Guest Blogger - Mike Lippert

When my last few blog posts get no comments and all of my family stop talking to me, I realize I've hit a bad spell and I desperately need to get in a decent writer to fill my shoes, or a least my blog, for a day. Mike Lippert's blog is like one of those independent movies shot by a nobody for $500. Right now, no-one really knows about it - but the quality is so good that before you know it he'll have a hundred followers and everyone will be talking about his "big ego problem." Below is an article Mike wrote about being a Kid In The Front Row. Enjoy!

A lot of my cinema experiences have been negative: Stupid people, stupid movies, stupid long lines, stupid uncomfortable seats, stupid junk on the stupid sticky floors, etc. Yet, I cherish the experience of the theatre, no matter how advanced home technology gets, more than anything. When you really think about it, the theatre holds a certain inexplicable aura. When you go to the movies you’re going for more than to just see a film on a big screen.

There are the people. I love the people! Let’s get something straight: I hate being in crowded places, especially theatres as was the case when I went to see the Sex and the City movie in a cheap theatre with bad seating that was packed to the point where I found myself sandwiched between my girlfriend and some overweight middle-aged husband who was apparently having the time of his life.

There is a special section of my brain delegated to the memories I’ve accumulated over the years surrounding the complete strangers who I will never forget about out of the simple arbitrariness that they happened to decide to see the same movie at the same time as me. Sure, at the time I despised them more than anyone I’ve ever had the displeasure of meeting and sat in the dark, coldly wishing every cruel and unimaginable torture to befall them sooner than later. But now, looking back, I realize that these are the people who have etched certain films into by brain that would have otherwise fallen completely by the wayside.

There were the teenaged boys who needed to whistle as Kate Beckinsale peeled herself out of that leather suit (That would be me, -Kid.) in the Underworld sequel; the wife who thought that her symbolically challenged husband needed a complete play-by-play breakdown of Brokeback Mountain; the silly old Jewish man who must think life is just about the funniest joke anyone has ever told because he certainly laughed his way through absolutely everything in A Serious Man; the rowdy university freshmen who, with horn in hand, honked approvingly when Amy Smart divulged information of her triple orgasm to Ashton Kutcher in The Butterfly Effect, and of course, the old woman who, when Adrien Brody decides to take justice against Joaquin Phoenix into his own hands in The Village, loudly gasped “Oh my God! HE KILLED HIM!”

Then there is my favourite audience memory. It was during the packed premiere of A History of Violence, a film that the woman behind me felt was appropriate to take her 13 year old son to, which didn’t seem quite right until Ed Harris ends up getting his guts splattered all over Viggo Mortenson to which the kid exclaimed, “Cool, Spleen!” Right, it made sense now. And then, to the right of me were two jolly middle-aged sisters who thought everything in the movie was hilarious (I guess you just hit a certain age?), and declared, during the absolute best scene, where Mortensen goes to visit his brother, played brilliantly by William Hurt, declared, chuckling, “Aren’t you glad we’re not like that?”

There are many more memories where those came from. I’ve pulled them out and shared them for the simple purpose of trying to show why the cinema is such an important aspect of film. Critics sometimes get so caught up in theory and psychological pondering that they forget that the cinema is also, at its very heart, an experience, which is only half defined by the content that passes before our eyes on the screen. The other half is the conditions under which we see films: the who, what, where, when and why. Although, as a critic myself, I love the first, most movies just aren’t movies in the absence the second.

You can check out Mike's blog at http://mikesyoutalkingtome.blogspot.com/

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'Die Hard Isle Five' - A Short Story.

Barry Fremp has worked at the supermarket for six years and forty seven days. He is perceived to be the forth most knowledgeable staff member on low-fat yogurt products but he struggles with sauces, especially spicy ones, a problem he inherited from his father. Barry has not enjoyed his job in recent years as most of his friends have moved on. Some to the frozen chicken section, and Barry 'Killer' Bones was relocated to hair & make-up.

To put it bluntly, his job sucked. To put it less bluntly, Barry didn't quite feel the joy any more and often felt his life was drifting away. There was only one thing that kept him going. Anna Kantino, the beautiful girl on the fish counter, was not the reason. She refused to acknowledge him. The only thing that kept him going was those rare moments when he got to step outside of the mundanity and do something extraordinary. He got to take the law into his own hands.

"Code Bacon!" came the yell over the speaker system. This was code for, "We have a shoplifter!" They used this innocent phrase so not to panic the customers, although people would often dive for cover if they happened to be browsing the bacon display when the call was made. Often, weeks would go by without a shoplifter. Until that fateful day that nobody would ever forget. It was a Wednesday, or maybe a Tuesday.

The announcement bellowed from above, "Code Eggs!". Barry gestured to the nearby customers to stay calm, as he had it under control. He sprinted to the entrance. A young, angry looking black man was making his way out with a widescreen TV. Barry dived on top of him and they went crashing to the floor.

