Playing Dead Out On The Beach With Explosions

Director Plots Comedy Remake; Reporters Desperately Hope He Will Assume Room Temperature

Los Angeles (AP). Journalists and entertainment reporters- notice this reporter distinguished the two- were called for a press conference yesterday at the offices of Digital Domain, the special effects production company that doubles as ground zero for the biggest egomaniac in Hollywood (no, not Tom Cruise, but thanks for thinking of him) to make use of (editor: hey! I’m a Tom Cruise fan, you bastard!).

Why is this reporter not surprised by that revelation? Doomed by fate and a cranky editor with horrible taste in actors (editor: blood will be spilled, do you understand me?) to cover this sort of nonsense until the end of time just because the editor hates him (editor: if I could fire you, I would, but your iron-clad contract means I can’t, and you’re too damned stubborn to just quit, so I’ll keep making your life a living hell!) this reporter had to attend the press conference, wishing he could be anywhere else. Honestly, you laugh at a funeral just one time, and they never let you hear the end of it.

Real reporters assembled in the small auditorium. Most of this reporter’s colleagues were, like this reporter, being punished by cranky editors for one reason or another. In the opinion of all of us, editors need to get the big stick out of their.... (editor: one more word out of you and I’m going to rent the biggest Hummer I can find just so I can run you down with it!) This reporter wondered if his editor realized that constituted a death threat.

The entertainment reporters, being the dimwitted airheaded twits that they are, were gushing over what possible announcement might be made today. They were abuzz about the latest gossip out of Hollywood. Some were talking about the Aniston wedding. Others were ardently discussing the Shelton-Lambert breakup. Meanwhile, we real reporters were rolling our eyes, wondering if there was a bar nearby we could retreat to and get wasted at (editor: not on company time, you drunken bastard!). This reporter sighed, reminding his grouchy editor that he was not, in fact, a drinker, but time spent in the company of halfwit morons from Entertainment Tonight could drive someone to drink.

Finally a staffer came out to the stage, where a podium and the customary full length mirror were set up, and announced the presence of her boss. Michael Bay, director of such explosion prone roller coaster films like Pearl Harbor, Armageddon, and the Transformers films, has been exceedingly busy as of late, with many films on the go. The only announcement that this reporter would have liked to hear from him would be his immediate retirement from films and his apologies for being such a narcissistic hack (editor: hey! Art house film boy! I love Michael Bay films, so stop insulting him!)

Bay came out on stage. He was in his usual look- dishevelled hair and stubble, shirt unbuttoned at the neck, jeans and a sports jacket. He waved in that casual way of his, a demented smile plastered across his face, and stopped before the mirror. His smile broadened, and he gave his reflection a small wave and a wink. Real reporters sighed in dismay, wondering how long this travesty would take. Bay looked out at the crowd. “Hello! Welcome! It’s wonderful to see so many of you out here today to take in my latest announcement, my newest project, the thing you’ve all been waiting for. Granted, it’s going to take me a little time to get to it, what with all these other films I’m making, but you know, people will love it. The same way they love all my films.”

Bay grinned like the cat who ate the canary. “You know, I make a lot of serious hard action films, with lots of explosions and lots of girls waxing cars and lots of explosions for good measure, because as I always say, you can never have too many explosions. And while it is true that a certain degree of humour comes through in my films, I’ve never really done what can be called a comedy. At least until now. Which is what brings us to what I’m up to now, which of course is what you all came to find out about. I wanted to do a remake of a classic film. Something no one would forget, something that deserves a fresh look. Ladies and gentlemen, I’m remaking Weekend At Bernie’s.”

Real reporters sighed in exasperation. The original 1989 comedy had a twisted sense of humour with two hapless young office workers having to spend a weekend with their corrupt boss’s corpse, making it appear he was alive. The movie later spawned a pointless sequel. What was the point to this?

“What on earth are you thinking?” a reporter called out in dismay.

“I’m always thinking!” Bay replied with a grin, winking at himself in a nearby mirror. “Look, it’s very simple. We have our two young heroes, downtrodden office clerks, Larry and Richard. We’ve got their boss, the aforementioned Bernie. He’s been cooking the books and doing some business with some rotten people. Let’s say they’re arms dealers, because hey, this is a Michael Bay movie, and we’re going to have to have explosions. We’ve also got Bernie’s wife Drucilla, something that wasn’t used in the original movie, because instead of one corpse to deal with, our heroes have to spend a whole weekend making it look like two corpses are still alive. When you throw in the hired gun trying to kill everyone, Bernie’s mistress, oblivious neighbours, and the object of Richard’s affections showing up at the beachhouse, you’ve got a great recipe for a big bang blowout Michael Bay film. With explosions. Did I mention the explosions? Because we’ve got a whole lot of them.”

