Once Upon In Hollywood - or is it?

Hold on to your hats,

Lugubrus Van der Thi tackles “Once Upon a Time in Hollywood”

California, land of the free. Renowned auteur and enfant terrible Quentin T. is shooting the definitive account of the End of the American Dream.

“Right right, and then he shoots down the gang of desperadoes from the barrio and he hotshots the 1957 Décapotable Cadillac to crash the Honolulu Atom (TM) Monokini Contest at the Hef' Mansion where he inadvertently butt-offs Steve mcQueen into the swimming pool where Mia Farrow, Anton LaVey, a teenage Fabio, Queen of the gossip column Louella Parsons and Henry Kissinger are partying surrounded by a bunch of nubiles just as the second (the first one actually quit before the start of the shoot) stunt man from “Plan Nine from Outer Space” suffers a cardiac arrest on top of the diving board”

Harvey Weinstein: “OK OK I get the picture.”

Quentin T: “We then cut to Route 67 Interstate B Cross-Section South where the drive-in is about to kickstart its All Nite Kim Hunter Extravaganza” (carries on for the next ten minutes)

Harvey Weinstein: “I'm afraid I will have to stop you here son (places to see, actresses to invite to my bathroom). You're the creative, you have white card*.”

“Just make sure you don't start your effin' film with another twenty-minute dialogue scene.”

Quentin T.: “No problemo, you 'my nigga Harv'.'”

Harvey Weinstein: “Hmpf.”

Fast-forward six months later.

Leonardo di Crapio is an overrrated, former fresh-faced actor in the midst of a mid-life crisis. Or at least his character is.

“Think, Leo, think! You're the Greatest Actor Of Your Generation (bar Daniel Day-Lewis, Joaquin Phoenix, Fabrice Luchini, Emma Watson and a dozen others), you need to dig deep and draw upon your untapped resources forged at the altar of your existence carved out of the School of Hard Knocks which made you the -Oh whass the point!”

Pours himself a Scotch. And another.

Enters Braaad.

Braaad, looking effortlessly hott and at one with himself: “Hi.”

Crapio: “Hi Brad, what have you got for me today?”

Braaad: “Well Leonardo my friend, Quentin wants us to shoot the scene where you knock out that Chinese kid, Bruce Li or something.”

Crapio, bitterly: “You're the muscles, Brad. You do it.”

Pours himself another Shandy.

“I'm just a washed-up TV actor and you're my stunt-man. So much for exposition.”

Braaad, genuinely pained: “Now then Leo, now then, don't say things like that, we make a good team you and me ...We complement each other.”

Crapio: “Hmpf.”

Braaad: “Yes we do, of course we do. Come 'ere ya big ball of fluff, give Your Number One Fan a big hug, it's gonna be al-right, I promise...”

Crapio: “'You sure?”

Braaad: “'Sure I'm sure. At first Quentin wanted “us” to sort out Muhammad Ali but I convinced him to come to his senses. That five-foot fellow stunt-man from Seattle will be less of a stretch.”

Crapio: “Alright then, but make him promise he won't spring Marion Cotillard on me in return.”

Braaad: “'ll make sure he won't.”

Off they go and Braaad kicks the shit out of Bruce Lee before beating single-handedly the Harlem Globe Trotters.

Quentin T.: “Cool! That's cool! I'm lovin' that! You sure bitch-slapped them something massive here! My fanbois will love that!”

Braaad: “Sure it wasn't a bit much?”

Quentin T.: “Not at all! Not at all! Look, on the 03-23^rd of 51-19 Howard Hughes stalwart Hugh Jarse (Jr), five foot eight, 70 Pounds, found himself cornered by” (goes on a thrilling anecdote while Braaad goes and personally apologises to every single one of his scene partners) “...and that's what I'm talking about! Bitching! Yo' my nigga Brad!”

Braaad stops in his tracks, advances upon Tarantino.

Tarantino's Head of Casting throws herself between them. She is an angel and her eyes are green. “Hold it there Mr. Pitt! Quentin didn't mean nothing by that! That's just his endearing way of speaking! 'Comes from the 'Hood, so he does! You'll just have to excuse him, after all he's a genius!”

Braaad: “Not sure about that... Not sure about that either...”

Meanwhile Crapio is stewing in his own juice.

“Concentrate Leo, concentrate! So your character is about to undergo a life-changing revelation -But how can I carry this off, oh Lord? How can I carry it off? How can I break free of the shackles of youth and soar like an eagle unburdened by intimations of mortality and the IRS's hanging off my arse!” (“Or ass, even.”)

