Friday, August 24, 2012

She tries not to shatter, kaleidoscope style

"It says here about movie poster art style," said Another Kiwi, reading from the online edition of the Nuremberg Chronicle, "that disintegration is in vogue these days."

"It's all about the deliquescence of personal identity in an era of prefabricated plug-&-pray memories and virtual realities, innit?" I said knowledgeably.

Evangeline van Holsteren H.B. chose that moment to materialise near our table in a subtle miasma of 'Silver Bullet' hop-based perfume, poised to snatch away any empty glasses before we started absent-mindedly gnawing on them in an understandable confusion with silica-flavoured crisps such as could happen to anyone. "Have you loonies finished your poster yet?" she demanded.

"Poster?" we vouchsafed, in a 'Seeking additional information' tone of voice (B6.2) rather than 'Stalling Desperately' (F16/9).

"The poster advertising the Grand Dernier screening tonight of your home movie, that you have booked the Tagmosis Room for."

"Cinéma vérité is not 'home movies'," AK declared with dignity.

"It is not 'our movie'," I added. "It was the work of the entire Riddled Cinematography Collective, produced in state-of-the-art animation, the state in question being Arkansas." You would be surprised how hard a scriptorium of medieval monks will work on illuminating animation gels if you turn up in a time machine and bribe them with chocolate hob-nobs.

E. v G. was dismissive. "Whatev. Have you even sorted out the title yet? Because a movie called 'Vat-Grown Godmeat' is not going to bring in bums on seats, at least not the kind we want. A good turn-out is devoutly to be wished for; Throgmorton will be on the door and he has already pocketed a quarter of the take in advance."

"Any other advice?" I wondered in a tone of no-sincerity.

"Use a question as the poster sub-title even if it has two-thirds of fuck-all to do with the plot."

"Like, 'What is the next transfinite number after Aleph-Null'" suggested AK.

"Who ate all the chocolate hob-nobs from the Riddled tea-room?" suggested tigris, arriving late.

"Too long," Evangeline vouchsafed, "Also, NO TRAJAN," she added, narrowing her eyes in a distinctive and dispositive expression of Don't-argue-with-the-barstaff. "You know it triggers Throgmorton."

"I have just thought of the perfect artist to produce the poster," I announced. "He has experience of working for the movies and everything."

We'll put the trailer up on the Youtuber as soon as we sort out that little misunderstanding with the hire company.

7 comments:

ifthethunderdontgetya™³²®© said...

What was the Riddled selection for 2010, S.C.?
~

Substance McGravitas said...

One of these days they'll develop a reality that doesn't shed.

H. Rumbold, Master Barber said...

With a time machine, all you need is a scriptorium with one medieval monk to illumine the cels for every animation ever made or to be made. Clever. Save.

mikey said...

Be vewey, VEWEY quiet.

I'm hunting Hadrosaurs....

Another Kiwi said...

I'm just sayin' that "The Mouse That Spins" might be mistaken for the Peter Sellars classic iffen people do not do a better job with the editing.

Smut Clyde said...

One of these days they'll develop a reality that doesn't shed.

Morgellons are proof that we live inside a simulation.

Another Kiwi said...

Hat tip to Smut for the Siouxsie reference.