When Hell Freezes Over. . . . .

snow_storm   roach_reverse

Greetings from St. Louis. Either your little piece of “cloud-9” or your mere ice-cube lot besides the cold Midwestern heart of hell.

Yes—we’re frozen-solid down here. Which means—time for blogging!

Trapped in the house—as I can’t help but share this little item from our local alternative newspaper that describes the fickle heart in our “state of emergency”, usually called-off in the due course of things.

http://www.riverfronttimes.com/artsblog/2017/01/12/the-15-phases-of-a-st-louis-snowstorm

Read it, know it, feel it. It’s about all summed-up there.

We have the street department out in force, and Beetlejuice serves his purgatory working for the local street department in the salt trucks. There—sbadowed in the cab and taking a sip from a hip flask of whiskey in a parka—his hair tangled-up in a nimbus as the gray afternoon darkens into nightfall.

As you know, dead souls “die” in whatever smooshed death and pay their dues for the fee of reincarnation. If it wasn’t being devoured by a sandworm, he may as well be gnashed in the teeth of Satan, himself at the very bottom circle of hell—the giant devil frozen in ice who mewls at the bottom of all nightmares.

Oh, well. Instead, this is just an inner-suburb of St. Louis with the overpass, railroad trestle, and corner of bargain commerce. A gas station—a discount clothes outlet in the same expansive parking lot as the American Contacts & Eyeglasses, the DMV, and “Little Caesar’s Pizza” by a little dog-walking park and trickle of a sunken stream by the hilly, wooded houses.

He could do way worse—WAY, WAY WORSE.

The fate of the community lays with men like Beetlejuice and he’s paid well for his 12-hour shift.

No—don’t park there! Pulled across the street from the pool-hall as a prostitute opens the door and climbs in the cab.

Just a slow day—as hell freezes over. Dead season—and cause to stay indoors.

Beetlejuice knocks his gloves together and lights a cigarette under the halo of the streetlight. Just a barnacle on the underbelly of civic business. The night is his home and soon he’ll be alone again with his festering thoughts.

THE KING OF BEERS.

And so long as you’re snuggled in. . . . . . we present you a teaser for the Beetlejuice 2 script BEFORE HELL FREEZES OVER. Pass it out far & wide like the billowing snowflakes across the region. And enjoy it as the dark necromancy of “he-who-cannot-be-named” leans against the tombstone with his ankles crossed. KILLING TIME.

Click on this link here. . . . .

bj2_teaser_1point3_wga

hooverville  raccoon

When Hell Freezes Over. . . . .

Rotten Pumpkin Hangover

 money_truck    wpid-wp-1444570307343.jpeg

Well, Halloween came and went—Beetlejuice, himself was there “in spirit”. Not wishing to be besieged by Trick-or-Treater’s, let’s just say “he played dead” and kinda “rolled the boulder” in front of the cave. In front of the open window, it pays “to keep your pants on” as I fiddled-around with the new lap-top.

And thank you for sticking-around on this brief hiatus of enforced vacation—never short-change the crowd and keep ‘em gathered around and hungry. But as it stands, my old lap-top reminds me of a pair of country/western boots that was endlessly “getting patched-up”—whether my keyboard went kaput or the screen “kinda imploded” but finally the computer “gave-up the ghost”.

So it was just me and my fervid imagination—though I don’t think Beetlejuice could much master a smart-phone. Sure, a cellular phone or cordless phone but he’s dealing on the level of “yard-sale Atari’s” and would stare, perplexed at an ancient floppy-disk unit.

Just see him in his big ole’ “beat-to-shit” hauling truck, driving around the Brandy Station apartment complex and salvaging old junk, say “anything he can find”. . . . . from beat-up old couches to stray aluminum cans. And remember the motto, “TURN SHIT INTO GOLD” as we scrape together every strange, weird little idea into this commercial profit machine of movie franchise madness.

Let’s call “Monster” energy drink the official beverage guzzled by Beetlejuice—green, foamy mad scientist’s lightning and a sign o’ the times. He knocks it back and crumples the can, “mmmmn, that satisfying energy-buzz” before chucking it over his shoulder.

