|Very Slight Stories | Like short stories, only shorter.||
Tuesday, June 24, 2008
Sing Very Loudly, Mr. Hazeldene
Eric is pitching ideas for films to a producer called Jerry.
"How about 'Fixed Abode', a prison film."
"'Wimple Don'. It's a film about a mob boss on the run. He hides in a remote convent, where he pretends to be a nun."
"How about 'Fixed Abode', a film about renovating a dilapidated house."
"'Santa Cruise'. A man goes on a cruise in search of love, but he ends up stuck on a boat with hundreds of Santas. It's a Santa Claus convention. He still finds love."
"How about 'No Fixed Abode', a film about buying an old house and then realising it's falling down."
"'Dead It, Mate'. It's about an Australian hit man who becomes a Buddhist monk."
"Or he could disguise himself as a nun."
"I don't think so."
"I'm working on a script based on a novel I read. It's called 'Sing Very Loudly, Mr. Hazeldene'. Mr. Hazeldene is a failed socialist politician and a failed singer. He travels around the country, lecturing and singing, but when he's on the stage he's basically just a target for things like bottles or darts. Then he meets a singing teacher who transforms his life. He goes to a sleepy village on a lazy summer evening. A few people gather in the village hall to hear him lecture and sing, and he brings the whole place to life. Within minutes the hall is packed. He has this effect everywhere he goes. He becomes a star. He's standing up for the little guy and there are millions of little guys who stand up and demand political change. The political hierarchy are worried. They hire a hit man to take him out. They spread scandalous stories about him. He falls in love with a woman who looks as if butter wouldn't melt in her mouth. That's what he thinks when he sees the word 'love' tattooed on her face. He eventually finds where she has the word 'hate'. It would be a more appropriate place for 'love', and her face would be a more appropriate place for 'hate'. This woman is tough. She's like a female Rambo, although her breasts don't need to be that big. She hunts down the politicians who are trying to bring Mr. Hazeldene down. A lot of the chase takes place in the countryside: forests, hills, valleys, rivers, mountains and so forth. And cliffs."
"I like it. That might just work. But we'd have to get rid of the character of Mr. Hazeldene."
"I was just thinking that myself."
"The focus should be on this woman And without Mr. Hazeldene it would make no sense for her to be hunting down politicians with machine guns and grenades. She'd be hunting down terrorists instead."
"I like it."
"Do you have any other ideas?"
"'Cat Ass Trophy'. A mob boss posing as a nun in a remote convent organises a tennis tournament."
"I think that's been done."
The Tree and the Horse
A Walk in the Rain
The East Cork Patents Office
Words are my favourite noises
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|very slight stories||
They Met a Bear
They stopped in a small seaside town and they went for a walk. They met a bear.
This is one version of the story. In another version, they met a sailor, and in this one they ended up being held at gunpoint on a speedboat and becoming unwilling participants in a diamond robbery while disguised as a cow, and sharing in the proceeds of that crime.
So when they tell the story they just say, "We met a bear. He waved at us."
The Story of the Fortune Teller and the Alarm Clock
A fortune teller threw an alarm clock at me. This story is deliberately lacking in details to mock the predictions of the fortune teller. Although she was right when she said she'd throw an alarm clock at me.
One. Two. Three, the study. Four, a candle stick. Five. Six...
Seven is missing, presumed dead. One has taken up the case, and two is helping him in his investigations. They both suspect six. Seven was last seen next to six in the garden.
But seven isn't really dead. He's consumed half a bottle of whiskey and he's currently in the orchard, talking to a rabbit. "One of us is as boring as a gate post," he says, "and it's not..." He stops to count on his fingers. "No, actually it is me."
Eight nine ten.
Debbie and his dog
Debbie was sick of people mistaking her for a man.
"Is your dog my parole officer?"
She was sick of people asking her that too.
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