For the love of

I don’t even know what to do. “We want a person comfortable for a cheap exploitation flick”, I wouldn’t get worked up about.

" we have a story in a world that only has black tank tops cause its hot and a cheap piece for wardrobe", sure.

This may be a bit of a stretch, but the requirements Rose were sent border on requiring the script to start with, “it was a dark and stormy night”. Why are so many writers so lazy? (My takes on superhero lore are better in every way :D)


Sounds like her agent isn’t comfortable with actors who are “disobedient”.

Aren’t agents supposed to be supportive partners? Cuz it looks to me like the agent here isn’t concerned about McGowan’s career longevity so much as the short-term cut coming their way in the next fifteen minutes.

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Ultimate Wonder woman

She wakes up one day with a cough, and irritation in her lungs. After several weeks she goes to a doctor, and they confirm her worst fear–lung cancer.

Seeing as she has a terminal illness and has eight months to live, she reconnects with the family members she lost track of. Along the way, while in Minnesota she comes up with the Wonder Woman foundation to help suffering cancer survivors find their feet.

The end show the newly christened Wonder Woman as a modern day saint, along with the pain and suffering she has reduced due to her advocacy.

A nonprofit school and hospital are built in her name, and the world becomes a slightly better place.


Also, by all accounts Adam Sandler is a fucking dick to everyone. I can’t believe he’s still making movies, what with all the complaints from cast and crew. You’d think nobody’d work for him.


I have no explanations. He doesn’t even gross that much.

As an aside, I am gonna keep writing depressing superhero treatments and making modernist cuisine till one pays the bills :D. Hollywoo is a pretty town.

Ultimate Wonder Woman isn’t depressing! I’d actually watch it. Moar plz.

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Come to think of it, that would have been a fun episode of Harvey Birdman.

It’s such a shame Colbert didn’t stick around. He was the lifeblood of that show and voiced like six characters to boot, all of them hilarious.

After I read it out loud to my wife, she said, “…goddamnit Jeremy… Fucking hell”. I guess I like noir and individual redemption more than others :smiley:


Can you fit a romantic sub-plot in there? Must have sexy scenes if we’re going to sell this.

–the management


I have tumblrs you may enjoy!


Penultimate Black Widow

This is gonna be difficult. Don’t flame me if I screw up gender gender stereotypes too bad.

Crap, should I even touch this…

Black Widow is the wife of a low sergent in a bitcoin, drug operation. Her role is to mix and mask where money is coming from and where it goes. She provides for her family, but feels empty since she she knows she is stealing.

After a manner of years she concentrated a series of secrets which she stores in the cloud. She flees her abusive husband to the canary islands, and finally to Skye.

While she carefully releases abuses of national governments, she also farms on Skye to feed her new found family and Scottish friends.

Then film ends with her being stalked by the cia and shot in the head. The locals drown the cia agents in the bay, and the seals eat them.

The end. Life Sucks.

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The wardrobe requirements are lame and sexist but this part right here:

Despite being in the business for over two decades, the casting call made sure to condescendingly remind her (and the other professional actresses auditioning for the part) to read the script for context.

…that doesn’t strike me as particularly so. Actors of all genders, in my experience, frequently need to be reminded to do such basic things, especially the ones who show up to a cattle call. Don’t get me wrong; a great many actors are smart, competent, professional people. But man, you sure do get some doofuses in that crowd, too.

Have I had people show up for engineering positions in sandals? Yes.

Have I been one…?

I plead the fifth.

(But this is fairly egregious)

The sexism inherent in the wardrobe requirements, no question. I’ve seen that same shit happen at casting calls for decades. But I really don’t think the casting director would feel the need to remind people to do their homework before auditioning if it hadn’t been an issue several times before.

Setting: Sidewalk outside the Swedish Cancer Institute, Seattle.

The muted gray skies overhead threatened rain, continuous and perfect in their covering, like a comforter that’s been been brought inside from overnight in the back of the car. But as usual, only a few small sprinklings were coming down in patches. Truly November had come for the Pacific Northwest. Our protagonist Diana stood, quietly. Staring into the middle distance of a planter grate, whereupon a sapling Alder tree eagerly grew.

“they’re like weeds” Diana muttered to herself. “These Alder trees. They shoot up on any soggy patch of ground.”

Her unfocused eyes noticed movement near the roots of the Alder, snapping her out of the sour mood, and drawing her curiosity.

Stooping to get a better look, she noticed the minute movement was from a pair of cleverly camoflauged banana slugs. This season they have dark leopard spots on their gray-yellow bodies. Slimy, and oozing. Like a metastatic cup of bad lemon yogurt left on the counter over the weekend. There were two of them, creeping along the low trunk of the callow Alder. Diana had never seen slugs interact before. They always seemed so forgettable. So small and alien. They were disgusting pests. But with her new diagnosis, her perspective had begun to change. She continued to watch as the two slugs approached, tasting each other’s trails. Following along, in order to find each other’s bodies. And finally they met.

The eroticism was powerful. As they touched, their antennae retracted momentarily, but as they tasted each other they discovered they were two of a kind. Circling into a yin-yang of passion, the two slugs climbed onto each other, head to tail, each one attempting to deposit its sperm in the other’s rudimentary vagina. For slugs are hermaphroditic, Diana remembered as much from high school biology. Each one was both fully male and female.

As the wind off of Lake Union kicked up, Diana was racked by a sudden chill. Perhaps we all have such hidden natures.

As she strode to the bus stop the two slugs finished their fornication. An act at least twice as sexually charged as human interactions.

End Scene

This would be a fun cocktail discussion.

If I divorce myself from systemic sexism, then the conversation of professionalism becomes flipping, interesting. I looove those kind of casual, no responsibility conversations. Hell, we may even be having one right now.

However, this may be my own hangup, when I hear Push Up Bra is required, I get a little… Squiffy.

As an aside when I Suit Up in one of my tailered suits, I look like a handsomer John hurt plus David tenant. I’m no Richard e Grant, but I’ll arm wrestle him.

That… That was fucking beautiful.

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I just had gastropods on the brain.

I haven’t written creatively since high school, so that’s like… 7 years now. Feels good.


@donald_Peterson some day you will have to share the worst pitches ever. And we will try to make worse ones.

(I think I am prepared with a mixture of incredulity, sadness, not-,knowing-your-audience, and condescendingly inappropriate remarks)

Honestly have a good weekend!


Don’t blame you. When I worked on Dream On for HBO, the parade of pneumatically enhanced actresses going in and out of the casting office across the hall was at first entertaining, then dispiriting, then downright depressing.

But when I saw so many similarly-attired women coming to audition for much more respectable, mainstream, broadcast-network-TV shows that I worked on (even for parts that weren’t written to be sexy at all), I knew that there was something fundamentally more broken than I’d guessed in the whole casting process. Rare indeed was the casting call that resulted in skimpily-dressed slabs of beefcake lined up memorizing their sides. (We had one here fairly recently, since we were specifically looking to cast someone as a male stripper.)

A fairly easy experiment: stand outside Gate 7 of Warner Bros and watch the people who park in the external garage across the street. If they’re working-class dudes with jeans and toolbelts, they’re day-player laborers, grips, etc. Everyone else that parks there and has to walk across the street is generally an actor on an audition, an extra, or (if they’re dragging a cello case) a musician headed for the scoring stage. The male actors will typically be dressed in ill-fitting suits. And the female ones will generally be dressed in high-heeled boots and miniskirts and sexy cocktail attire, not because that’s what they want to wear to work, but because that’s what they’ve been told to wear to the audition.