Reel Suite

Reel Suite: December 10, 2009

2009-12-10T20:52:17Z

Seasons Greetings to all Manka Bros. employees! Or should I say Seasons Sneezings.

The entire P&P department has been passing around one bug after the other. My sinuses have been more inflamed than a jihadist at a Baghdad police recruiting station. My apologies go out to all who witnessed my neti potting over the kitchen sink on Tuesday. The bathrooms were being cleaned and I just had no choice. The neti pot is a cruel, cruel mistress.

Cubicle Christmas decoration regulation update from corporate: Each employee is allowed 1 snowglobe, 2 ornaments and a strand of garland no longer than 4 feet in length. Demi in accounting was escorted from the building last week for erecting a mini-tree on her desk and hanging mistletoe, causing a long line of junior analysts snaking from her desk to the copy machine, reducing productivity by 31%. It broke my heart to see her carrying that box of cheer out of the office. All we have left now is Seamus's new yuletide recording, "Christmas Cuts Tru Da Heart", which plays on a loop over the ceiling speakers.

The execs asked me to report the latest tracking figures for our holiday movies being released over the next three weekends. The marketing department has been working overtime getting the word out about them, despite the Chairman having turned off their water and heat and blocking late night food deliveries until they produced award-winning campaigns.

This Friday's big budget disaster epic, "Engulfed", depicting the complete destruction of the southern U.S. by giant piranha, has garnered mixed reviews from preview audiences, with the best numbers coming from north of the Mason-Dixon line. A New Orleans screening resulted in a melee and a movie screen ripped to shreds. It has a 16 awareness level, with many scoring it either "Hard To Ignore" or "A Must to Avoid".

Also opening this weekend, Highbrow's "Reconveyance", an unapologetic indie about the sex lives and overindulgence among the employees of a corrupt mortgage lender during the economic meltdown. It has a 4.5 awareness based on its trailer, with 85% calling it "Irresponsible" or "Reprehensible".

December 18th holds the long awaited arrival of the outrageous comedy, "Flaccid Trip", which rates highest among the cast's family members.

The original bus bench ads and billboards depicting what appeared to be a non-erect penis were pulled after vehement protests from the Family Decency Council, but the controversy has raised the film's awareness level from 20.2 to 23.6. Thank you FDC!

Marketing is confident that it will provide excellent counter-programming to "Avatar" and "Nine", going after the largely ignored heterosexual crowd.

Christmas Day sees the release of "Earnest", Baz Lurhmann's lavish re-imagining of Oscar Wilde's play "The Importance of Being Earnest", which features the characters of Jack and Algy as 19th Century crime-solvers pursuing the murder of Lady Bracknell. Lurhmann, ever the perfectionist, insisted that the actors wear only clothing stitched during the Victorian era, and has claimed that the film features "more explosions than any period piece ever made". Despite a $70 million ad campaign, the movie is tracking at only 14, rating highest among those suffering from shingles.

Recently, I was privileged to attend a studio screening of Highbrow's Christmas Day offering, "Haggis and Highlands", an acquisition from the Scottish Film Bureau, from first-time director Kaelen MacPelgy, chronicling the true life struggles of a man who lived his entire life in the wild among a family of Orkney vole.

Highbrow's execs asked me to attend the screening, accompanying the hot new actress from "Precious", Gabourey Sidibe, whom the boutique indie is courting. I was hoping to ask Tomoko to go with me, so I had a bad attitude going in.

We sat in awkward silence before the lights went down, but throughout the movie I occasionally glanced over at her, the flickering images illuminating her slackjawed mouth, her half-mast eyes. Such effortless, incandescent beauty. When at a crucial moment in the movie she shouted out, "Oh this is bullshit", she thoroughly captured my heart. As she snored, I clasped her hand in mine, our palm sweat conjoined as one. I thought we made a deep connection during that three and a half hour period of time, so I was surprised that she declined my post-screening invitation to Farrell's Ice Cream Parlor to share a zoo with me. I watched forlornly as she waddled away from me, short of breath, another captivating soulmate slipping through my fingertips.

On the drive home, I imagined myself living among a gaggle of forest creatures, decorating a pine tree with Demi's forbidden box of twinkling lights and bulbs. Perhaps that is where I was meant to be, where I was meant to find my purpose. I could almost hear the pastoral sound of the animals, chirping, purring, gnawing at my ears and ankles, if not for the honking of the cars behind me on the 101. I was doing only 25 MPH and had sideswiped a Range Rover. No bother. I was in my happy place.

"Haggis" is tracking at 3.5, but the producers hope that the bearded man on the poster causes audiences to think of Santa Claus.

Happy Holiday neti potting to all!

Kurt Barnet - Reel Suite

Reel Suite: November 13, 2009

2009-11-13T23:05:03Z

Greetings from the Profits and Participations Department! First off, let me take this opportunity to apologize for heating up my leftover tuna casserole in the microwave oven here on our floor. I've been informed that's a workplace olfactory no no. Also, mea culpa to Tomoko: The booby brush in the elevator this morning was purely accidental. And FYI - the phones have been repaired and are up and running again. The technician informed me that the residual high-pitched noise you hear now is extremely unlikely to cause brain damage but may increase the amount of howling from neighborhood dogs.

The senior VPs asked me to use this week's blog to inform everyone about our aggressive plan to market Manka Bros. product to audiences via cutting edge technology. To that end, Chairman & CEO Khan Manka Jr. has promoted Doug Lehan from Digital Animation Lead Illustrator to Chief Technology Officer, effective immediately.

I spoke with Doug on the phone a short time ago, and here's what he had to say: "I'm very excited about taking over this post. The best part is I won't have to spend all day in a motion capture suit. I have so many ideas about new media platforms and how best to provide the tech-savvy consumer with quality Manka Bros. movies and TV shows. I plan to work hand-in-hand with the marketing department to achieve this."

Lloyd Grohl announced this morning that head of Marketing Craig Sorenson has been replaced with Kevin Griffin from the hot rock band Better Than Ezra, in an effort to reach out to the youth of today.

In addition, fourteen marketing department employees have been let go, including the radiant and sexy Tania Chimello, who often sat at the table next to mine in the commissary. I'll never forget the extra glow she had on Tostada Tuesdays. She was always very excited about Tostada Tuesdays. She'd make my heart skip a beat every time she'd say to me, "Could you please move a few tables over?"

This business is brutal on human relationships. Just when you give your heart to a fellow employee, they are taken away from you, all too soon. It never gets any easier.

I was curious if Doug had a game plan in mind yet: "Are you kidding? My cranium spilleth over", he said. "I'm like a kid in a candy store. There is so much new laser technology the average person doesn't know about yet. I mean, we're talking space age stuff. I'm hoping to promote our new movie "Flaccid Trip" with free screenings at skateparks. We're gonna project it onto concrete walls from overhead drone projectors that will fly in and hover over the parks. Hundreds of eager teenagers will be looking to the skies, eagerly anticipating the arrival of our Manka Drones. We also plan to have an iPhone app that will allow audience members in movie theatres to press a button and release the movie they're watching directly onto DVD - themselves! So they can watch it again when they get home! No other studio is doing this kind of thing."

