The Purple Pinup Guru Platform

When purple things are pulsating on your mind, I'm the one whose clock you want to clean. Aiding is Sparky, the Astral Plane Zen Pup Dog from his mountain stronghold on the Northernmost Island of the Happy Ninja Island chain, this blog will also act as a journal to my wacky antics at an entertainment company and the progress of my self published comic book, The Deposit Man which only appears when I damn well feel like it. Real Soon Now.

Thursday, October 09, 2003


I've got so many invoices on the Constantine project that it would make Linda Blair's head spin...again and.. again..and.. again. Lots of weird stuff that defies explanation. Some of it was explained to me by some co-workers who sat down and typed out the script through a few drafts. One stage actually had a swimming pool installed inside it- which really got me stumped. According to a script transcriber co-worker who works in my department, there is a wicked scene in one of the drafts that concerns a telepath and the only way she has of seeing the future and rescuing John from intiment danger is through a almost near- drowning experience. I, for one can't get a hold of the script to verify this, as they are locked away in a vault awaiting to be shredded or destroyed. Bills have come in for fabric for a headboard for a exorcism scene, drapes for the Midnight Club (for voodoo man Papa Midnite's hangout) and the Roosevelt Hotel, and some signs from the signs department for a bowling alley scene. other miniscule things came in from special effects building materials such as installing a air conditioning unit for the biggest stage on the lot of where they're set to shoot some major scenes.

One of the few props I've spotted walking around the Constantine stages is an ambulance with it's entire roof cut out so that cameras can be mounted to shoot overhead. Around the corner are pallets of fake concrete parking dividers that felt like they are made of rubber. My deduction would be that some evil demon manifests on the way over to the hospital and in the process of breaking free from it's restraints, takes the time to take these fake parking dividers and cracks open a few innocent bystanders' skulls. That's some weird made up shit, heh?

I had a little monotone on the spot interview with some of the on set construction workers- I spotted on my way out the gate.

Me: Hey, guys- is that the Constantine set you're working on?

They: Yes.

Me: Any chance you guys are building the Midnight Bar set?

They: Yes.

See how easy it is? And they were very articulate, too. But, like I said before in a previous post- I can't be pushy or anything otherwise, some security guards will be hauling me off to the back seat of a golf cart - I'll just be patient and ask the right person for permission to take a peek hopefully without trying to freak anyone out.

Well- it looks as if the new Deposit Man book will be off to Brenner Printing first thing Monday and I won't be able to see the finished product until the Vegas show. I'll be shipping half of my order to my Dad's house. Oliver Simonsen has really knocked the shit out of my socks on this one. The cover is a knockout even though Oliver had to widdle a third off of Mas's original painting to make everything fit. The result is nothing short of spectacular- and I understand Oliver's logic for doing things. Portions of the dialogue have been tweaked yet again due to space- but in this case, it may be a better read because of the clearer and concise fonts that Oliver is experimenting with. So, this is shaping to be a magificent looking product for the careers of all involved. And wait until you see Oliver's design for my publishing masthead. It's a fucking knockout.

Now for part three of my negoiations with a madman.

As I've explained in previous posts- Matt the Ocean Beach psycho who will be serving as a blueprint for a Deposit Man antagonist sometime in the future was within a pubic hair's width from getting his throat slashed by the local doped out neighborhood unwelcome wagon. In awe of his close resemblance to Al Pacino in his world reknown Scarface role, he's been up at all hours of night blasting Sinatra music and loud gangster videos such as the Pope of Greenwich Village and the Godfather, he's been purposily setting off his car alarm and pointing the blame towards others and impaling his own front door with steak knives. Not a guy of who you want to borrow a cup of sugar from that's for sure. Even though Matt made threatening gestures towards me, he somewhat considered me a kindred spirit because of my friend Dave's big mouth (it's been now ten years since he's passed away due to a heroin overdose) telling him that I was dabbling in comic book script writing. Matt had mentioned to me a few times if I wouldn't mind reading a movie script that he was trying to sell - (never really realizing that he was living in the wrong town to be doing that sort of thing- supposedly fresh off the plane from Brooklyn - but hey, I came out from Jersey to San Diego with that same mentality too) - and due to this public outcry of wanting to spike his head on a fence post and then calling the cops to play show and tell with, I concocted a plan to maybe put an end to all this peacefully and get to the root of this guy's problem. So I got up and knocked on the front door to the mouth of madness. Reluctantly Matt let me in and I told him that I finally had time to check out his script- so Matt got me a few cans of beers and I sat down on a bean chair and opened to the first few pages of his script, trying hard not to crush all his discarded bottles of perscription
medication imported from Tijuana.

I read the first ten pages.

Goddamn thing sucked.

It was if he copying word for word - the Pope of Greenwich Village- the same premise, the same kind of characterizations siphoned off of Mickey Rourke, Eric Roberts and Daryl Hannah. It was just fucking unbeliveable. I gave him a bullshit run-a-round story of to what he can do with this script-

-and that's all I have time for tonight.



Tuesday, October 07, 2003


Just so we can avoid any confusion, I want to say a few words about Mystic River - and not Mystic Pizza, which was a movie ten years or so ago with Julie Roberts. This movie is directed by Reptile Skin Man, Clint Eastwood- who looked like he was in the process of shedding in last year's Bloodwork and everytime you see Clint, you would silently utter under your breath- please, the make up is not helping and no way is the theory plausible that at the decrepit old age of 75 that he is still scoring with the young ladies anymore. But luckily, this time around Clint has decided to spare us all with the septuagenarian scares and has proven that maybe his talents lie better these days behind the camera rather than in front of it as he proves to us in this adaption of Dennis Lehane's novel, Mystic River. Not only that, Clint actually composed the score himself. I mean, as hard as it may seem to picture Dirty Harry jotting down quarter and eighth notes on manuscript paper - the score hauntingly sticks in your craw until the fade out.

Clint unravels a story that starts off something that's reminiscent of Stephen King's Stand By Me and winds up being a big screen version of the Sopranos. It's a peculliar amalgamation - but gosh darn, it's magnificent - from the breathtaking pan across the water to it's amazing performances from the ensemble cast. Sean Penn's Sean Markum almost makes Tony Soprano look like a lethagic kitten and I swear, Tim Robbins's performance as David Boyle is creepiest since he did that whacked out film about a terrorist next door neighbor - whose title escapes me at the moment.

It starts out innocently enough as a flashback of three kids playing a game of street hockey until one kid gets kidnapped by two men posing as a cop ...and a priest and taken to a remote area until he escapes four days later. But now we cut to the future and the boy has grown to to look like Tim Robbins and David still has visions of that incident. We are to assume that David has a handle on things. Sean Penn's Jimmy Markum has spend a little time in the joint, but is reformed and has a family with three girls- the youngest is going for communion, and is owner of the neighborhood market somewhere in the suburbs of Boston. However, one night Jimmy's oldest daughter doesn't come home one night- and incidently, David Boyle shows up at his house late at night in front of wife Marcia Gay Harden with blood on his hands. Kevin Becon's Sean Devine, the last of the three has gone on to be a homicide detective who is assigned to find Jimmy Markum's oldest daughter. And the three are reunited in a most unusual manner and they've managed to stick around in the same town after all these years.

There's really not so much in the action dept, but there is a threshold of suspense to keep one entralled considering the calibre of the performances - much like the Sopranos is these days. So there is plenty of Oscar to go around .

Go see it.