I have nothing to tell you. Filming’s been fine: Mr. Fincher’s average take rate (78) has remained stable, the canapés are fat, and the carafes are full and flowing at all hours of the day. What’s amazing about working in Hollywood is that someone’s always cooking, but most of the people here can’t eat. Ever. You hear people talk about “honey wagons,” “catering,” “craft services,” and you think of the depressing spreads at weddings and funerals: salted nuts, brown bananas, a bowl of chunky white goo that could be bleu cheese, feta, or ranch dressing. That’s how it is everywhere else, no denying it: parties do not care about you. The only thing that’s in any respectable condition is the alcohol, always. And I don’t drink this century. However, I feel (in my emotions) that I deserve a drink today. When we wrap our first full month of filming in a couple weeks, I’ll have a beer. A case of Budweiser never hurt anybody. I’ll make sure to call Monica and tell her how much I love her. And Rooster too, if I get around to it.
Our writer, My Sensei, Mr. Quentin Tarantino, has been shuttling to and from the set, his home in the Hollywood Hills, and his family in Tel Aviv. He somehow made time for an appearance on something called The Church of Tarantino, a podcast distinct from the man’s own show, The Video Archives Podcast. I don’t understand why anyone would want to listen to random people talk about movies. Roger Deakins and his wife host a show called Team Deakins, and it’s great, because you have people like Steven Soderbergh and Ed Lachman talking about f-stops and filters, which I know nothing about. Nerds have nothing to say. I have zero interest in doing a “deep dive” into anything. I’m not in college anymore.
My Sensei, a fellow autodidactic, confirmed long-standing rumors that he was headed for the stage: “Oh, the play is all written. It is absolutely the next thing I’m going to do. We’ll start the ball rolling on it in January. Because I just figure it’s like the first of the year… It’s probably going to take up a year and a half to two years of my life. If it’s a success and I got to do the tour version of it… I’m preparing for it to be a success. If it’s a flop, then I’ll be done very quickly. But even starting from scratch, it’ll probably be a year before it’s in front of an audience.”
I would like to be in this play that he’s “preparing to be a success.” Don’t we all, Quentin? No, but I know what he means. I get it. Sometimes I feel like I’ve been on top so long it looks like down to me. Bro hasn’t had a “flop” since Grindhouse in 2007, and even that was far from a catastrophe (it was an inside job: Dimension Films, operated by Bob Weinstein, didn’t properly advertise Grindhouse because Rose McGowan was in it). When I was famous in Renaissance England for my miniatures, I assumed that success and worldly possessions would last forever, that I could “take it with me”—this isn’t, in fact, true. While you humans die once a generation, I’m reborn, and this is how I’ve been able to navigate your crooked timeline un-aged and as energetic as ever. It’s because I imagined no possessions years before John Lennon was born, and I was walking around the Dakota on the night of December 8, 1980, and I could’ve taken the bullets for him, but I recognized Mark David Chapman first and asked him if he had a light. He had already assumed firing position and was preparing “his” copy of The Catcher in the Rye to be found. We worked together in Hawaii months earlier, but he didn’t remember me. That’s what he said. Asshole.
I’m trying to get involved in this West End success. One question though, Quentin: why not stage it in New York? Ever heard of a little song called “On Broadway”? What about Los Angeles, famous for its theater scene (NOT)? My Sensei could be the guy to finally bring theater to Hollywood. I hope he does, because I really don’t want to go to London again. Last time I was in the U.K., they kept me in quarantine and then tried to sell me at a “football” game. Morrissey’s fine with me, but the rest of the Brits and the Welsh and all the others don’t deserve my time. But if My Sensei insists, I’ll do it. I’ll eat chips, if not fish; I’ll ride double decker buses; I’ll drive on the wrong side of the road; and I’ll do my best not to be “a bother” to anyone. What’s the British equivalent of “It’s only right and natural”? Is it “Good to Be Gay”? Well, I am HAPPY to see that My Sensei has found himself a new outlet. God knows he didn’t have one already.
I have just one question: will he film it? Will he allow cameras into the theater? How much will tickets be? What’s my per diem? I’ll be there in three days.
—Follow Bennington Quibbits on Twitter: @MonicaQuibbits