Flash of Mediocrity

Dreams are funny things. Some say they're windows into the soul, others claim they tap a higher dimension (or some other such word) so that they can foretell the future. Others say that they are the random firings of a brain trying to find a way to sort its experiences in a threatening way. Some go on to say that this means they can reveal intuitive truths that the conscious mind overlooks.

It's said that Paul McCartney woke up one morning humming 'Yesterday', without having tried to write anything remotely similar. It wasn't until a few days later that he realised no-one else had written it.

I had a similar dream-experience last night, while I had a nap before work. And, it would appear, I am nowhere near as brilliant as Paul McCartney. Instead of a song destined to be acknowledged as one of the twentieth century's greats, I woke up with the outline of a mediocre by-the-numbers Hollywood 'thriller'. Though, to be fair, I got the definite feel of made-for-TV about it.

So... here it is.

The Seven-Dead Killer.

The basic premise was this chick who was a traffic cop, during a routine traffic stop, pulled over the brutal serial killer known as the Seven-Dead Killer, cleverly named because he'd left seven... dead people... as you can see, this thing's quality from the word go. So, she pulls him over, finds out who he is, and arrests him, gets the bust, yay, yay, happy, joy.

And then the Seven-Dead Killer escapes from prison, and a deadly game of cat-and-mouse ensues... you know this already. No doubt you've seen many like it.

Playing the traffic cop was I think some starlet my subconscious invented - Hollywoood silicone buxom, unbelievably pretty, seemed to have a fetish for motorcycles. Even more improbable than her figure was her name - "Angelique Nidman". I want to protest that I didn't make this up, but, of course, I did.

Playing Mr.Seven-Dead was one Brad Pitt, in crew-cut psychotic mode. Now, my subconscious apparently agrees with my conscious appraisal of Mr. Anistion's acting abilities, and thinks they hinge greatly on the director. This being some stinking pile of crap, no decent director is in sight, so, of course, it's played with all the passion and emotion of Keanu Reeves.

Thinking consciously about it, I decided there are two things the movie, if such a steamng turd would ever be made, would include two things that the dream didn't cover.

1) The director would find some way of cajoling the starlet to take her clothes off, probably in a shower scene or something, probably with a line like 'it shows the character's innate vulnerability' or something. But hey, if an actress can be convinced a pointless flashing is dramatically necessary (coughSwordfishcough), it should be easy for a scared actress eager for her big break.

2) There'd have to be some shocking twist at the end that hinges much of its shock value on the mistaken assumption anyone cares about the characters (even the actors). I figure it'd probably be something like the traffic cop is, in fact, the Seven-Dead Killer! No, it's not as absurd a twist as Adaptation's 'The Three', but it's not like it really matters.

So there you have it. A movie that I would never want to watch, let alone write. The Dreaming Muse must hate me.

In other news, I wrote this with my new wireless keyboard in my lap. I like wireless.