Self Absorbed Director Plots To Make Disaster Movie, Or Disaster Of A Movie
Los Angeles (AP) Reporters were summoned to the offices of Digital Domain this week at the behest of an egomaniac out to announce his latest film project. The company is one of the production efforts of the infamous and self absorbed twit Michael Bay, director behind such explosion fests as Pearl Harbor, Armageddon, and the Transformers franchise. Thanks to the irritable disdain of this reporter’s cranky editor (editor: shut up!), this reporter was assigned to attend. And that meant attending in the presence of a few actual journalists, each of whom would have preferred to be somewhere else, and a legion of vacant headed entertainment reporters, all of whom would gladly gush and fawn over the subject of this press conference.
Reporters gathered in an auditorium, where the entertainment reporters were all abuzz with excitement over what the director might be ready to announce. This reporter conferred with a couple of proper reporters, who confirmed they were also on the outs with their editors. In this reporter’s opinion, news editors are a grouchy sort of... (editor: what did I tell you about shutting up?)
Needless to say, the few real reporters found ourselves rolling our eyes and sighing with dismay at having to put up with such brainless twits as entertainment reporters. We mused on the possibility of calling for the aid of a cranky Mountie with a known dislike for entertainment reporters, but had to admit that it would take him hours to get down here from Alberta.
A spokeswoman came out on stage, where a podium had been set up beside a full length mirror. She called for everyone’s attention, and spoke as people sat down. “Ladies and gentlemen, it is my pleasure to present His Greatness, the one, the only... Michael Bay!”
The director came out on stage, waving. He was as you expect him to look- the dishevelled hair, three or four days of stubble. The jeans, the denim shirt, the sports jacket. And of course the vacant look and dumb grin of someone who doesn’t have much going on between his ears. “Hello!” he called out. The real reporters rolled their eyes. The entertainment reporters were busy giving Bay a standing ovation. “Thank you for coming out today!”
Bay strode up towards the podium, where he looked at his reflection in the mirror, smiled again, nodded, and winked at himself. Then he faced the crowd, oblivious to the disdain of the real reporters. “Good to see you! And of course you had to come see me! Because everyone loves me! Everyone wants to know what I’m up to. And that’s what we’re doing here today: announcing yet another big project in the Michael Bay film empire.”
This reporter sighed, irritated by the ordeal of having to attend a Michael Bay press conference (editor: hey! Michael Bay is a great director! Stop making fun of him!). How many film projects had Bay announced down through time that were still on hold? And he was adding another to the mix?
Bay was blathering on at this point about his accomplishments. “.....and why it is I’ve never won an Oscar as Best Director is beyond me. I mean, the Transformers films were cinematic masterpieces. If you ask me, the Academy has it in for me. But they’ll have to give me all the Oscars I’m due sooner or later, right? Of course right. Ladies and gentlemen, over the past winter, we’ve seen stories in the news about snow storms, bad weather, cancelled air flights, all that stuff that we don’t have to deal with here in southern California. That gave me an idea. A disaster film to top all disaster films for once and for all time. Which is why I’m going to film what I’m calling Snowpocalypse: The Snowvenge. Isn’t that a great title?”
The entertainment reporters broke out into rapturous applause. The real reporters rolled their eyes. This reporter wondered how long it would be before the cranky editor who hates him would just give up and retire or drop off the planet without an explanation (editor: is that a threat? Is that a threat? Because if that’s a threat, I’ll kill you first! I’ll gut you and have you drawn and quartered and...) This reporter, suspecting that his editor might be out to kill him, wished to advise his readers that if anything bad might happen to him, the police should look squarely at his editor (publisher: the reporter’s editor has been put on leave effectively immediately for mental health counselling, and the reporter may rest assured that the publisher also thinks Michael Bay is a narcissistic wanker).
Bay continued to prattle on. “Think of it this way. We’ve got our hero, a courageous official in the weather bureau, warning about a really bad winter blizzard coming, one that could accidentally trigger a brand new ice age, and the disdain of officials who learn too late that he was right.”
