Sunday, November 13, 2005

Jonah Goldberg Music Video Storyboard Part I

Song: Superblaster-Curve

UPDATE: Halloooooooo, Poor Man Institute Fellows. This has been our most unsuccessful post yet. We can't get the storyboard right. Just how would Jonah deal with the Draconian menace, and the slutty Princess Ardala? I really feel like only Ben Shapiro would be safe.

Jonah G., wanting to blow some of the green flowing his way from the delightful LA Times, his new editorial home, decides to ring up Spike Jonze with a proposition.

JG: "Spike, if I give you enough money, will you make me look awesome in a video, and can you do one of your ironic retro-aesthetic conceits that all the kids love, you know like Happy Days and Weezer, but with another topic, and I'll let you take some shots at Sofia Coppola if you want?"

SJ: "OK. Who should we get for you? John Goodman? Jackie Gleason? Orson Welles (The Third Man era Orson wouldn't be bad- ed.)?"

JG: "Those guys are all fat, some are dead, but none of them are hacks."

SJ: "Well, do you know any fat, dead hacks we could get? I mean two out of three ain't bad."

JG: "Just cast me, but I don't do stunts. Put me in post-production. Use this body."

SJ: "That's Gil Gerard. You want to do Buck Rogers? What about the weight diff? What about this guy?"

JG: "Uh, funny. I know Gerard is a little squish, but you can slim him post-p, like when you put my head on his bod."

SJ: "OK, what song are you doing?"

JG: "Superblaster by Curve."

SJ: "Uh, that's a chick."

JG: "I know, I'm not gonna sing, it's just background for the crazy sci-fi story. I want you to tell Buck Rogers and Princess Ardala and Wilma Deering from a conservative, thoughtful direction, not a liberal-fascist-shrill-moral preening-unwashed self righteousness torture denouncing one. You know, where Buck defeats Tigerman fair and squares, after discussing with him how they are both two rational people and that two rational people must eventually agree, they then share a manly hug and Tigerman proceeds to stop hating freedom. Buck politely but firmly declines Princess Ardala's slutty advances. She even offers to abort any Draconian-Earthman hybrid from their coupling. Buck says "no way, Jose, I'm living this life right, and Draconians don't celebrate Christmas, it could never work." Buck then saves the day using his immense personal wealth to evacuate most of the Earth to a giant space station made out of imagination and marshmallows and instead of stopping the super gun firing, he just removes all his valuables and enormous household staff, using the tax cuts and subsidies hard won by his Captains of Industry. Then the empty Earth and only some brown people are accidentally incinerated when they don't evacuate their shantytown asteroid like they are told to, but it's their own fault, and then Wilma and Buck get married in a space church. Phish of course guest stars as the awesome space band. The end. Cut it, print it."

SJ: "I'll work from that, but I've got my own vision. I want to go for the fake inner you. The exceptionally muddled, ridiculous, lazy, fatuous, greasy, corrupt version of you. Trust me, those are the in-qualities in Arrow Cross/Iron Guard types of liberals. I'm sure you talk about those in your book. We'll do it wink-wink, so you don't get in trouble and smart, educated people will think it's satire and love it ironicall, even thought the liberal masses will embrace the fake inner you only to have you mock and denounce them after fooling them with your trickery."

JG: "Awesome!!!! Fives!!!!! What were those Crossing Guards you mentioned?"

SJ: "Never mind."

JG: "Whatev! People joke that I like sandwiches. If by sandwiches you mean waffle sandwiches with bacon and sausage and stuff, then it may be true, but that's shrill. I prefer to call them what they are...waffles. Unpopular as that notion may be, I find the sandwich analogy despicable and yet another reason Steven Gilliard's racism excuses my own. Your wrongs make mine right."

SJ: "Uh, OK."

Spike goes back to the studio, feeling like he has freed himself to realize a true artistic vision, one that depicts the most shallow, gobsmackingly bagwagon cobmunch in America...first he must consider the song to be his Muse....