know-it-all forensic fancy pants then.

Awesome Movie
Maybe I had what it took to be a movie screenwriter. Stupidly, I wondered out loud to my friends how easy it must be. All you need is to think up some characters, put them in a situation and then resolve that situation, somehow, in about 95 minutes. Go on, my friends said. At least come up with an idea.

My movie script needed careful planning. I had to come up with fascinating characters and an intriguing plotline with plenty of twists. Half an hour of solid work through my lunch break later, I had the foundations of my awesome movie – a dark road trip comedy with a clever subplot. I’d hardly finished my cup-a-soup as I typed out my synopsis. I am in the wrong job, I thought. Just wait until my friends read this. I wonder which producer will call me first?

Hot Dog-Eating Monkeys
My friends’ reviews were lukewarm. “Um, Tiggy, hasn’t this been done before?” “I don’t get that bit about the monkey and the hot dog eating contest…” “I’ve noticed one major flaw in your plotline…”

What a bunch of loser armchair critics. How dare they trash my idea! I played the whole movie back in my mind – it was fantastic! I’d pay to see it several times at a theatre. I sulked like a diva for the rest of the day.

Maybe I’m not cut out to be a screenwriter. The pressure to come up with original, logical and entertaining material is too much for me. The trauma of a rejected idea is unbearable. These Hollywood writers must have a thick skin, even without the botox.


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