How do you sort out artist compensation for all of these myriad platforms?

"Screw the artists! Just kidding," he remarked. "Fortunately, the contract artists sign covers existing and not-yet-existing technology. I'm inventing stuff as we speak. Refrigerator holograms, rearview mirror projection, exhibition on a special line of 3D Manka sunglasses. Everywhere the public turns, we'll be there. We snapped up the domain name BigTitsAndAsses.com, on which we will broadcast exclusive web-only episodes of our TV shows. Who wouldn't go to that website? Come for the big tits and asses, stay for outtakes from 'Murder, Moses Lake.'"

Well, my mom won't be able to figure out all these new gadgets, but who gives a crap about my mom? She's not our target demographic. It's very clear that the world of entertainment will never be the same. Nor will Tostada Tuesdays...

Reel Suite with Kurt Barnet

Reel Suite: February 27, 2009

2009-02-27T16:51:11Z

As I descended the stairs from the Kodak Theatre balcony Sunday night, I spotted Kunio (Kato) in the lobby, jumping up and down. I could alternately see his head poking out of the crowd, then his Oscar. When we met up, he was so elated and speaking Japanese a mile-a-minute. After shaking hands with countless grey-bearded Academy members, Kunio sighed and announced, "Let's party!!!!" We high-fived and headed for the exit.

First stop: Governor's Ball. By the time we got to the entrance, the Fire Marshalls had arrived and determined that the tent was overcrowded and no one else could be let in. I was heartbroken for Kunio. His first time at the Oscars, he wins, and he can't go to the Governor's Ball for God's sake! But he was a total mensch about it. He smiled and insisted we start hitting the other hot soirees around town.

Second stop: Manka Bros. Annual Academy Award Night fundraiser for Moguls Find Lost Kittens, at the Bellaj Banquet Hall in Burbank. When we entered, a cover band was playing Kajagoogoo's "Too Shy" and we were immediately surrounded by the drunk guys from the Studio Event Planning department, who were pretty much the only ones there. I spotted Kyle from Maintenance sitting in a stupor in the corner. Nadine, the seventy-something front gate guard, was solo grind-dancing in the middle of the dancefloor. There was no food and Kunio was starving. After he pounded a shot of Jamesons, one of the marketing guys, Cameron, approached him holding two rescued kitties, which caused Kunio to recoil and convulse. Through his mangled English, I heard him shout, "Allergic!", so I quickly hustled him out of the hall. In the car, Kunio's throat mercifully only closed up 30%.

Third Stop: The 2nd Annual Circuit City Feed The Fish fundraiser at The Fifth bar in North Hollywood, to call attention to the plight of famished sea creatures around the globe. Only shrimp was being served, and Kunio hates shrimp. "I Feel Good" played over and over again on the jukebox. Attendees included Lauren Tewes, former Yankee second baseman Chuck Knoblauch, city councilman Tom LaBonge and his lovely wife, singer-songwriter Pete Yorn, and TV's Richard Karn. Kunio posed for a photo with a toothless barfly named Malcolm, pounded a shot of Jager, then whispered to me that he "didn't dig the vibe", so we headed out.

When we were in the car, Kunio got a text message from Konstantin Bronzit urging us to join he and the other Short Film nominees at Avalon, where Prince was about to take the stage. But Kunio told him he had a more exciting destination in mind. He suddenly demanded I stop at the Studio City Animal Hospital.

After he made the staff confirm that there were no cats in the immediate area, he burst through the doors and into the operating room, deftly assisting the Veterinarian in a golden retriever's gall bladder removal. I watched as he held the gall bladder aloft, a single tear rolling down his face. It meant more to him than five Academy Awards.

He was silent and pensive as we made our way back to my townhouse. In his bedroom, he reverently placed his Oscar on a shelf right next to a jar containing the gall bladder, then drifted off into a deep, satisfying slumber.

Apparently, in the middle of the night, he booty-called Tomoko, then went off and got some. Hey, Oscar winners gotta get laid. If they don't, what the hell's the point?

Kurt Barnet

Reel Suite: February 25, 2009

2009-02-25T17:13:04Z

Oscar Sunday. 6 am. I am awakened by the TV and what sounds like a woodpecker. In the kitchen, I discover Kunio (Kato) making sushi rolls while watching "Footloose" on Encore. He asks me if I want a Sushi roll. I decline, saying I've never had sushi before. He appears hurt and offended. I politely eat sushi roll. Feel queasy and lightheaded for entire day.

8 am. Kunio insists I take him to Swap Meet. The only one I can find open on a Sunday is in Santa Fe Springs. He purchases 3 desklamps, tortoise paperweight, laserdisc player and Scott Baio t-shirt. It takes us 2 and a half hours to get out of parking lot.

1 pm. Tux shop to pick up Kunio's tux. All they have left is powder blue with ruffle collar shirt. Kunio falls to his knees and weeps. I make frantic call to Tomoko who works in my office. Her brother plays weddings, has black tux and is Kunio's size. When we go to pick it up, Kunio kisses Tomoko full on the lips. She doesn't stop him. They make out for several minutes.

3 pm. Luxury towncar scheduled to arrive to take us to Kodak Theatre. Shuttle van arrives, containing two other short-film nominees, Steven Okazaki and Konstantin Bronzit. Driver tells us we need to stop and get Emud Mokhberi and Thierry Marchand. They and their guests cause overcrowding in van. Kunio and I are forced to share seatbelt.

4:30 pm. Kodak Theatre. The van is stopped 1/4 of mile from venue, security tells us we must walk rest of way and use side entrance. Despite Kunio's guest ticket for me, security does not let me pass, saying I look like gate crasher from last year who is on watchlist. I spend 45 minutes in cramped supply closet being questioned alongside a sweaty A.R. Rahman.

5:15 pm. After my ID is verified, I am dragged from closet and quickly escorted down backstage hallway. See Jack Black hitting on redheaded trophy presenter. Spot Hugh Jackman looking into mirror repeating, "Red leather, yellow leather". Get dirty looks from Price Waterhouse goons. Am told by P.A. that seat next to Kunio has been given to Head Seat Filler. Am relegated to rear balcony. 10 minutes into show, either sushi roll or opening number wreak havoc on my digestive system. Spend rest of show in upper bathroom.

6:51 pm. Bathroom. 4 young "Slumdog Millionaire" cast members barricade weaker cast member in stall next to mine to prevent him from meeting Will Smith. Moments later, he crawls out.

7:23 pm. Bathroom. Overhear Harvey Weinstein talking to assistant about how much he'd like to bone Kate Ledger.

7:46 pm. Bathroom. Person whom I identify as Cleve Jones takes wide stance in stall next to mine. There is tapping.

8:15 pm. I emerge from bathroom to discover that Kunio won Oscar for Best Animated Short. Get so excited, have to return to bathroom.

Next Reel Suite Entry: Kunio and the after-parties!