Of course, he had the wrong guy. In fact, he had the wrong announcement. The meaning of "Code Eggs" is slightly different and actually means "please check that none of the fresh farm eggs are cracked." This wouldn't have been so bad if it wasn't the third person Barry had attacked after a Code Egg, meaning he now faced disciplinary charges which could mean a three week stint without a lunch break.

Barry often worried that he would miss a Code Bacon. This was unlikely though as he worked seven days a week except for major holidays, when he worked eight. Most people feared criminals coming to the store, but for Barry Fremp - it was the chance to be who he always knew he was, part security man, part private investigator, part spy, mostly the guy who refills the milk on the thing. The opportunity to be great was sure to be soon. Little did Barry know that opportunity would arise in the next paragraph.

"Code Bacon!" yelled the man at the front desk. Unfortunately the speaker system was broken and all that could be heard was the yell of "bacon!". This caused a stampede to the reduced isle where sixty four customers expected bacon slices at half price. As they fixed the system the yell again came for "Code Bacon!!!" - a moment Barry Fremp had waited a long time for. This was his chance to prove his place in the world - and to prove to Anna Kantino that he was a man with power. And if he couldn't convince her of that, it was at least possible that she would find out his name.

Harry Hibswald was known to locals as one of the most prolific and clever shoplifters of all time. He was still prolific, yes. But clever? It wasn't 1937 anymore, and Hibswald, now 91, knew it. His masterful plan was indeed one of the great plans of our time. The plan was to use a plastic bag to hide the alcohol he was taking. Sadly, he forgot to take the bag and he forgot to take the alcohol. In fact he would have been running from the building unknowingly innocent if it wasn't for the multi-coloured condoms he had accidentally stolen from isle five, when he casually put them in his pocket as a way of convincing another shopper, Mavis Pestrouse, that he 'still had it going on.'

PART 2 Coming Soon.

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Self-Promotion.

If you're like me, you just want to get on with the work. When you finish a script or a short film or a story or a painting or whatever it is you do -- you feel good, the work is done, and nine people loved it. But that doesn't build a career. So you have to be able to whore yourself out. If you're an actor, it's easy-- you just sit in a cafe and talk really loudly, "YEAH SO I HAD A CALL BACK, AND I WAS LIKE, NO FUCKING WAY, I JUST WORKED WITH HANKS. SO, YEAH- I'M DOING SOME MODELLING AND THEN I'M DOING THAT THING WITH DE NIRO. YEAH. YEAH. OH YEAH, I LOVE ACTING. IT REALLY FULFILLS ME. I AM FULFILLED. I AM AN ACTOR. I AM AN ACTOR THAT IS WHY I TALK SO LOUD IN CAFES."

Note: After writing this article, but before posting it, I went to a restaurant with two friends. There was a birthday on a table near us. A waitress came out with a cake, and was really loud and obnoxious - and I said to my friends jokingly, "Another failed actress." And then later on, our friend who works there introduced us to her. And she's an 'actress'. Found it amusing.

But if you're not an actor, the self-promotion can be tough. And of course, there is the fear that nobody really gives a shit what you're doing anyway. And to a point that's true. Nobody cares. But you need to get out there. And it's easier than you think. If you are an upcoming writer/actor/producer/director, etc -- you can write to your local newspaper right now. They have no news-- the pages need filling. Yeah, old ladies are getting their shopping stolen, big deal. It's the same every week.

I have written to my local papers many times. I tell them that the local area inspires me, I tell them how I shot in the area because of the wealth of talent in the community. I tell them that their newspaper was the reason I took up filmmaking. I tell them that their newspaper was the reason I took up a newspaper delivery job when I was fourteen. Whatever, who cares-- the bottom line is, the old lady gets a week out of the newspapers and everyone gets told the story of the local Spielberg.

Likewise, if I'm on holiday in Greece, I pick up a local newspaper, ask some local "Editor? Email? You see?". And then I email Eleftherios_the_editor@greeklocalpaper.com and tell him I took up filmmaking because of Greek cinema and because the area inspired me to write a screenplay and that I learned acting by studying the locals. And sure enough, some little old greek lady will get a week out of being in the news and instead; a few thousand people in Greece will learn about you.

You may think you're lying. But you're not. You're just playing the game. Just like when the director on the DVD says "Ashton is such a talented actor, we were really lucky," or when Nicolas Cage says "I fell in love with the script" every time he gets cast in something. The point of this is, it's really easy.

Are you a Norwegian Actor working in London? Write to the editor and tell him what it's like for a Norwegian actor carving out a name in London. Are you a Colombian DOP struggling to get a job in New York? Write to a NY paper and tell them how you're bringing the beauty of Colombian filmmaking to America. Are you sixty years old and struggling to get work? Write to your local paper and tell them "At 60 I have decided to follow my dream." Whatever it is - do it! Create the very thing you wish to be and make it a reality. When they print it, it's real.

