For my college’s annual end-of-the-semester film festival, I hoped to put together a film noir/buddy cop/pirate mashup. I still have the script, but I didn’t have the time. Instead, I worked on another project that I’ll have a post about soon.
I did manage to act in this short film, though. It won an award at the film festival.
This marks the fourth film fest movie I’ve acted in, and the fourth one in which I’ve been a villain. Also, it’s probably the most professionally produced one that I’ve been a part of, so it’s a great capper on my college acting career.
1) “Time to blow your nose… off!”
2) “Now it’s there, now it… snot.”
My personal favorite:
3) “Nose… Goes.”
Too normal. He’s the first to go.
You know Dasher and Dancer, et al. And you also know the greatest story of all, Rudolph the red-nosed reindeer. But do you know the sequel?
Forty years after his triumphant return, Rudolph has taken advantage of his status as Santa’s right-hand reindeer to rule the north pole. Rudolph is power-hungry. Permanently defined by the psychological torture he endured as a child, he believes that those different from him deserve a slow painful death, and so he institutes an apartheid directed towards all non-misfits.
Only a ragtag group of survivors stand against Rudolph’s iron-hoofed reign: an elderly elf with peppermint lung from his stint in the mines; Yoland, the last living Yeti; and our hero, a perfectly normal Jack-in-the-box — the disowned son of Charlie-in-the-box, Rudolph’s second-in-command. Together, they must track down the mysteriously withdrawn Santa Claus, the only man who can stand up to Rudolph. That is, if they can escape the Toy Factory first.
Also, there’s a scene where a troop of reindeer heil Rudolph with their antlers, because that’s funny.
Alternate title: “Reigndeer”
The cartoon show Science Animals would follow the adventures of Pavlov’s dog and Schrödinger’s cat: two hard-bitten pets on the road of scientific discovery.
Pavlov’s dog — Pav for short — has a weakness. He drools whenever a bell is rung. Schrö, on the other hand, has a superpower: he can become a zombie, but only when no one is directly observing him.
Their dynamic is disrupted by the Hugs Bison, a loveable buffalo who enjoys hugging as a form of greeting.
They must all learn how to work together in order to handle the various Occam’s-razor-wielding villains of the week.
Lewis Carroll’s Alice drawing, via Wikimedia
Lewis Carroll is famous for just one story (and its sequel, which is usually lumped in with the first), but he wrote a number of other works. They’re all worse, which explains why they aren’t as famous. But in several of them, the fun math-and-wordplay that Alice in Wonderland is known for comes through. Here’s an excerpt from A Tangled Tale, a 1885 collection of funny stories built around math puzzles, in which a little girl points out a flaw in her governess’s reasoning:
“And what made you choose the first train, Goosey?” said Mad Mathesis, as they got into the cab. “Couldn’t you count better than that?”
“I took an extreme case,” was the tearful reply. “Our excellent preceptress always says, ‘When in doubt, my dears, take an extreme case.’ And I was in doubt.”
“Does it always succeed!” her aunt inquired.
Clara sighed. “Not always,” she reluctantly admitted. “And I ca’n’t make out why. One day she was telling the little girls — they make such a noise at tea, you know — The more noise you make, the less jam you will have, and vice versa.’ And I thought they wouldn’t know what ‘vice versa’ meant: so I explained it to them. I said, ‘if you make an infinite noise, you’ll get no jam: and if you make no noise, you’ll get an infinite lot of jam.’ But our excellent preceptress said that wasn’t a good instance. Why wasn’t it?” she added plaintively.
Her aunt evaded the question. “One sees certain objections to it,” she said. “But how did you work it with the Metropolitan trains? None of them go infinitely fast, I believe.”
“I called them hares and tortoises,” Clara said — a little timidly, for she dreaded being laughed at. “And I thought there couldn’t be so many hares as tortoises on the Line: so I took an extreme case — one hare and an infinite number of tortoises.”
“An extreme case, indeed,” her aunt remarked with admirable gravity: “and a most dangerous state of things!”
“And I thought, if I went with a tortoise, there would be only one hare to meet: but if I went with the hare — you know there were crowds of tortoises!”
Here’s the rest: A Tangled Tale
This is what my brain looks like inside, constantly.
I’ve created a system, in my spare time, to invent the next big innovation. Simply pair a word from column A with one from column B. It’s almost too simple. With luck, it might even be too simple.
Comic book script
I’m in the play this semester, a production based off of Edgar Lee Master’s 1915 collection of poems Spoon River Anthology. It’s set in a graveyard, featuring the monologues of the deceased inhabitants of a small town. So for our bulletin, we’re doing something new: instead of a short bio, we all get to write our own epitaphs. I composed this gem of lyrical grace:
Here’s Adam Rowe
As dead as sin
‘Twas finals week
That did him in.