Reel Suite: February 24, 2009

2009-02-24T17:02:32Z

Good morning my Blog-o-holics. I have just now emerged from what was perhaps the most exciting 48 hours of my professional career. As many of my co-workers have been let go in the last several weeks and my Profits & Participations department is frighteningly threadbare, I was assigned the task of escorting one of our newly signed filmmakers to the 81st Annual Academy Awards ceremony, an experience I will share with you soon enough, but first, a little background on Manka Bros.' latest strategy to develop a stable of short-film talent.

It is common knowledge that no feature film released in 2008 has turned a profit. Between soaring budgets, co-fi deals, star backend participation and just plain shoddy accounting, the smart production entities are focused more and more on short-form content, which can garner notoriety on the festival circuit and at year-end awards time, not to mention the popularity it can achieve on the internet. 67% of short films in 2008 turned a profit for their investors, as opposed to 31% of feature films. Profit margins were 16% greater for short films, as well. Our "Lil' Diamonds" shingle within our Manka Shorts division, with its dedicated staff of three, has been given $26,423 and ordered to produce 136 short films in 2009, with the mandate to "push the envelope, think outside the box and go viral, baby, viral".

With that in mind, Manka Bros. last week signed director Kunio Kato, who at the time was merely an Oscar nominee for his animated short, "La Maison en Petits Cubes". He is contractually obligated to craft 10 films featuring hangdog characters and squiggly animation. Since Mr. Kato knew no one else in town, he asked the Manka Bros. execs if one of them could accompany him to the ceremony, to "help with his English and to locate bathroom". Many of our senior execs were not available due to Mr. Manka's insistence that they remain in the office during the Oscars to "reflect on the missteps which caused Manka Bros. to not receive one single nomination". So my boss, Mark Devere, asked me if I'd be willing to step in, and I told him I was more than up for the challenge, as long as my dry cleaners could do a rush job on my one funeral suit.

On Saturday around 11 pm, Kunio called me at home. I could tell he'd been drinking. He lowered his voice and said very seriously, "Cheeseburger... I remember eat cheeseburger". Sensing my confusion, he howled with laughter and cried, "I am not a crook!" Turns out, he got hammered at a DGA screening of "Frost/Nixon". He couldn't remember which hotel he had checked into, so he asked me if he could stay the night at my townhouse in Tarzana. I agreed and picked him up in an alley behind the Laugh Factory, where he was sharing a joint with Bob Sarlatte.

On the ride back, he found my cassette tape of Kilroy Was Here by Styx and popped it in. When "Mr. Roboto" came on, he cranked it and listened in reverential silence. He played it over and over, and by the 4th time, he was singing along with it.

He was still uttering the lyrics as I tucked him into bed, a huge grin on his face. Tomorrow would be one of the biggest days of his life.

Next entry, Oscar day and night. Stay tuned...

Reel Suite: December 8, 2008

2008-12-08T17:01:02Z

Once again it's left to me, Kurt Barnet, to blog about the things that other bloggers are too sissy to blog about. And it's a blog-gone shame.

Everyone I've spoken with here at Manka Bros. is hopping mad about the films selected to premiere at this year's Sundance Film Festival. The hard-working, dedicated, creative folk over at our Manka Highbrow division submitted five of their upcoming 2009 releases to the festival, none of which were chosen to screen this January in Park City. And to top it all off, my cousin Victor's brilliant directorial debut, "Acquiescence", was overlooked by the dramatic film competition selection committee (or as I like to call them, "The Itty Bitty Zitty Committee"). So to say I have an ax to grind is an insult to axes. And people who grind.

It seems the festival higher-ups (who shall remain nameless because I'm too lazy to Google them), in their infinite wisdom and lack of respect for Mr. Robert Redford's initial Sundance doctrine, have chosen to exhibit only features inhabited by movie stars in their Premieres section. Next month you'll see countless photos of Jim Carrey, Richard Gere, Robin Williams and Uma Thurman shivering in their parkas on the red carpet in front of the anti-gay marriage Holiday Cinemas, hawking their safe feel-good "indie films". Are these the faces we should be seeing at a film festival once dedicated to the celebration of the unknown, of the up-and-coming? With Warner Independent shut down, Paramount Vantage gobbled up by its parent studio, and all the other faux specialty divisions floundering, Manka Highbrow is the only one committed to true risk-taking. Highbrow prides itself on working with filmmakers and actors who lack "experience", or "TV-Q", or "union affiliations", or "social skills". Unproven, erratic, but highly viable commodities that could very well be the next big thing.

Manka Highbrow titles rejected by Sundance this year: "Uncombed Hair", "The Pedophile's Son's Graduation Party", and "sexydrinkbar", as well as Darren Goldblum's acclaimed "Calico Inversion", about a young New Jersey man's taxidermy business he runs out of his mom's basement, and his latest controversial experiment. Also overlooked: "Inside Eric Roberts' Prostate", the innovative story of three medical school dropouts obsessed with locating actor Eric Roberts to find out just what the hell's going on down there. These films all have enormous industry buzz. Yet the Sundance people apparently can't see quality anymore because they're too busy licking Woody Harrelson's hemp-laden ass. If Mr. Redford were alive today to see the dreck that is being touted in his name, he'd never stop throwing up.

I'm particularly flummoxed by the dramatic competition's exclusion of my cousin Victor Barnet's astounding first film. Cousin Vic was never a favorite relative of mine. Though younger and smaller than me, he was quite wiley and cat-like, while I was overweight and lumbering. When we were kids he used to pull my underwear down, then drag me across the Slip-and-Slide by my legs. The laughter of the neighborhood kids still sometimes haunts me at night. But Vic recently joined AA and has made amends, so now I'm very supportive of him and his new career.

"Acquiescence" is the powerful story of a wiley kid who incessantly tortures his tubby cousin in front of the neighborhood and goes on to fame and fortune in the movie business, while the tubby kid becomes a custodian at a skid row motel. It shows how one can overcome the trauma of abusing others and still make something of yourself. I'll admit that after Vic screened it for me, I sat in my seat and cried and cried for 89 to 93 minutes. It's an absolute crime that it will not compete at the festival this year. If Vic goes back to drinking, let it be on the conscience of those Sundance mucky-mucks, whoever they are (they don't deserve to be Googled).

"Acquiescence" was also rejected by Slamdance and Slumdance, but Vic has high hopes for something called Swimdance. Since the film has several compelling Slip-and-Slide sequences, he has his fingers crossed that it qualifies.

So let this be a battle cry for those downtrodden, greasy-faced, sleep-deprived "no-name" filmmakers out there. Kurt Barnet's in your corner, baby. President Obama's gonna bring change to the independent film community. Hillary recently announced that as Secretary of State she vows to bring depressing, starless American films back to foreign territories. If she doesn't, hell, I WILL, blog-gone it!

Kurt Barnet

Reel Suite: September 3, 2008

2008-09-03T09:08:03Z

Happy Ramadan, my Blog-Princes and Princesses. I had a lost Labor day weekend, not sure what I did between Friday and Monday (I think I went paintballing with my former co-worker Boss Daddy from the Beefcakes male strip club). But I re-filled my Xanax prescription and I'm rip-roaring ready to take on the autumn financial season here at the best Goddamn movie studio on the planet.

