"Fast Forward" by Eric Spitznagel

[Guest ButchHarris]

ARTICLE - "Fast Forward" by Eric Spitznagel (Salon.com) - ARTICLE

 

I watched feats of sexuality that could only be described as psychopathic proctology, and not once did I hear them utter even a single line of my carefully crafted dialogue.

 

Web: http://Salon.com/sex/feature/2002/06/05/forward

 

EXCERPT: Eventually I asked Brandon if he had any intention of shooting my script. "We have to shoot all the sex first," he said. "Once that's out of the way, we'll get to your stuff." I tried to be patient, but I was becoming bored with the proceedings. I wandered in and out of the set, pointing angrily at my watch or clearing my throat at inopportune times. I came dangerously close to being banned from the premises when, after witnessing a lesbian tryst drag on for almost two hours, I pointed out to Brandon that the scene was rapidly becoming redundant.

 

As midnight approached, Brandon finally called a wrap. But before the crew could pack up their cameras and run for the doors, Brandon reminded them that their day was not over. "OK, people," he shouted. "Let's do the fast forward."

 

His announcement was greeted with groans of protest and gnashing of teeth. A gloomy fatigue fell over the room, and the crew went about their tasks with exaggerated fatigue. One of the actresses walked onto the set, her hair in curlers, and asked me why everybody looked so upset.

 

"Something about a fast forward," I said.

 

"Oh no, really?" The actress said, frowning deeply. "Shit, I hate this part."

 

"What's a fast forward?" I asked.

 

A grip walked over, dragging his feet like a teenager on his way to detention. "Fucking hell," he said.

 

"I know," the actress agreed.

 

"It never gets any easier," the grip said.

 

Another actor joined the group. "Fast forward?" he said, noting their sour expressions.

 

"It's just not fair," the actress scowled.

 

"What's a fast forward?" I asked again.

 

"The script," the actor said, almost whispering the words.

 

"I don't get it," I said. "Why's it called fast forward?"

 

They looked at me like I had missed something obvious. And then they each held up a hand, mimicking the use of a remote control. "Fucking fast forward," the grip moaned. "Like it matters."

 

As I watched the actors perform my lines, there were moments when I felt genuinely proud of what I'd accomplished. I had a produced screenplay, which was more than half the writers in Hollywood could say. It wasn't art, sure, but it was permanent, or at least as permanent as celluloid could be.

 

My occasional surges of pride were quickly snuffed out by the haunting realization that I had contributed to something so rotten that it was almost unwatchable. It was drivel. Worse than drivel. It was crap, pure and simple. The performances were awful. The actors garbled their lines so badly, it almost seemed that the entire cast was suffering from the same disabling speech impediment.

 

But I knew that I had to share at least some of the blame. My dialogue was stilted and forced, and none of it was as funny as I'd once envisioned. I tried to tell myself that I'd intended it this way. It was all part of my plan to create the perfect porn parody. But deep down, I knew that I hadn't been quite so cunning. Every painful line, every inane plot point, every porn cliché, it was all bleached of irony. However good my intentions might have been in the beginning, somewhere along the way, whether out of impatience or just plain laziness, I had inadvertently written a fairly typical, unremarkable porn film.

 

To read the complete article, go to:

http://Salon.com/sex/feature/2002/06/05/forward

 

About the writer: Eric Spitznagel is a writer in Chicago.

 

ARTICLE - "Fast Forward" by Eric Spitznagel (Salon.com) - ARTICLE

 

Butch Harris, Publisher

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