Hello Chieftain!

Between the changes to the movies, alleged layer-separation problems, apparent sound issues and now (to a lesser extent) this, I'm getting more and more convinced to wait for the next DVD edition of Star Wars.

Or to create my own. Think Phantom Edit meets the Special Editions.

Have you heard the bad news? Nick and Jessica are arguing! We must send them puppies in their time of crisis!

Copyright 2004 Rich Bowen

Don't click this. Especially if you're at work.

So, I knew for many years that when Richard Donner shot Superman The Movie, he was also shooting footage for Superman II, but that he was fired before S2 was completed, and replaced by Richard Lester, who is credited on the final film.

What I didn't know was that Donner had actually almost completed the film--he only stopped because it became clear that they had to focus on StM to make their release date. After Donner was let go, the script was rewritten, and Lester's brief was to shoot around the footage they could recycle. For example, Gene Hackman refused to return under Lester's direction, so all his footage was shot by Donner, with a few shots of a stunt double added as bridging scenes.

Donner's firing led to bad blood between the cast and producers Alexander and Ilya Salkind. Marlon Brando, who had filmed additional scenes as Jor-El for S2, sued the Salkinds and his scenes were reshot with Lara, while Margot Kidder's role in Superman III was punitively reduced--though in retrospect, that was probably a good thing.

I have nothing against Richard Lester--hey, the man directed A Hard Day's Night, so give him his props--but Superman II suffers from ill-advised camp moments (I still cringe at the guy on rollerskates) and strange plot contrivances (laser-fingers? the ability to cause amnesia with a kiss?). It's not a bad film, but it could have been an infinitely better film.

And perhaps it still can: first check out this exhaustive comparison of Lester's version V. Donner's. And then, if you're so inclined follow the link to sign the petition to have Donner's cut released on DVD. I say "if you're so inclined" because while I honor their process, I have yet to see an online petition actually make an iota of difference. Still, it's nice to hope.

The rehearsals continue apace for Halloween at the Vogue. It took me a while to get up to speed, as I found that, despite my self-assurance, I don't remember all the choreography I knew by heart thirteen years ago. I'm also no longer capable of dancing and running around the theater while singing at the top of my lungs. For the first time, I may have to lip-sync as Eddie.

I also knew that perceptions of me within the cast wouldn't be the same, but I wasn't prepared for how differently I would be seen. Back in the day, I could say just about anything, no matter how salacious, and get a laugh. Now that I'm a good ten years older than most of my castmates, I know to hold my tongue, lest I be seen as sweaty-child-molester-guy. Well, I probably am anyway, but why fuel the fire?

By the same token, I had to be discreet with the camcorder. I've been bringing it along, hoping to put together a short documentary about the cast experience, not to mention the experience of getting back into it after so many years gone, but it seemed tonight that every time I started recording, it would be during some of the girl-on-girl action. There's a lot of that--we have a pretty estrogen-heavy cast this time--but again, I don't want to be creepy-perv-guy taping the sexy stuff for private use later. Again, unlike back in the day, particularly a certain poker game after the show one night.

So here's something from the old days that I hadn't thought about until recently; costuming. Specifically, having to dress in layers. See, in a stage production, you get a lot of extra time to cover changes in sets and costumes. But in a movie, you just cut to the next scene. So as Brad, for example, under the tux I started the show with, I would be wearing tighty-whiteys (two pairs, for safety), under which would be my garter belt and black briefs, while my fishnet stockings would be tucked into my socks, so that when the floor show came, I could strip off the outer layers and quickly pull up the fishnets and attach them to the garter belt, throw on my corset and boa, and go.

Hadn't even thought about that until tonight, when the director was discussing a bit of business with someone and wanted to know if she had time to throw on a nurse costume for a gag.

Chris gave me shit over the idea of Rocky Horror HAVING a director, or rehearsals, or the rest of that official shit. Well, back then, we were on every friday and saturday night. THOSE were our rehearsals. During the quiet weeks, we would be honing our skills, polishing the show to a high sheen for the busy times. Theoretically, at least. The point is, this time we need to rehearse because we only get one show, then this backasswards city is Rockyless for another year.

I think about that fact, and I get wistful, and want to try to campaign to get regular showings. Then someone will make a joke about our Rocky's tits, and I have to sit down and catch my breath after Hot Patootie, and I remember why that's a bad idea.

Copyright 2004 Rich Bowen

From the same writer at The Stranger, this is the best assessment I've read about the Posies, specifically the "Friendship Of The Future" between Jon and Ken. Here's to the future, my friends!

After the success of their first album, I was shocked how quickly people seemed to turn on The Presidents Of The United States Of America; KNDD stopped promoting their 1996 Seattle Center concert (which was full of teenage dilettantes who were just there to hear "Lump"), and most appallingly, Rolling Stone declared that "every dollar the Presidents make is a dollar out of Weird Al Yankovic's pocket" Daaaaaayumn!

So you will acquire and enjoy PUSA's new album, Love Everybody. You will pray for forgiveness for ever having turned your back on this awesome band. This is not a suggestion.

And you will see them in concert, september 29, at a benefit for John Kerry. They were in Vancouver last month and I didn't find out about it til a week later, dammit.

The truth about Zell Miller:



Spread the word.

Copyright 2004 Rich Bowen

So, a while back, on bittorrent, I downloaded a zip file of the original Doom, plus Doom2 and Final Doom. And you know what? They hold up pretty damn well.

I last played the original Doom around 95 or 96, on Chris' computer. He had the modified version, where the pink Demons were replaced by Barney. Like most of us, I moved on, to Star Wars: Dark Forces, Duke Nukem, Quake, then Quake II, and most recently, American McGee's Alice, all of which are significant improvements in graphics and control. But there's something viscerally satisfying about the 1993-vintage original, where you don't have to worry about any fancypants looking up and down, or jumping, or ducking. Just run, shoot, sidestep, shoot, run some more, shoot some more.

Shelswick gave a name to my Doom hobby; since every few minutes, when I got pasted, I would growl "bastard!" at the computer, playing Doom is now known as "killing bastards," as in, "you're watching Sex And The City? Then I'm gonna go kill some bastards."

Last year, believe it or not, was Doom's 10th anniversary, and the website Doomwork has an extensive tribute to 10 Years of Doom. There's a history of the games, a listing of some of the best (and worst) custom levels, and, for the strong of heart, something I had never heard of, but which must be seen: the Doom comic book.



One of these days I'll go ahead and get (or, let's be honest, download) Doom 3 and check out the hi-res cinematic-cut-scene goodness. But for now, I'm happy just killing bastards.

I'm done painting.

I don't mean that all the walls are painted. I mean that I fucking quit. No matter what technique I use, this is how the walls end up:



I've tried three different kinds of rollers, I've tried slathering the rollers with paint, I've tried just using a little bit, I've even tried doing it exactly how everybody recommends, and the end result is exactly the same. So the remaining walls can lick the dingleberries from my taint, for all I care.

Just stop already. Jeezus.

From the Buffy-Con in Oakland, a Spike puppet to go with the Angel puppet from "Smile Time."

I'm off to pick forty people at random to choke to death with their own colons.