Tarantino wrote his own press pack for 'Reservoir Dogs' - heralding himself as the greatest director of all time. All the lazy hacks wrote exactly what he fed them.

When I first started doing this - I used to write to people and say "I am trying to make it in the industry, my films are okay and I'm doing alright and I'd like your support." They'd write about me, but they'd make me sound a bit pathetic- it was like, "Awww, The Kid has a dream, aww sweet. Here's a picture of him with an old lady called Ethel." But then I started getting more clever, and confident. I'd write "Whilst my friends are laying on the beaches of Ibiza and drinking in the bars - I am penning a feature film inspired by the beautiful sands and the rich, complex characters that permeate the coast." They'd print exactly that, and everyone would think I knew what the hell I was doing.

These things are massive confidence boosters. It's almost like writing down a dream list of aspirations and getting some crazy person to print them. The weird part is - they make things come true. When someone prints that you're a talented Director or Nottingham's greatest on set gun control expert, it makes you become one.

So, if you're doing anything creative - tell your local newspaper about it. Tell your favourite bloggers about it. If you write to me and say "Kid, I love your blog! I have made this inspiring two minute short film - could you share it with your readers?" -- I might share it. I might not, because I'm jealous that you're more talented than me -- but I might. And then, a few hundred people would see it. But it won't happen if you don't ask. That's how it is with the writers of 'The West Part Of East Nowhere Gazette' -- they won't randomly write about you. But if you ask, they might. And when they do, maybe it's near to where Danny Boyle lives, or maybe a copy will be left in the gym where your favourite actor goes to work out. Maybe they'll read about you. Maybe they'll google you. Maybe they'll see your talent. Maybe a ninety year old woman will ask you out on a date. I don't know, but you may as well try it, even if you do it right now in nineteen seconds just by emailing your local rag. Worth a shot right? What do you have to lose? Nothing. What do you have to gain? Everything.

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A Brief Detour From Cheerful Positivity To Deliver This Public Service Announcement

When you do this.....

I will smash you up.


YOU HAVE BEEN FUCKING WARNED YOU PIECE OF SHIT!

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The West Wing Is the Greatest Show Of All Time

Many years ago - my Uncle said to me, "You must watch The West Wing," and I thought yeah right, whatever. No-one tells me what to watch. But he was persistent and he lent me the first season. And I began watching it. My life changed.

My brother started watching it. His life changed. One by one, we'd pass on this wisdom to people we knew, sometimes even strangers.

KID & BROTHER

You must watch The West Wing.

STRANGER

But I'm just trying to buy some groceries?

KID & BROTHER

Go home. Watch The West Wing.

The West Wing became everything. These days; I care about the world, I have an interest in American politics, I have some knowledge on important issues, I know how to write good dialogue. This all came exclusively from The West Wing. This show is, without doubt - the most perfect thing in the history of television.

The dialogue and humor are beyond anything I've ever known. It fills all these gaps that even Chaplin, Woody Allen and episodes of Frasier can't do. What's amazing is how it was done within the confines of quite serious drama. When Arrested Development was hilarious, it was to be expected - after all-- it was a wacky comedy. But this show was about POTUS (President Of The United States) and his staff.

What made the show immediately gripping is how it didn't portray these mightily important people as anything other than human, just like us mere mortals. Here is a great example - when Will Bailey (Joshua Malina) meets The POTUS (Martin Sheen - in his defining role)

We can imagine that being any one of us -- when having to meet The President.

The West Wing was around at an important time. It reminded us that America still has ideals and a beating heart at a time when the real administration was meddling with the Middle East and letting its most historic, beautiful town get lost in a sea of flood-water. It gave people hope, it made people dream. The characters in The West Wing were everything we want in politicians, in humans, in our friends--- they were good people trying to be great.

The power of the show cannot be better demonstrated than in this now legendary scene where the President challenges a radio presenter on her views of religion and homosexuality. Bartlet spoke in the way we all wish we had the knowledge, eloquence and imagination to do.

More than anything, I'm a comedy guy. And The West Wing filled that need in ways I never expected. Sorkin's rapid fire dialogue is more like dancing, than talking - and within the rapid paced talking there was always more wit and intelligence than you could find anywhere else on TV, or even film for that matter.

Here's the President Of The United States getting obsessed at Thanksgiving with the Butterball Hotline, which gives advice on how to cook a turkey. This scene is hilarious -- especially when the woman asks for his name, and the President realizes he probably shouldn't share his identity. Magic.

I'll finish with one of my favorite moments from a very early West Wing episode. The staff are out in a bar having some fun --- when a group of guys start to pick on the President's daughter, Zoey. An incredible scene -- full of all the things that made The West Wing the greatest thing ever to grace our small screens.

Go rent it/buy it/steal it -- you will not regret it.

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