This reporter spoke up. “So you’re doing a remake of The Day After Tomorrow?”
Bay looked confused. It’s a common expression for him. “I’ve never heard of that movie.”
“Dennis Quaid, global warming movie? Weather patterns generate an ice age across the planet? It’s only a few years old. Any of this ring a bell?” this reporter prompted, wondering if the figurative hamster on the wheel inside Bay’s head had passed away.
Bay shrugged. “Did that movie feature explosions? Because my movie is going to have lots of explosions just to make things more interesting. And because, let’s face it, I’m Michael Bay, and you can’t have a Michael Bay movie without blowing shit up.”
The entertainment reporters laughed. The real reporters checked their watches. Bay spoke again. “Without further ado, let me give you the cast of the soon to win Oscars masterpiece. First, as our hero, the courageous government researcher and the only man who can disarm a weather bomb, literally... playing Doctor Grover Hatfield, one of my favourite actors, the one, the only... Shia LaBeouf!"
LaBeouf came out on stage, waving, smiling in that vacant way that reminded one of a deer caught in the headlights. “Hello! Shia is happy to see you! And you have come to pay homage to Shia! But of course you have!” He made his way over to Bay, who shook his hand.
“And we can’t have a Michael Bay without a hottie waxing a car while in a bikini, even if it is in a blizzard. So of course we’ve got a love interest. Playing the brilliant but sexy professor Felicia McCoy, say hello to Megan Fox!”
The actress, if you want to call her that, came out on stage, in a low cut dress that emphasized her cleavage. She blew a kiss to no one in particular, while camera flashes went off. Smiling, she strode over to the others.
This reporter spoke up. “So your two main characters are named Hatfield and McCoy.”
Bay nodded, looking oblivious. “Great names, huh?”
“Like the Hatfield and McCoy families?” this reporter prompted.
Bay seemed confused. “Is that supposed to mean something to me?”
This reporter pressed on. “Nineteenth century, two families at war with each other down in Kentucky and West Virginia for a few years? An actual blood feud, and it actually happened. People died. Hatfields and McCoys. None of this rings a bell?”
Bay shrugged. “Look, you’re distracting me from my announcement. If you keep doing that, I’m going to bar you from any further press conferences.”
“Is that a promise? Because that would make me very happy,” this reporter said.
Bay waved it off. “And the last casting announcement I have for today is one of my favourite actors to work with. He’s the legend you all love, playing the American president, the one, the only... give it up for Nicolas Cage!”
Cage stumbled out on stage, a bottle of rare Scotch in one hand, seeming to be drunk. “Man, I go through these bottles so fast,” he mumbled, paused, and seemed to focus. This reporter wondered, not for the first time, if Cage had ever considered that he might have a drinking problem. (editor: there is nothing wrong with drinking, unless it’s the battery acid I plan on making you drink when I catch up to you...).“Oh, hey! Yeah! Good to see you!” he called out.
The actor stumbled over to Bay, LaBeouf, and Fox. Bay grinned idiotically. (publisher: a note to the reporter- the editor briefly got away when the mental hospital attendants arrived. It won’t happen again). “Ladies and gentlemen, give it up for the lead cast of Snowpocalypse: The Snowvenge! Coming soon to a theatre near you, as soon as I’m finished with the other three dozen projects I’ve got in the pipeline.”
Bay waved and strode off stage, followed by LaBeouf and Fox. Cage stared at everyone for a long moment. “Whoa, where did all of you come from?”
This reporter got up and walked out, content in the knowledge that his cranky editor might be out of the way for a good long while and that he wasn’t going to get assigned nonsense like this again anytime soon. This reporter also found himself wishing that a localized blizzard might descend on Michael Bay and dump forty feet of snow on his residence inside of six hours. (editor’s doctor: it is my professional opinion that my patient is fixated with loathing and hatred on one of his reporters and may pose a severe threat to his health and safety. Furthermore, I would note that my patient is, well, to use a technical term, batshit crazy).