And you’d have to have “MONSTER ENERGY” as Beetlejuice carried-around a dog-eared copy of “How to make Money with a Pick-up Truck” looking for odd jobs, whatever he can rustle-up. Or do I mean “scare-up”? If he’s not crashing at the flop-house of marginal rentals, he’s following the carnival and sleeping on the midnight festival-fields after the rides have shut-down.

“A lost soul”, Beetlejuice is too errant much in the ways of “settling-down” and quietly vacates in the night before the locals get enough of him and form a mob storming his way.

Imagine Beetlejuice showing up at a Social Security office, trying to get a State I.D. without much in the way of paperwork. A social security number? For a 700 year-old ghost? Maybe he can get by with a fake college I.D. or the kind of thing folks do to get into bars. Get a haircut as he sits in the barber’s chair with his hair a tangled mess as he mutters back small-talk.

Asked for his driver’s license it would quickly devolve into a situation straight out of “COPS” as he at least-looked “a bit more presentable” for his mug-shot.

But boy, he sure gets arrested a lot. More “a public nuisance” than any real danger to society though your silverware may go missing. And check your hub-caps. . . . . . he’s been sleazing around your fan fiction universe lately.

As they say, “life is like an empty beer-bottle because you always know what you’re gonna get”. Pay-to-play, indeed as the lights were turned down low this Halloween and the kids mostly stayed-away.

Beetlejuice would drop snakes n’ lizards into their open bags and slam the door behind him, settling down into his reclining chair and paying the local whores to dance around his specially-installed stripper pole as his jacuzzi festers over with venereal disease.

Call it the golden-toned “Game-room” with deer heads and zebra-print couch covers as you never saw so much “flea market chic” in one place. Hey, look—there goes Elvis.

slash_snakepit_drawing   american_ice_cream_stand

Rotten Pumpkin Hangover

Running Head-Start. . . . . A Screenwriting Contest

 creative_control    dancing_hamster

Nothing quite gives you “a kick-in-the-pants” like an actual deadline. So it is– asides from endlessly jotting down script-notes AND ACTUALLY WORKING ON THE SCRIPT. It had to happen sooner or later. Without further delay, handed the opportunity of the season.

The contest was perfect– bootleg “your take” on an actual franchise or character universe, coming up with a cogent story that might get turned into an actual short film if you didn’t swamp the budget with too many special effects.

Read about the contest here: https://screencraft.org/bootleguniverse/

I had about a week to halfway overall all my notes and come up with a serviceable number of pages. Like, the sheer logistics of it. I geared-up preparation about a week before the October 1st deadline and ended up dumping all writing duties on the very last possible day.

But hark!!– I was prepared and uploaded before midnight, Pacific time with about half an hour to spare. Beyond “just conceptualizing” but actually getting it down.

Personally, I use the “Final Draft” program– and recently upgraded to the newest version– and the interesting thing about that is that it helps you keep up the strict formatting standards that Hollywood must see “if you play in the game”. It takes a little learning, a bit of getting used to– but you’re glad that you followed-through.

This project is finally looking a bit more confident beyond blustering slices of blog-post previews and I can actually see light at the end of the tunnel, on this one. I understand why a script can take a passionate, neurotic, procrastinating “creative-type”, like maybe seven part-time years to get something nailed down, from start to finish.

If you actually complete your screenplay consider yourself a hero in the pantheon of greatness– all most people have is “20 pages”, or so with no idea how to carry the story forward after the first act. They say if you can lay down 2 pages of script a day, “you’re good”. I must have laid-out 12 solid pages for what we will call “The Beetlejuice 2 Teaser” or first part of the movie that can stand alone.

There’s still a lot of surprises up my sleeve. . . . . and I must thank you, the readers for encouraging my thematic boldness. A crowd is wonderful– and you’ve been here the whole time. So it’s “back to the front” and stay tuned for more speculative fiction on all things “Beetlejuice”.