Well, it's that time of year again. Time to assess the Manka Bros. theatrical release report card for Summer 2008. What a season it was! If there's one thing I've learned about the maze-like world of Profits and Participations, it's that sometimes the numbers don't tell the full story. What on the face of it looks like "failure" or "embarrassment" is often actually "encouraging" and "hopeful". Profits can be found in myriad ways, in the unlikeliest places. Hey, look under that stone. What's that? Why, it's ancillary returns. Is that a silver lining I see in that cumulo nimbus? Yes, here at Manka Bros., the glass is half-full... of piss and vinegar! This studio has what Lou Grant called "spunk". But we don't hate spunk around here!

Runtime Error, the latest Nathan Gerlach computer thriller, had a disappointing opening (up against Indiana Jones, for Cripes Sake!) of $212K on 3,600 screens. I'll never forget the opening date for the film, because that was the weekend I spent face down in a puddle on a Cannes street corner, mumbling the name Carina. Upside: Runtime grew a pair of sexy legs to the tune of $940K cume through Labor Day, and pulled in a solid $4 mil internationally, sharing a double bill in most territories with Speed Racer. This series of Gerlach films has a strong following among viewers suffering from sweaty palm syndrome. If production costs are kept to a minimum, I see a long, ambivalent future for these nailbiters.

We had high hopes for the crowd-pleasing horror-sci-fi epic Cephalopod, which, no bones about it, was our costliest film in years. With production overruns, star salaries and massive P & A costs, this giant squid movie set us back a cool $429 mil. Plus the director and two of the actors have backend gross points totaling 65%. The film has only made $8.3 mil domestic and has not yet been released overseas, due to squids being sacred religious symbols in many countries. Upside: During pre-production, the producers of the film fortuitously secured "failure insurance", a first in the industry, in the event of the movie "not connecting with audiences". The policy is worth $500 mil and there is no deductible.

The comedy Tae Kwon Doug proved to be effective counter programming on July 4th. Costing only $400K, the film has chop-sockied its way to a cool $406K. We recently threw a kickass, martial-arts themed party on the lot using the 6K profit. Grandpa and the Argonauts, the innovative stop-motion animation film, garnered some of the year's best reviews, but young people stayed away because of the word "Grandpa" in the title and its four hour running time. But the DVD extras reportedly include behind the scenes footage of Pamela Anderson recording her vocal performance in the nude, so that should "raise the level of awareness", as the boys in the office say. Our arthouse entry, Handcuffed in Lace, the erotic, envelope-pushing tale of oral sex and the meaning of life, was shackled by its NC-17 rating and protests by Evangelicals in front of the three theaters that would exhibit it, causing the French director to take his own life. While we were forced to pull it from cinemas, the worldwide controversy surrounding the film should prove to be its saving grace, as pre-sales for the DVD are through the roof. If only Jean-Luc could've lived to see the film's success. And recorded the commentary.

All in all, if you take a close look at all factors surrounding the financing and eventual profitability of our releases, I think we deserve a big fat C minus and a giant E for effort. We're the fat kid who can't climb the rope in gym class, but we'll clean the hell out of the locker room toilets. Patrick Goldstein of the L.A. Times recently said, "Manka Bros.' track record is second to none. Their risk-averse, non-creative approach to filmmaking was a template for other majors, like 20th Century Fox". Nikki Finke, the force behind deadlinehollywooddaily.com, blogged, "You heard it here first: Manka Bros. pays their writers and actors in birdseed, in scraps of kitty litter they find on the floor. I was the first to report that. It was reported here before it was reported anywhere else. In your face".

This may be the Xanax talking, but I'm way hot for Nikki Finke. I've decided she will be my next girlfriend. She has spunk, just like Manka Bros. Daddy likes that. Daddy's gonna break himself off a piece of that.

You heard it here first.

Kurt Barnet

Reel Suite: August 27, 2008

2008-08-27T23:52:44Z

Good afternoon, everyone. I guess. Who gives a shit, really? If it sounds like I'm depressed, I am. It's almost Labor Day and the office is a ghost town. It's just me and Tomoko and we're doing Kamikaze shots. I'll tell you why I'm depressed in just a minute. First, as f'ing usual, I have to apologize for last week's remarks. Like a mother-f'ing pussy.

I got calls from former Mannix and Carter Country staff writers, who apparently are still alive. I also received vitriolic e-mails from them. In the hopes of not receiving any more, I hereby retract my description of them as "hacks". I sincerely apologize to TV viewers 55 and older for calling them "less than desirable" (my mom's entire trailer park shut down my voice mailbox). My apologies go out to ABC, CBS, Disney, Fox, NBC Universal, Sony, and Warner Bros., all of whom vociferously admonished me for referring to them as "age-ist sons-of-bitches". Rah-rah old writers. Woo-hoo. You f'ing win.

I've been in a funk since hearing the news that Kara DioGuardi would be added as a fourth judge on American Idol. My concern is twofold: from a financial standpoint and on a personal level. First of all, it's no secret that the Idol juggernaut has been destroying the competition on Tuesday nights. Now they want to "young-ify" the show to increase their already monumental ratings. The word is they seek a 20% increase in their market share. If that transpires, it will virtually sound the death knell for MBS' Jesus, Mary and Joseph, which is already hanging by a thread with its 1.5 average rating. The Wednesday night edition of Idol is also kicking the ass of MBS' Corporate Veal, which at least pulls a 60 share among viewers employed in the Macro-robotics industry.

Secondly... ok, deep breath here... c'mon, Kurt get it together... alright. Kara and I used to be roommates/lovers. (Wait, I have to do another Kamikaze... Tomoko's bringing it over now... yeah, that's good...) We met while taking classes at a Hollywood songwriting academy in 1991. I had an apartment, was low on cash and was looking for someone to share the rent, but it was just a one bedroom with a bunk bed. Kara thought it would be fun, so she moved in. We'd stay up late drinking wine coolers, then crawl into our respective bunk beds, where I would regale her with poignant stories from my youth. About lost love, April rain and emotional black holes. These stories touched her deeply. So much so that one night she climbed down from the top bunk and threw herself at me. We enjoyed unprecedented passion. Over the next six weeks, she wrote 243 songs based on the things I told her. She'd sing them to me like an angel. We'd hold each other and weep, pledging to stay together forever.

Then one day she told me she'd run out of ideas for her songs. I tried desperately to come up with more stories from my past, even fabricating a few. But she saw through the artifice. That night, as I lay in the bottom bunk, I could hear her in the bunk above, boning some guy who had the saddest f'ing love stories I'd ever heard. I had to wrap the pillow tightly around my head. Worst night of my life. He didn't seem so sad the next morning when I was making them breakfast. As a matter of fact, when Kara left the room, he winked at me, grinned and said, "Oh yeah, baby..." Then he strutted out of the kitchen, stroking his crotch.

Thanks to Kara, I can't listen to pop radio. I'd have a nervous breakdown. No Jonas Brothers, no Ashley Tisdale, no Bo Bice, no Nick Lachey. All of whom sing about the pain that I literally experienced. Now I'm going to have to disconnect my TV, because every Tuesday night I would know she's there, she's right there. On Fox. Killing me softly.

