Homeboy and the Inner Fan Girl
Apr. 30th, 2007 09:24 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
smokingbootOr, the producer previously known as Genius Love Puppy because he's a) a genius and b) a love puppy. You never know just how gifted he is until he shows you his work, cos he spends his entire life clowning around like a ninny, earning the studio's unanimous title of 'The Idiot.' Stark and simple though the accolade seems, one must consider the calibre of the competition around him. We are legend or deserve to be. To stand out among such a mob of promising morons is an achievement indeed.
The thing is, this guy totally brings out my Inner Fan Girl. Conversations tend to be embarrassing:
Him: Hey homegirl! How you doin'? (Does that hi-5 thing, slaps my hand)
Me: Oh hey you, I'm sweet, how's it going? IFG: Oooo. You're so tall!
Him: I'm cool, I'm fine, like the slippery sun!
Me: Too like (grins) IFG: Huh?
Him: Hah! So like! Precious jade - trouble with the earpiece huh? Let me do that for you babygirl - did you get around to seeing the films, so-quick-with-the-retort?
Me: You get what you ask for, baybee! IFG: Precious Jade? What retort?
Him: Hah, so sharp - stop jumping around, making me laugh prettycrazym*therf*ckerlookitthatfacesoexpressive - What did you think, first or second?
Me: Well I like the first, you know, that pithy little poem thing, very sharp - IFG: Cool! I'm a crazy m*therf*cker and you like my face!
Him: Yeah, that's the one we took to the [insert film festival], Mr Cool wrote that. InyourearnevergettingoutagainOK? Sweetback!
Me: Thanks, that's um, nice, thanks. IFG: Sweetback? Does that mean the talkback or my actual, you know, backback? Do you like my backback? Sweet!
Him; Yeahniceone, so you prefer the first? It won a couple of awards.
Me: I can see why, it works brilliantly. IFG: Oooo. Awards!
Him: (shrugs) There've been a couple for the second as well, and it's shortlisted for the [insert prestigious-indy-film-award whatever] so I've got high hopes for it...you think it's as good? (shy smile) You can criticise it, I don't mind.
Me: Actually, I prefer it; You take time to build the pace,I so like your use of repetition and the end is really shocking. IFG: Oooo. More awards!
Him: Gr8! Need to sit down and talk to you about stuff, read your story, tried to find you but you ran away, igottotallyabsorbedinitlovetheinnocenceinperversionthemeandthesenseofselfharmbeautifulotherworldyourownworldbeautifulsimplicityof itandfoundmyselfreallyintothemaincharacterthoughfoundmyselffeelingfortheuncleabsolutelyknowihaveto (Takes Breath) talktoyoumoreslowlysoyoucangetwhatI'mtellingyouIreallyloveditweneedtositdownandtalkaboutcharacterdevelopmentIreally can'tdoitinwordslovethewayyoucansentittodanifyoudon'tmindthinkyoureamazingwouldyouliketoreadthebeginningofmystory?
Me and IFG in unison: Ooooo! You just got taller!
No, I have no idea what that was about either. And they're all like that, though usually less linear. Nice guy. Films, clear and strong, conversations, uh, charming but incomprehensible.I was dreading reading his story. And then I did. It's in front of me now.
Well hmm. I can write off some of this as gifted undergrad stuff as he tears through the language and forces me to re-think the way he uses it. Is this poetry? is this prose? Too self aware maybe, until he lets himself go and gets inside the thing. OK, he's not worried about pace and he knows no-one talks like his dialogue, he gets that; I have been trying to pare excess adjectives out of my writing since I was 13, he just doesn't, he uses them to reshape everything. He pulls me into the undercurrent, the subtext and the feeling. Just as I reach for my red pen, I stay my hand and can't edit out what seem to be mistakes. Because they aren't. This isn't bad language, or overly self-conscious stylisation. It has evident derivations (Raymond Chandler, James Ellroy, Gerard Manley Hopkins and James Joyce spring to mind) but this is something else. He isn't working outside the box, he just isn't aware of the box. I think he's good. Extremely good.
Just as well my IFG didn't know this the other night, cos the sound of popping awe would have drowned out the pub chatter. He insisted on getting us all another drink, went over to the crowded bar and made bashful eyes at the barmaid, who smiled back and served him straight away. Even with her efforts we were a tiny bit late for the briefing (first time ever for me since I began working at the studio). He swept us through reception where a curmudgeonly gentleman signs us in. One look at mein beaming host, all facial granite dissolved and the lost minutes magically reappeared on the signing sheets. We went upstairs where the night's organiser was waiting for us, a stern frown replaced by grin at the sight of the Puppy, everyone's sweetheart, fortune's favoured son. No-one gets a reprimand, hugs go on forever.
