Certain things in filmmaking are sure to bear conclusive explanation. For instance, when an actor kicks the bucket in the midst of a production, one can infer with little doubt that the film in question was of Gilliam’s making! Or his attempt to make. If the man persists directing, it won’t take long before the world has run out of actors altogether: a good thing or bad, it’s up to you to judge. In his defence I’ll point that untimely deaths on the set are not Gilliam’s intention, but merely his design… I’d say, he’s still an exceptionally lucky man. Because actors, as evidenced by his last project, are perfectly replaceable once you learn to see things for what they are and get a grasp on them. As a matter of fact, the phenomenon does increase the appeal of his work: the motlier, the better. Ingenious! In-genious! These poor devils are disposed of like handkerchiefs – not a problem as the film industry is vast enough to accommodate an occasional young, promising cast member’s reunion with God without a risk of running short of actors: there are millions of handkerchiefs everywhere, most eyeing Hollywood with greater zest than prisoners of war – their mommy’s breast!
My position, in contrast, is infinitely graver. My charge of the set has been fraught with misfortune of unparalleled scope. Take, for instance, the greatest of all disasters in the history of man-made creation – or attempt, whole-heartedly intended in my case, of creation – a Perfectly Deaf Production Sound Mixer, himself a boom-holding appliance, a little more alive than I’d have wished for, and whose virginity despite his age is bound to amuse the surliest of souls… a man who made my dear – well, intended-to-be-dear, “Constance” equally intelligible for those whose preference for silence over verbal and musical expression in a film, either out of sentiments with silent movie genre and resentment against the benefits of technological progress – take Charly Chaplin fans, for instance – they still abound in some shelters for souls halfway in the grave – or out of bitter resolve to hear no one, a pattern of behaviour so often demonstrated by many a cheeky teenager, a pretentiously-upset wife and a meditating monk, oblivious of life around him, is is irrefutable. But most of all – for men and women naturally blessed with hearing disability. Oh, Martin Schulte, oh unwittingly-malevolent virgin, living embodiment of all conceivable Distasters! Why art thou… such a prick to have blasted my hopes into a dust of Pandemonium! (I hope for you stay a virgin for life, to repay for your unforgivable wrongdoing!)
Well, as you see, my dear reader, Terry Gilliam was nowhere as unlucky of a film director as I am! For he’s still a film director; he’s still entrusted means for a production, he’s still alive and kicking!..
Posted by unumsedleonem 
