October surprise? More like August blowout. I’ve never attended a more poorly-received screening in my life. Keep in mind the only people present were Quentin Tarantino (My Sensei), David Fincher (Mr. Director), and Dan Lin (asshole) from Netflix. I was happy. I thought we did a good job with the movie. I thought we turned in an honest job of work, and one that was entertaining at that. Did it make you think? None of Fincher’s films “make” “you” “think.” It’s a vibe, it’s a mood—illicit soap, bloodletting harridans, Brad Pitt aging in reverse. He’s not telling you how to vote. He’s not in your ear every minute talking about “trans rights” and “abortions on demand” or whatever the DemonRats are on about now. I don’t think politics came up once on the set of The Further Mis-Adventures of Cliff Booth, but I may be wrong, I may be misremembering, in which case you should (re-)read the shooting diary I’ve published at Splice Today all year and some of last. Movies take a long time to make, years in fact, even when they turn out wrong. Bad. Terrible. “The worst piece of shit I’ve seen in my life.”
Direct quote from My Sensei. “This is the worst piece of shit I have ever seen. Oh My GODDDD.” He was livid, bone-white mad. He got up and went to the deli tray. “What the FUCK are we going to do, Daaaaaaviiiidddd?” He was panicking. He was in panic mode. He was making himself a turkey club and his hands were shaking so much I got some bacon bits on me. You know I ate that shit. I was hungry; besides, they didn’t know I was in there. My relationship was already somewhat on the rocks with both men, and Netflix didn’t favor me or my presence on their premises, so I snuck in inside a road case and attended various screenings of various cuts of the film. But that night in August, the first time My Sensei saw the movie, was the last time I bothered sneaking in. There was nothing fun about it.
I’m spilling tea now, weeks before the film’s release and a month before My Sensei’s novelization is published (it’s called The Adventures of Cliff Booth, not The Further Mis-Adventures of Cliff Booth, so I’ll probably make more of an appearance in there. I was around for the original adventures. Not so much the mis-adventures. I’m more of a “as planned” kind of guy, so I’m not really interested in mis-adventures, further or otherwise), because I’m pissed. I’m pissed at My Sensei for telling Howard Stern in 2022 that he hunted ducks with Steven Spielberg, Robert Zemeckis, and John Milius right after Pulp Fiction came out. You know how upset and betrayed I felt—if you’ve been following my story. If not, please correct your misbehavior and read back through my entire archive to better understand my life. It’s wild, all over the place, and kind of better than yours. Deal with it. Or don’t. Just click my name. Click it. I’m telling you to click it and you’re hesitating. You’re hesitating because you’re scared. You’re scared of the truth and the truth is you don’t consider birds people. Well I do. We should not be hunted or maimed for sport.
I’ve lost friends for holding the line on this. Birds get down on themselves, saying they deserve it, “we have wings,” all that nonsense. What have human beings actually done for us? I mean really… think about how many birds are killed by buildings, windows, airplanes, or even cars. The passenger pigeon (overrated) only left this planet a century ago. They used to be everywhere. They were foul and very poorly-behaved, but they were birds nonetheless, and I miss them. They would’ve been a powerful constituency in the 21st century. This is an entire branch of my people, wiped out by the Industrial Revolution, and the most empathy I can get out of My Sensei is, “That would make a pretty groovy movie.” He wasn’t even going to save the pigeons—he wanted them to eat someone alive, something out of The Birds (our Birth of Nation).
He didn’t care. I don’t care to tell any more tales out of school… yet. I will extract my revenge slowly, coldly, and with calm precision and force. Me and my Sensei may have to say goodbye. That’s okay. As long as I get that fucking residual agreement from Netflix. Dan Lin promised me “points” but then he was fired the next day. See? The stigma runs that deep. Help a birdy out, and you’re on your ass. Soon you will be, too, Sensei.
—Follow Bennington Quibbits on Twitter: @MonicaQuibbits