Well here's the lowdown, homeboy; am a bit stunned by your talent, just like every other idiot in the 'hood. Tain't a fancying thing, just an admiration thing. You win, you win! Thankfully you're too smart to notice. Now get out of here and give my IFG a rest, OK?
The thing is, this guy totally brings out my Inner Fan Girl. Conversations tend to be embarrassing:
Him: Hey homegirl! How you doin'? (Does that hi-5 thing, slaps my hand)
Me: Oh hey you, I'm sweet, how's it going? IFG: Oooo. You're so tall!
Him: I'm cool, I'm fine, like the slippery sun!
Me: Too like (grins) IFG: Huh?
Him: Hah! So like! Precious jade - trouble with the earpiece huh? Let me do that for you babygirl - did you get around to seeing the films, so-quick-with-the-retort?
Me: You get what you ask for, baybee! IFG: Precious Jade? What retort?
Him: Hah, so sharp - stop jumping around, making me laugh prettycrazym*therf*ckerlookitthatfacesoexpressive - What did you think, first or second?
Me: Well I like the first, you know, that pithy little poem thing, very sharp - IFG: Cool! I'm a crazy m*therf*cker and you like my face!
Him: Yeah, that's the one we took to the [insert film festival], Mr Cool wrote that. InyourearnevergettingoutagainOK? Sweetback!
Me: Thanks, that's um, nice, thanks. IFG: Sweetback? Does that mean the talkback or my actual, you know, backback? Do you like my backback? Sweet!
Him; Yeahniceone, so you prefer the first? It won a couple of awards.
Me: I can see why, it works brilliantly. IFG: Oooo. Awards!
Him: (shrugs) There've been a couple for the second as well, and it's shortlisted for the [insert prestigious-indy-film-award whatever] so I've got high hopes for it...you think it's as good? (shy smile) You can criticise it, I don't mind.
Me: Actually, I prefer it; You take time to build the pace,I so like your use of repetition and the end is really shocking. IFG: Oooo. More awards!
Him: Gr8! Need to sit down and talk to you about stuff, read your story, tried to find you but you ran away, igottotallyabsorbedinitlovetheinnocenceinperversionthemeandthesenseofselfharmbeautifulotherworldyourownworldbeautifulsimplicityof itandfoundmyselfreallyintothemaincharacterthoughfoundmyselffeelingfortheuncleabsolutelyknowihaveto (Takes Breath) talktoyoumoreslowlysoyoucangetwhatI'mtellingyouIreallyloveditweneedtositdownandtalkaboutcharacterdevelopmentIreally can'tdoitinwordslovethewayyoucansentittodanifyoudon'tmindthinkyoureamazingwouldyouliketoreadthebeginningofmystory?
Me and IFG in unison: Ooooo! You just got taller!
No, I have no idea what that was about either. And they're all like that, though usually less linear. Nice guy. Films, clear and strong, conversations, uh, charming but incomprehensible.I was dreading reading his story. And then I did. It's in front of me now.
Well hmm. I can write off some of this as gifted undergrad stuff as he tears through the language and forces me to re-think the way he uses it. Is this poetry? is this prose? Too self aware maybe, until he lets himself go and gets inside the thing. OK, he's not worried about pace and he knows no-one talks like his dialogue, he gets that; I have been trying to pare excess adjectives out of my writing since I was 13, he just doesn't, he uses them to reshape everything. He pulls me into the undercurrent, the subtext and the feeling. Just as I reach for my red pen, I stay my hand and can't edit out what seem to be mistakes. Because they aren't. This isn't bad language, or overly self-conscious stylisation. It has evident derivations (Raymond Chandler, James Ellroy, Gerard Manley Hopkins and James Joyce spring to mind) but this is something else. He isn't working outside the box, he just isn't aware of the box. I think he's good. Extremely good.
Just as well my IFG didn't know this the other night, cos the sound of popping awe would have drowned out the pub chatter. He insisted on getting us all another drink, went over to the crowded bar and made bashful eyes at the barmaid, who smiled back and served him straight away. Even with her efforts we were a tiny bit late for the briefing (first time ever for me since I began working at the studio). He swept us through reception where a curmudgeonly gentleman signs us in. One look at mein beaming host, all facial granite dissolved and the lost minutes magically reappeared on the signing sheets. We went upstairs where the night's organiser was waiting for us, a stern frown replaced by grin at the sight of the Puppy, everyone's sweetheart, fortune's favoured son. No-one gets a reprimand, hugs go on forever.
Well here's the lowdown, homeboy; am a bit stunned by your talent, just like every other idiot in the 'hood. Tain't a fancying thing, just an admiration thing. You win, you win! Thankfully you're too smart to notice. Now get out of here and give my IFG a rest, OK?
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