Many are called– fewer are chosen. WE WILL HAVE A FINISHED SCRIPT.

stray_star  super_static

Running Head-Start. . . . . A Screenwriting Contest

Casting Considerations. . . . .

adsfasdfasdf12115773_1087476441262386_6377037412788415873_n  636003656516160524-Beetlejuice-posing-at-grave

It was billed as “the comedy of laughter—from the here-after”.

And it just screams “1988” like a time-dated stamp of the Reagan/Bush years.

Death-rock riot ggggrls and late-night UHF commercial programming as seen through the incurring gentrifying impulse as it looked like “home sweet home” would be wrecked by New Yorker’s taking over this small New England hamlet.

If you were writing straight-up fan fiction, you’d assign a place for everybody in the next adventure—probably reconvened under rather dubious and unlikely conditions.

Who did we really care about?

Odds are we were mostly watching Lydia and the vile-talking spookster and main star. Otherwise, you’d have to dredge up everybody—and how many of these actors and actresses have moved on—or even DIED.

This is not the slapped-together sequel “of 1991 lore” but something else entirely. Sure, a lot of time has passed—and we must honor “less, the particulars” than broad brush-strokes. Would the modern mass audience remember “intricacies of plot”—and I’m betting not—or might we please the crowd with a fast-moving prologue?

Tune into a television-montage as evidenced by Beetlejuice’s long, mischievous rap-sheet. The quarreling sets of talk-shows and news segments interspersed with freakish commercials—what a better way to bring the audience “up to speed”? Here, we give minor characters “their due”. And hell—if the original actors & actresses have died, bring in younger stand-in’s to take their place. That way, it would recap the major events of the last movie while setting down some of the eerie parameters of this live/undead universe. In-jokes and updates with sharp commentary about the last 30 years of our vast, media-saturated wasteland.

It isn’t a reboot—but a sequel taking an entirely different direction.

Lydia carries-on with the extended, acquired lifestyles of post-adolescence with punk rock and fashion while Beetlejuice, himself is still up to his old tricks. The joke is, how he keeps getting “killed-off” and is required to serve his sentence in purgatory. If madness “is doing the same thing and expecting the same results” that demon isn’t very smart. Sign over your soul for lousy reincarnation schemes and be his foreclosed “karma-slave” forever.

The ghost world has its own screwy but inevitable logic as the encounter in the last film has chained Lydia and Beetlejuice together as “soul-mates”, apparently and bound through the long, nebulous ties of astral-projection/connection between life & death.

Their paths will intersect as military misadventure through a top-secret experimental installation sets earth on a collision course “with dark matter” as events are set in motion—Beetlejuice zapped down to modern-day Red-State America and soldiers looking for him.

Meanwhile, he gets into trouble “making a living” with marginal, dead-end lifestyles as Lydia fights in the city to keep her local cable-access show on the air and keep the town from being bought-up by a corrupt real estate mogul and turned into a toxic waste-dump.

Many intrigues ensue with her gutter-punk squad of friends and an awkward young shut-in trying to be helpful—leading to a mixed-up suitcase of stolen jewelry from a drug-deal “gone bad” as Beetlejuice is now on the shit-list of a local biker gang.

The strands all come together as the world is on the event-horizon of final catastrophe unless Beetlejuice can beat the hangman and save the day.

There will be plenty of supporting characters—and my intention is that our original cast will be featured along with some old and new friends.

So break out the Calypso and don’t forget to his name three times. Turn on the juice and see what breaks lo0se from the depths of a fervid, unsavory young mind as work continues on the screenplay that one-up’s all sequels—“BEETLEJUICE 2”.

disgust  beetlejuice_2

Casting Considerations. . . . .

Copyrights, Trademarks, Legality, OH MY!!

Open-up this Christmas Day with a bundle “of fine points”, about “as merry” as a bunker of sand-worms, exploding-out with giggling chitters like a can of trick-peanuts to tell you, that Beetlejuice™  and its respective characters are trademarks of Warner Bros. . . . . if not the original sweat, toil, and ingenuity of the original creative team, behind the movie. Continue reading “Copyrights, Trademarks, Legality, OH MY!!”

Copyrights, Trademarks, Legality, OH MY!!