Whoa, the Kamikazes have really kicked in. Shit, Tomoko's gone. I may need someone to drive me home. Is Lloyd Grohl still on the lot? Maybe he could drop me off in Van Nuys on his way to Bel Air...

Oh, nobody's f'ing here! F you all! F Paula and Randy and that gay limey judge!

But Kara, come back to me.... please... I'll give you more of my pain....

Kurt Barnet

Reel Suite: August 20, 2008

2008-08-19T23:54:01Z

Huzzah, my wild blogs. This week, it has been relegated to me to report to you some disturbing news: A legal settlement agreement has just been reached between Manka Bros. Studios and TV writers age 40 and older in the age discrimination class action lawsuit filed in 2000 by the writers. As the kids say these days, this news is hot off the presses.

The amount the defendants agreed to compensate old-timey writers: $4.5 million! To hacks who used to write for Mannix and Carter Country! According to the consent decree filed today, the settlement talks began in November 2007 after both parties reviewed and evaluated demographic data including television writer employment by age, earnings, and studio representation during the liability period. And get this: Manka Bros. must now provide training on a biannual basis to recognize and prevent age discrimination to all its personnel involved in screening potential TV writer clients. We even have to take attendance at each training session! Like traffic school!

The settled case, Edwards, et al v. Manka Bros. Studios, Inc. alleged that the more than 150 named plaintiffs and others like them - television writers who were aged 40 and older after October 22, 1996 - were victims of systematic age discrimination by Manka Bros. TV executives, who allegedly passed around blacklists, or "geezer meters", featuring the names of 63 writers whose "fucking endless stories about the good old days of TV would bring us the fuck down, so don't fucking hire them!" The existence of this document clearly damaged our case. Didn't shredders exist in the late 90s?

Everyone I've spoken with here at the studio is hopping mad about the settlement. Most say we should have gone to trial and "mopped the floors with these typewriter-using, Metamucil-taking, bald-but-with-mullet headed bastards." Now they need to represent 25% of our writing staffs! Most feel that this will bring the quality of our primetime programming way down, and cause our viewer demographics to shift to the less-than-desirable 55+ age bracket.

Conor Teegan, age 24, staff writer on the upcoming MBS medical examiner drama, Severed Fingers, went on record as saying, "Old dudes can't write for our show. They don't know dick about the latest in forensic technology. They'd never be able to capture the essence of the blossoming love relationship between Dr. Patience Gordon and Vander Quince. Would they use the word 'Yo' in their dialogue? Or have one of the characters say, 'I'm down with that"? No. They'd write shit that Stephanie Powers might say. Or Susan Saint James. We'd be laughed off Sunday nights at 10!"

I spoke briefly with Scott Finkleberg, age 33, Executive Producer for MBS' sitcom Five Kids, Five Dads & One Mom, who had this to say: "Writers over 40 just don't know funny. They've lived too much life. All the ones I've encountered are bitter pricks. Our show needs writers who can make husbands funny, make kids funny, make dogs funny. Old people don't remember those things. Only young, white, Jewish males are truly tapped in to that sensibility."

A Key Grip on the reality show, Forensics, said this on the condition of anonymity: "We've got nothing but hot babes running around our set. We are constantly having sex with hot babes. If old guys are gonna be hangin' around, we might all get less tail. I see a significant decrease in chick banging."

Well, bottom line is, when it comes right down to the end of the day, we could be entering dark times for young, enthusiastic, fresh-from-cinema-school sparkplugs who, for my money, make this industry what it is. Young writers write words that young viewers want to hear. And that's music to the sponsors' ears. Ask any one of them: All young people really want to do these days is watch broadcast TV! If I am asked to attend one of these "training sessions", I will boycott it. I swear to Christ. I'll call in sick, or lock myself in the Senior Exec washroom, or chain myself to Tomoko's desk. I shall overcome.

ABC, CBS, Disney, Fox, NBC Universal, Sony, and Warner Bros. face pending class action suits. I say, Fight on, you noble, ageist sons-of-bitches!

Kurt Barnet

Reel Suite: August 13, 2008

2008-08-13T18:18:50Z

Salutations, Blog-heads. First off, after I received a summons informing me I was being sued by "Space Chimps" director Kirk DeMicco for defamation of character, the legal department here at Manka Bros. advised me to address the misstatements I made in last week's entry. Upon further investigation, I have discovered that my old girlfriend Tangie actually left me for a guy named Kirk DeMucci, a stage manager for the 1998 production of "Camelot" at the La Mirada Civic Light Opera. She's now a lesbian living in Prague. Kirk DeMicco is unmarried and there is every indication that "Space Chimps" is his own, original intellectual property. My apologies go out to him, his family and the creative team behind the film. Tomoko and I have dropped our plagiarism lawsuit.

Receiving a summons from a process server got me thinking about my own mortality. What's the meaning of life? Why are we here? Why wasn't "ER's" final season six seasons ago? And when I read about all the untimely celebrity deaths last week, I got very contemplative. After industry legend Bernie Brillstein passed, then Bernie Mac died of pneumonia, the questions that came to my mind were, "Who's killing all the Bernies?" and "Are other celebrities named Bernie scared out of their minds?"

So Monday morning I got on the horn and contacted every famous person named Bernie I could find (fortunately, I have access to Manka's database of private celebrity phone numbers). And just this morning, I had a round table discussion with "The Love Boat's" Bernie Kopell, Grammy Award-winning lyricist Bernie Taupin, and former Yankee center-fielder Bernie Williams. We met at the Hillcrest Country Club, and the following is a transcript of our discussion:

KURT BARNET: Thank you all for meeting me here on such short notice. I'm sure there are lots of other things you could be doing.

BERNIE KOPELL: Not really

BERNIE TAUPIN: Me neither.

BERNIE WILLIAMS: Not a whole lot going on with me.

KB: So, it's been a rough week for Bernies.

BK: I'll say.

KB: When you see two prominent Bernies die within days of each other, what goes through a Bernie's mind?

BK: Well, utter fear and abject terror. I'm no spring chicken! By the way, spring chickens don't have much of a life expectancy, what with all the nuggets kids eat these days. My grandkids have got nuggets comin' out of their asses! But, yeah, I was trembling with fear. I could be the next to go...

BT: I awoke in the morning with ambivalence, riddled with trepidation, like a bird who'd lost its way. There's a path we travel called innocence, scarred by hesitation, like a word we cannot say...

KB: Which means...

BT: Someone saved my life tonight.

KB: Who?

BT: Sugar bear.

KB: What about you, Bernie?

BW: I was at a Baseball Card Convention in Tulsa when I heard Bernie Brillstein died. My immediate thought was, "The guy who executive produced the Garry Shandling movie, 'What Planet Are You From?' is dead? Man, I loved that movie! I hit 30 home runs the year it came out." So his death hit me hard.

BK: I'll tell ya, after I heard about Bernie Mac, I got right on the phone and called my dear friend, Bernie Casey. Poor guy was hiding in his poolhouse, half out of his wits.

KB: I heard Isaac Hayes' nickname was Bernie.

BK: Oooo... spooky...

BW: I ran into Bernie from "Biggest Loser 5" at the airport. He's put a lot of the weight back on. I think he's the next to go.

