From Divine Play, p.787
A famous American film director was giving a lecture at a university. He was a cocky, nervous, fast-talking fellow, who’d acquired his fame from “action flicks,” essentially multimillion-dollar portrayals of explosions, mutilations, torture, rape, and slow-motion eviscerations. At the end of his talk, he called for questions.
A silken-haired, elderly fellow, with the obdurate posture of retired military, stood and announced that he had an idea for the director’s next picture. The director smiled tightly, thinking he would have to bear with another mail clerk, dishwasher, bank teller, mechanic, or janitor that imagined his dull life would make breathtaking cinema.
However, the director responded patiently with a patronizing, “Oh, ah-ha? And what’s that?”
“We hand you a camera,” the old boy said, “and drop you in the middle of a war zone, where real people are really suffering and dying, and see what kind of cute, fucking movie you can make out of that.”
—Snye Dremarr, Rue Stories from Holy-wood. Santa Louise: Pent-Up Press, 2019.