my heist movie
When bush made JA2 a reality, I kilgored this one. A mastermind teams up with a hacker who spoofs a state and hires a team of mercs to assemble at the training facility. I’d do the hiring in two stages—say a dozen squad leaders and then a couple hundred cannon fodder; whatever they think they’ll need. Train on an island somewhere. The target was fort knox, except that turned out to be attached to a military base, so pick some other nation’s national treasury. Russia. A Ukranian criminal pulls this off.
The gimmick is silence. All communication is nonverbal, with hand gestures. All plans are built around line of sight communication, and the sign language evolves as the mission is constructed and planned. All communication within the training base is via closed circuit cameras, b&w. So a light flashes over the screen above the doorway like the Channel 1 teevees in my high school, someone three rooms away gestures at you, you gesture back at the camera, and two kids (privates) come in with fresh ammo. Something like that.
The robbery isn’t some european finesse job, it’s a good ol’ fashioned yankee shoot ‘em up. Americans are a very moral people, you know. Except for things like murder. I bet the state left that book in the homeless shelter for me. Anyway, the soldiers betray and kill the hacker but can’t find the mastermind.
Cut to a news spectacular about the successful heist, being watched in the office of whomever greenlighted the money to make this. In walks the mastermind with a drive of all the cc footage created during the planning part of the heist; hands it off to the producer to edit into something watchable.
James Clavell kept the planning stage going for 1300 pages and the war took one paragraph at the end.
Lessee…obligatory nod to Dogs, Clerks (my state and generation), and probably Blair Witch, which had recently spooked the crap out of me with the found footage thing.
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I kilgored my revenge flick around then as well. A fun white savior thing. Two brothers in the 80’s S Philly, one white, the other adopted Black. The Black kid is skinny and smart, the white brother is always using his fists to protect his slightly older, better-looking but nonfighting sib. FF 20 years to the days when the NJ state troopers were getting in trouble for profiling rich Black people on the turnpike. The Black brother is now a surgeon and accustomed to respect. Pulled over, mouths off, gunned down. White guy is a stevedore and a lil’ grumpy when he gets this news.
The hero hires a hooker and strangles her. He leaves the body in some fancy way to get attention in a deeper part of Fairmount Park. Then sets up a sniper’s nest and waits for the cops in suits and white coats.
Act2 is various creative assaults and ambushes; using traditional cop tactics against them. [Imagine if people stopped running away from them? Imagine if Black people shot first? See why I’m not allowed a voice?] Act3 is flight and death by cop.
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I’ve got a transgressive movie. Barakus and I kilgored it as a way to cope with the trauma of just having watched Pink Flamingoes, which I believe is illegal to even view today. I don’t want to give anyone any ideas, so I’m keeping this one to myself.
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Pretty sure this guy was decomposed. Strongly suspect here as well.
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I kilgored a story wherein I named all my characters after products. Like Harley Davidson and the Marlboro Man, but more explicit. I named my ex woman “summer’s eve”. Joe Camel made an appearance; Ms. Glock…basically, anything acceptable to the recession-proof vice fund.
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I went into this begging the question: who the hell has listened to either GnR or Metallica since about 1990? I mean, anything they did since. I agree with dude that GnR ended hair metal and I agree Metallica got old and complacent. Pantera found the edge of thrash, locked it down for the ages, and moved off the scene before getting TFO to play that way. Live fast, die young, leave a good looking corpse by age 28. Y’know, I’m starting to suspect “the man” understands the life cycle of the dissident better than he lets on…Notice—none of those famous trio are boomers. They’re all silents, like my father. It must have been fun to run the teenagers around with drugs and exciting music.
Rock and roll is a young person’s game, and success destroys all creatives in the end. Except Mr. Conductor. There’s your bar, GOAT. You ain’t AT yet. Even George might bow to Lenny.
Novels are the opposite. Hardly nobody never writed nothing worth reading before age 30.
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This guy would be slaughtered in modern amurica, let alone the islamic world.