BT: Get this, I e-mailed Vermont Senator Bernie Sanders, whom I had met at a fundraiser last year, telling him to watch his back, that the grim reaper was on his tail. Later in the day, the FBI showed up at my ranch. Talk about seeing your life flash before your eyes.

BK: (affecting German accent) Ze Nazis showed up on dein porch?! Du stumm songschreiber!!

KB: But it's times like these that give you pause, you know, make you ponder. Will you guys now be changing the way you approach your lives?

BW: Well, I'm gonna go out there every day and give it 200%. You drop the ball, don't worry, your friends will pick you up. Life is 50% mental, and 50% physical, and 50% mental. Just gotta step up to the plate.

BT: I think I'll stop riding my horses, because it's only a matter of time before one of them Christopher Reeves me. I think lyric-writing is giving me bone cancer, so perhaps I'll stop that as well. All that really remains is to divorce and marry again. It's what keeps me vital.

BK: Well, I should probably stop playing so much racketball with Gavin McLeod. That son-of-a-bitch cheats anyway. Cut back on the corned beef. No more guest starring on those fucking Zack and Cody shows, damnit. (saluting, smiling) That's what the ship's doctor orders!

KB: Aye, aye, doc! (we all laugh) Thank you so much for meeting me today, guys.

BW: Hey, Kurt. What movie studio you work for again?

KB: Manka Brothers.

BW: Oh. What movies you guys put out?

KB: You see Spinners?

BW: Uh-uh.

KB: How about the Magpies movies?

BW: Nope.

KB: You need to get out more.

BW: Can you get me that Garry Shandling movie on DVD?

KB: I don't think so. Thanks Bernies!

Kurt Barnet

Reel Suite: August 6, 2008

2008-08-06T17:57:13Z

This week has been mind-bloggering! I've been ripped off! Ripped off, I tell you! (More on that in a bit).

First, I'd like to thank our temp Tomoko for rescuing me from my office after last week's earthquake toppled beams and left me trapped, screaming for help. Tomoko is only 4'8" and 86 pounds, but she's Yao Ming to me!

Second, my gratitude to Carl Yang for taking over the blog last week, reporting his Comic-Con exploits very colorfully. As a matter of fact, hats off to all the Asians on my floor. Domo aregato, Mr. Roboto, you industrious sons of bitches!

This week's focus: Theatrical Box Office Anomalies. I had breakfast Monday with my counterparts Dustin Edwards from Disney and Jay Kaplan from Fox, and judging from their mass consumption of Bloody Mary's, their weekend cumes were clearly not through the roof. We all found it ironic that Starz/Fox's "Space Chimps" may end up grossing more than Disney's "Swing Vote" and Fox's "X-Files: I Want to Believe" combined. Combined! Apparently, Americans hate Kevin Costner, have had enough of Kelsey Grammer and his heart, equate Nathan Lane with gay marriage, and are sick of presidential cam-PAINS, paranormal activity and Amanda Peet. But monkeys in space? Bring it on! Not that "Chimps" is a blockbuster; we just found it curious that an innocuous monkey movie with virtually no marketing is outpacing star-driven vehicles with brand recognition. But the presence of this film in the marketplace has a personal resonance for me, and after doing some research, I'm hopping mad!

As many of you know, I was once an aspiring screenwriter, and one of my unproduced screenplays from the 90s is called "Apollo: Primates!" It won honorable mention in the 1998 ASPCA International Screenplay competition. It chronicles a group of ragtag, flight-obsessed monkeys who soar toward the stratosphere in a cardboard box attached to helium balloons. A team of resourceful orangutans on the ground do everything they can to save the chimps before they disintegrate.

Back when I wrote this, I was living with a woman named Tangie (Angie with a T). Tangie was a nurse with a foot fetish who worked for a podiatrist. She had pale skin, flat, long red hair that covered one side of her face, and she dressed like a shopgirl from the Depression. I would crack jokes and she would just stare at me, eyes at half-mast, slowly chewing gum. I thought she hated me, but in bed she would completely devour my feet. I mean, just gorge on them like a lost hiker on a chicken leg. And loudly growl while she was doing it. The growl became a howl. The neighbors would pound on the walls, and more than once they called the cops on us. It was a wild time.

Tangie read my "Primates" script and suggested I focus more on the monkeys' feet, gripping the cardboard box for dear life. When I told her monkeys don't have feet, they actually have four hands, she turned ashen (if such a thing was possible) and locked herself in the bathroom, weeping, breaking glass objects in the tub, and shouting, "No, no, no, no, no...." After that, our relationship was on thin ice. When I got a raging case of athletes foot from the contra-dance class I was taking, she wouldn't come anywhere near me. One day, she left me a letter saying she was moving in with a guy named Kirk who was writing the animated film "Quest for Camelot". Apparently he didn't contra-dance and his feet were pristine.

Fade out, fade in. 2008. I check the credits for "Space Chimps", and who wrote and directed it? A guy named Kirk. Kirk DeMicco. ALSO the writer on "Quest for Fricking Camelot"!!!! Clearly, Tangie told him my story and it stuck with him all these years. Come to find out, Tangie is now Tangie DeMicco, and she's all miss Pacific Palisades. Apparently, you can even see the other side of her face!

Well, don't think that Mr. Kurt Barnet is going to take this lying down. Why, it's plagiarism, libelism... any kind of "ism" you can get your hands on. I knew America was ready for monkeys in space before Starz/Fox did! If Manka Bros. Films was smart, they would snap up the rights to "Apollo: Primates!" while the monkey-getting is good. I see "Apollo Primates 2: Mars Mission!" It's lucrative, I tell ya!

I've decided my lawyer in the plagiarism suit will be... Tomoko the temp. If she can move a 200 pound beam, she can kick Kirk DeMicco's thieving ass. I'll keep you all posted...

Kurt Barnet

Reel Suite - July 30, 2008

2008-07-29T00:27:34Z

Hello out there. My name is Carl Yang, Junior VP in the Foreign Acquisitions department here at Manka Bros. Kurt asked me to write this week's blog, as he is too shaken up by the earthquake that struck the studio today and severely damaged his office.

FYI - I was told that our Chino Hills-based archive facility sustained serious damage as well. As you know, we no longer have possession of the negatives for most of our classic films. The best copies we have are on VHS and Beta tapes stored in the Chino Hills shed. Stu Mitchell, who runs security out there, reports that a pipe burst during the quake and most of the tapes are now smashed and submersed in water. Stu was doing his best to piece together a VHS copy of 1940's Dr. Tindor's Amazing Bloont Of Fazur. I'll update you as more information comes in.

Kurt thought it would be great for me to blog about my experiences this past weekend at Comic-Con. Andrew Moulder from Mankanimation, Brian Spencer from MB Talent Relations and myself hitched a ride to San Diego aboard Hailstorm Entertainment's "Frostman Van", designed to promote their upcoming superhero TV show "Frostman". The van was painted to look like an igloo, they served Arctic Margaritas and showed us a preview of the pilot. Andrew decided to dress as the Manka Bros. animated character Pocket Hercules, which seemed like a foolish choice given the ice-cold conditions in the van. I've never seen a man's nipples so erect.