Real reporters sighed as if wondering who they’d offended to draw this assignment. This reporter could just imagine the sneer on his cranky editor’s face when... (editor: keep it up and you’ll be a dead corpse, damn you!) This reporter shook his head, wondering if his editor actually realized he had repeated himself by using the term dead corpse.

Bay was continuing to speak. “Now then, it’s time to bring out my cast. Playing Richard, one of my favourite go-to actors, Shia LaBeouf!”

LaBeouf came out on stage, waving to the crowd, smiling like a demented idiot. Wait- like? Shia LaBeouf is a demented idiot. “Hello!” he called out to the reporters. “Shia is pleased that you have all come to see Shia!” He took his place with Bay.

The director carried on. “Now then, playing the carefree bozo Larry, I’ve brought in another carefree bozo for the role. Ladies and gentlemen, give a big hand to Seth Rogen!”

Rogen, best known for slacker and stoner comedies, came out on stage, looking stoned and as if he’d slept in his clothes. For all the reporters knew, that was probably the truth. He waved with a vacant look in his eyes. “Hey there! I’m so pleased to be in on this film!”

He stood with LaBeouf and Bay. The director picked up where he left off. “And playing Gwen, the object of Richard’s affections, you’ve seen her many times before in my films, and you’ll see her again. Ladies and gentlemen, how about a big hand for Megan Fox!”

Fox came out on stage, dressed as usual, in a much too tight little black dress that showed off her cleavage. “This is going to be a whole lot of fun,” she told the crowd. “And no, I don’t want to talk about my marriage going bottoms up, but just for the record: it was all his fault.”

Bay nodded. “You hear that, Brian Austin Greene? Your fault!” He laughed, and carried on. “Now then, as to who gets to play the part of the corpses, first of all, ladies and gentlemen, playing the role of Bernie Lomax, Mr. Nicolas Cage!”

Cage came out on stage. Real reporters sighed with exasperation. Cage himself seemed oblivious, a drink in hand. “Hello!” he called out. “It’s going to be fun getting through a whole film without having to speak after the first twenty minutes!” He stumbled over to the others.

Bay carried on. “And playing the second corpse, Drucilla Lomax, ladies and gentlemen, this is my distinct pleasure to announce. I’ve seen her for a long time in a well known television series, but I’ve never had a chance to work with her before. You loved her in CSI, so you’ll love her in this... Marg Helgenberger!”

The actress came out on stage, looking a bit uncertain of herself. “Look, I was signing a whole lot of papers, one of them was a contract to work for him on one film. Please don’t think less of me.”

Bay laughed as she joined the rest of the cast. “Such a kidder!” He smiled in his delirious way, and carried on. “One more cast member to reveal. Back in the original film there was a character named Tina. The mobster’s girlfriend Bernie was banging. The same one who ended up banging the corpse. I wanted to revisit that gag by bringing in another Tina. Now then, ladies and gentlemen, she’s had sex with dead people before in films, so this won’t be too hard for her. Working with me for the first time, please give it up for Kristen Stewart!”

The former Twilight series star came out on stage and joined the others, as devoid of facial expression as she always is, and shrugged. “What can I say, there’s no market for a Twilight sequel after the books ran out, and I got bored. Besides, when he mentioned the necrophilia angle, I couldn’t pass that up.”

Bay nodded. “This film is going to break box office records. Just imagine it: comedy, life on the beach, explosions, hot babes, more explosions, a ticking time bomb that can only be stopped by a corpse. Ladies and gentlemen, the cast of the outstanding thrill ride dark comedy Weekend At Bernie’s. This film is going to be huge! Big time! Everyone’s going to love it, including the Academy, and they’ll shower us with awards and accolades and big box office, because hey, we deserve it. After all, I’m Michael Bay... the greatest director in history!!!!”

With that, Bay left the stage with his cast. Those of us who are real reporters shook our heads and wondered if anything could ever stop Michael Bay from making another film- such as a permanent coma. Entertainment reporters were too busy gushing with anticipation. This reporter wondered if his cranky editor would run afoul of an arms dealer. (editor: I’m having you sent to Timbuktu, you bastard!)

Well. That being the case, at least this reporter will be halfway around the world from his cranky editor, and far from Michael Bay press conferences. That would be a good thing.