In Hall H at the Convention Center, we set up the Manka Bros. booth. Andrew was assigned the task of testing the waters to see if there was fan interest in a Pocket Hercules feature; Brian coordinated a signing area featuring two supporting actors from "Magpies and the Pervasive Evil"; and it was my job to sell territory rights to our recent acquisition of the Hungarian vampire TV series, "Fangs for the Mammaries". We were thrilled at opening on Friday when conventiongoers swarmed our booth, then disappointed when they all realized we were Manka and not Manga. Throughout the weekend, I'd say we gave 800 people directions to the Manga booth.

Highlights: Actor Bill Nighy stopped by and told us he was a big fan of the animated teen rock music playing cartoon characters from "Super Draculas". He said that he and his stage cronies used to get high and watch the show. Then he wandered off mumbling.

A hot chick dressed as Wonder Woman agreed to sit on my lap for 20 minutes. While she was there, I sold "Fangs" to Egypt, Nairobi and Argentina.

Right in front of our booth, Robert Rodriguez and Kevin Smith had a shouting match over which of them was less talented.

After our two Magpie actors bailed due to no one knowing who they were, Brian got drunk and threw up on Jabba-the Hut. Fortunately, no one could see the vomit on the Jabba-the-Hut costume.

During a panel on "The Wolf Man", Rick Baker was asked (by Andrew, still in his P.H. regalia) if the special effects would be as good as those employed in the latest "Magpies" movie. "I've seen advanced footage from 'Pervasive Evil'," he replied. "There is no comparison."

An elderly man came by the booth claiming to be the creator of the 1924 Manka Bros. cartoon character Ollie Ostrich. He said Manka changed it to Orange Ostrich when color came in, but he didn't authorize that change. Nor has he been paid a nickel since the '30s. I told him I don't think we did anything with that character after 1937. After he threatened legal action, Brian chased him and his nurse away, saying something about "statute of limitations, old man".

Results for Manka Bros.: Andrew came to the conclusion that a Pocket Hercules movie might not be "fiscally wise". Brian is really good at forging actors autographs on 8x10s. And since the Egyptian production company that bought "Fangs" signed an iron-clad contract featuring the phrase "maintaining content integrity", Egyptian TV is going to broadcast their very first shots of female cleavage.

Quake update: Stu says "Bloont of Fazur" is a goner, but he might be able to save Sweet Tooth Clifford On The S.S. Ho Ho Ho.

Kurt Barnet

Reel Suite - July 18, 2008

2008-07-17T23:26:44Z

Happy post-Bastille Day! Sorry it took so long for me to post, but I had writer's blog. (That joke makes me laugh soooo much). Actually, it took me this long to digest the experiences I've had for the last 7 days. I am a transformed man.

As I mentioned in my entry from 7/1/08, last week I attended the annual Entertainment Industry Profits & Participations Conference in Virginia City, Montana, home of the Huckleberry Buffalo Meat Pie. P&P Junior Execs from the U.S. and Winnipeg, Canada gathered for a weeklong dissection of the financial aspects of our industry. Each night, I made some notes in my journal and I'd like to share them with you now:

Day One.  Historic Fairweather Hotel is abuzz with numbers crunchers from all over the country. Very exciting. I meet Dave Halliwell from Pantene Productions in Des Moines. They produce short films and hair care products. Like Dave very much. Makes Michael Jackson joke that puts me on floor. Hoping he'll be my best buddy here. Go to Community Center for conference. Keynote speaker is Steve Guttenberg. Tells us he hasn't seen any backend on TV movie "Meet the Santas" and wonders if we can do anything about that. Dave produces flask of Malibu Rum and we sneak out. We hike up Cornucopia and drop large rocks down closed mineshaft. Cannot hear them hit bottom. Freaks us out. I pass out in my twin bed at the Fairweather. Hear dead Road Agent moaning all night.

Day Two. Attend breakfast panel called "Huge Profits from Internet Streaming", discussing the challenge of concealing massive online revenue from creative teams behind movies & TV shows. Panelists include Yair Landau from Sony Digital, Martha Wheelock from Ishtar Films, Puck from "Real World" season three, Warren Christopher and Eva Marie Saint. I go to bathroom. When I return, Dave has placed whoopee cushion on my chair. We laugh like little girls. Get kicked out.  Get hammered on Huckleberry Beer at Pioneer Bar. Meet cast members from Virginia City Players. They demand we come see them perform their one-hour rendition of "The Decalogue" followed by old-timey skits. When they begin to sing Jerry Herman songs, we slink out and take Ghost Walk tour. Learn about how Road Agents were hanged by "Vigilantes" in 1860's. In Hangman's Building, feel hand on shoulder. Look to see no one there. Pee pants. Try to call therapist, but no cell reception. Cower all night in corner of hotel room.

Day Three. Hungover. Have breakfast at V.C. Cafe with Alli Grover from Random Lake Productions. She demands I buy glittery ring for her from vintage jewelry shop next door. I do so. Feel emasculated, yet empowered. She sips Bloody Mary and stares at ring, wide-eyed, chanting "Little girl in white dress", freaking me out. Yet I am bewitched by her. Dave and I attend panel, "Minimizing Profits: How to Lose Your Shirt While Painting Rosey Picture for Investors". Producer from "Speed Racer" weeps openly on dais. Christopher Cross closes with theme from "Arthur". Dave and I grab Alli and take road trip to Butte. We go to "Berkeley Pit", most contaminated body of water on planet. Dave vomits for 20 minutes straight. We watch in horror as flock of doves lands on surface and disintegrates. On road back, we swerve to avoid deer, crash into tree and spend night unconscious in Subaru Legacy.

Day Four. Andy Dick moderates panel called "Queer Cinema: Saving the Specialty Divisions".  Andy suddenly licks Harvey Weinstein's face, they fight, a mass brawl ensues. Junior Execs versus Analysts. Ruth Vitale puts Todd Solondz in a headlock, pummeling his face.

Dave and I escape, heading over to see show at Brewery Follies. Sit in front row, get loaded on Gilbert beer.  Performer named Mike, dressed as woman singing "Bitch is Back", straddles me with legs, sticks crotch on my face. Audience howls.  I am traumatized.  "Carlos of Love" makes eyes at me. Day has become way too gay. Later at Pioneer, Alli agrees to hold me and stroke my hair. Her ring gets stuck. We are forced to cut it out. Now have chunk of hair missing. Local Indian man drives us out to Ruby Dam, takes us on Spirit Quest. We drop peyote and stare at stars. Image of Mae Questal appears to me. She implores me to find good woman and settle down. She tells me I'm too skinny and to eat more corned beef. She morphs into most beautiful shooting star I've ever seen. I am irrevocably altered.

Day Five. Closing day speaker, Steve Guttenberg. Huckleberry cheese rots on table. Weinstein throws cell phone through antique window. Bear hug Dave. Mets have won nine straight. I smile as van takes me to airport. Then stench from Mike's crotch returns. I grimace.

Kurt Barnet

Reel Suite - July 1, 2008

2008-07-01T15:37:05Z

Happy July, my Blog-a-holics. I'll be honest with you - it's been a difficult week for me. I was informed by our HR department here at Manka Bros. that I was in violation of our ethics policy due to my night job as a stripper at Beefcakes in Panorama City. As a result, I was forced sever ties with the club or lose my position as Junior V.P. in Profits and Participations. Most unfortunate because I had grown addicted to the joy of disrobing in front of trailer park latinas and expressing myself artistically. Today, I am but a child whose toy choo choo has been unceremoniously torn from his clutches. But I perservere.

Friday night, I was asked by my superiors to check out an opening night showing of the Pixar film "Wall-E" and take notes about the demographic in attendance. It was a fascinating experiment. Despite its G rating, there were mostly adults standing in line with me. In fact, 70% appeared to be 25 or older. The people I interviewed said they would see anything Pixar released, even if the characters were talking office products. They were tired of "Love Guru" and "Zohan" dick and fart jokes and were craving a romance between two synthetic organisms. Scanning the crowd, I was surprised to see my neighbor Carina emerging from a Chipotle restaurant. I hadn't seen her since I took her to Cannes and she ran off with Gael Garcia Bernal. She ran up and gave me a big hug and apologized for the way we left things, saying that Gael turned out to be some OCD freak who would often curl up in the corner of a room and cry for hours on end. Amazing lover with an enormous penis who made her come more than any other man, but a real nutjob. I asked her if she wanted to see the movie with me and she accepted.

On the way into the theater, we hardly said a word to each other. No words were necessary. She and I had something sweetly telepathic going on. Almost otherwordly. We both stared in awe as Wall-E and Eve romantically glided through outer space together, leaving a trail of stardust. Carina turned to me and said, "Awwwwwww...." When they finally held hands, I reached out and took Carina's hand. She quickly pulled away, dumping her nachos on my head before sprinting out of the auditorium. Which I believe in her native Nicaragua is a symbol of growing affection for the opposite sex. On my way out, I saw her tonguing the popcorn guy, but I think I have her right where I want her.

"Wall-E's" $62 million haul and incredible crossover appeal should be a real lesson for Manka's animation development department (A.D.D.) Our upcoming "Mobsters", about wacky Cosa Nostra lobsters under the sea, may not have the saccharine elements audiences are craving right now. There's a war on, people! The economy's in the crapper! George Carlin is dead! We need to make animated films about two squeaky metal garbage cans who find love in a magical alleyway, or a postal scale who pines away for a newfangled grocery store produce scale. I'm just spitballing here! Think of the millions we'd make opening weekend! A.D.D.: get to work on it!

FYI - next week I will be attending the annual Profits and Participations symposium in Virginia City, Montana. So my next entry will be on July 15. Also - I'm thinking of installing a stripper pole in my townhouse and having strip parties. Manka employees: if I did that, how many of you would attend? Let's get a dialogue going here!

Kurt Barnet

Reel Suite - June 24, 2008

2008-06-24T15:51:07Z

Most men don't go to Panorama City to strip. Not in the choking, trenchant heat of summer. They occasionally get dragged to the mall there by insistent wives. They sometimes stop at the Burger King on their way to the cozy, Stepford-like confines of the Santa Clarita valley. They most definitely don't go there to peddle their smooth-as-fine-sauvignon-blanc ass for suburban women who possess the wit and allure of Arnold Horshack. A man who came here to rip off his tank top night after night for nickels, dimes and Jeffersons would have to be what the locals might call "desperado." But last week, that's exactly what this man did.

Every third Wednesday, Beefcakes in tres chic P.C. holds an amateur night contest to lure nascent succulent males and their wallet-fat friends to the club. I decided it was important for my growth as a blogger to experience the seedier side of the entertainment world. Sign ups were at the ungodly hour of 10 pm. On my drive there, I hit zero traffic, so I reached the area around 8. To calm my nerves, I ducked into a Thai restaurant, where I covertly did shots of Jim Beam from a flask, gazing warily at the flashing "Beefcakes" sign across the street. At 9:45, I mustered the courage to enter the club. On stage dancing to the thumping bass of "Seasons in the Sun" was a hairless, dark-skinned man sporting a leather thong and a vacant stare, as if someone had made off with his joie de vive in the dressing room. The clientele was a disjointed melange of dork-retro mamas, lazy-eyed motel maids and toothless social workers, all horking greasy appetizers and champagne cocktails. The smell was a combination of elementary school paste and the perfume counter at Target.

I signed in with a cashier who I could swear was the "Fabulous" girl from the Orbit commercials, then was unceremoniously ushered into what they call "the beef pit", basically an airless, soul-destroying holding room. As I plunked my Simon LeBon carrying bag containing my costume onto the green 60s carpet, I could see the other contestants' eyes darting from my face down to the bag, arching their brows, curious as to its contents. The air was thick with the unease of oiled-up men sharing a confined space. It was as if we were trapped together on one of those D-day amphibious landing vehicles, headed for the unyielding rifles of the enemy on Omaha Beach. We knew why we were all there. It was FUBAR, but we would all go down together.

After a midget they call Boss Daddy rattled off the contest rules, he gave us the performing order. I would go on second after Venom, a pliable African-American, who looked like the love child of Flip Wilson and Gumby. At the end of his act, he lifted one of his legs behind his back and up over his shoulder, sticking his big toe seductively into his mouth, all timed perfectly to the final measures of Paul Davis' "'65 Love Affair". I quickly slipped into my costume, which consisted of a Star Trek Enterprise uniform shirt, a traditional Scottish kilt, hush puppies and a cowboy hat.

The gravely voiced DJ introduced me. "Ladies, let's give a warm Beefcakes welcome to Backend Prophet!" As the opening strains of Duran Duran's "The Reflex" pulsed, I glided onto the stage, bumping and grinding with unbridled passion. The women at the tip rail stared slack-jawed. I worked the pole like it was my third cousin. After flinging my hat into the crowd, I kicked off my hush puppies, then swiveled my hips seductively, slowly removing the kilt, revealing my twelve year old tighty whiteys. The tip rail girls recoiled and retreated to the bar. I was filled with unprecedented exhuberance. My newfound abandon, however, was somewhat tempered by one wardrobe malfunction: my Star Trek shirt was so tight, I couldn't fully remove it. It ended up coiled around one arm and my neck. To cover, I improvised a dramatic pose at the end of the song, one arm twisted and jutting out like I was in the Special Olympics of Stripping.

Everything was a blur after that. I only got $6 in tips and I think vegetables were thrown at me. A dude from Arleta named Boner Simpson, who padded the joint with his au courant spin class cronies, ended up taking first prize, much to the chagrin of Venom. He was pissed, but I was elated. I wandered out the front door, encountering six young ladies who I thought at first were fans but came to discover were 15 year olds with a pregnancy pact looking for some sperm. I referred them to the homeless men in the alley, then ambled dreamily to my '96 Taurus. I had been bitten by the ladybug known as stripping, and I knew at that moment I would always be her bitch. Freedom's just another word for nothing left to lose.

And Freedom, thy name is Beefcakes.

I'm there Mondays and Wednesdays. No cover, but if you want a lap dance, you'll have to buy me a $9 soda.

Kurt Barnet