“What shall I do? Oh how to convey my inner turmoil tinted with wistful regret?? ... Shall I compare to a rrrose, or an ingrown toenail? Shall I tear my heart asunder and leave it for the vultures to thrrrive on?”

Enters a ten-year old girlie that steals the scene and melts everyone's heart.

Crapio: “That's it! That's it Leonardo! You must be the scene! Don't inhabit it, be it!! Grab it with both hands and don't look no further! Tomorrow's another day and again and again – Nothing else matters than being in The Here and Now! Hic et nunc! Ipso facto! Moritori te salutant, Apolonialapiedra, sic mundus creatus est pizzicato!”

Friendly guy Braaad smiles at his friend.

This marks the end of the first two hours. Your man the “radio DeeJay” (sic) drops a shit-hot choon on the soundtrack, straight out of Quentin T.'s personal ten-thousand vinyls collection.

“...and this is why you are all invited to test DayGlo Brillo (TM) at the Rex – DayGlo Brillo, the brillo pad to atomic-shine your brand new Dodge! (DayGlo Brillo is a product of Allied Alloys Incorporated – Do not use at home).”

Commercial ends, Quentin T. starts up again.

“OK let's go, I wanna see some blood people! Gimme a boner everyone! Think Stella Stevens in “The Nutty Professor”! Think David Warner's bouncing head in “The Omen”! (the original eh, not the remake) Everyone on your marks? Ready-let's-go!”

The scene: a bunch of Mexicans are shooting the shit out of each other in a Disney theme park, scattering Bobby Soxers and college gym rats in assorted blazers. The weather-beaten detective one week away from retirement and his wisecrackin' sidekick are called to deal with the ethnic miscreants – but instead they get their heads blown off all over the milkshake counter. The gunfight then spills over to the casino next door. Uncredited Asian customer (Chow Yun-fat) hits the jackpot: “I tie my shoe laces you tie your shoe laces!” Gets a machine-gun round in the face for his troubles.

Quentin T.: “Cool! That's -like- cool! I -like- totally approve of the exploding testicles in the original (mint condition) Peppermint Frappé blender yes but … wait a minute. Wait a minute. ?? Where are the handlebar moustaches? Where are they? Hey, you, Mexicans, where are your handlebar moustaches?”

Mexican actor (Danny Trejo): “We don't all sport one, truth be told”

Quentin T.: “Nonsense! Nonsense! Back in '69 before the famous District of San Antonio vs. Alexis “la paloma fatal” Love gangbang case, all cartel members were obligated to sprout one! -Cos' that's how they recognised each other!!”

Danny Trejo: “I stand corrected. Still, my younger compadres might not be aware of this senior Quentin, not everyone is as old as”

Quentin T., interrupting him: “And what about the crucifixes? What about the crucifixes??? I wanna see some sacred here people! My films are a profound reflexion on the dialectical nature of redemption versus self-damnation in a desperately secular macrocosm awash with commercial distraction and cultural trivia - I can't be doing without religious shit yo! When John Woo shot the seminal “Killer” (1989, rated 18), where do you think he staged the final shoot-out? In his Momma's embroidery class? Huh?? In yo sister's squat flute quartet? Did he fuck! In a friggin' church that's where he did!! A freakin' church shit-stuffed with statues of angels exploding and a pirated version of Nena's second album on the soundtrack!!”

… “Don't you people know anything??”

Braaad and Crapio mouth silent apologies to the actors from behind Tarantino's back.

“Do it again! And this time I wanna see some motherfreakin' slowmo close-ups of gold chains and holy medals! Pronto!”

Tarantino storms off to his caravan. Phones Harvey Weinstein.

“Harvey Harvey, they are demeaning my artistic vision, they are snatching 'sploitation from the jaws of verisimilitude! I can't be working in these conditions, this is not right, this is not what Alan Fleischer had in mind when he embarked upon the shooting of “Zoo Zero” in 1978 (released in 1979, certificate “interdit aux moins de 16 ans”), your man would not have stood for such ineptitude!”

Harvey Weinstein: deep sigh.

“You're the artist here. Anything you say kiddo.”

“Give 'em another chance. Forgive them for they do not know. You must remain true to your vision: unleash the dogs of flick and don't spare on the tomato sauce, you're absolutely right: we wanna get us some escapist entertainment so we do, it's not like the US of A suffers from an abundance of personal weaponry enabled mania for hair-triggered brainless rough justice!”

Quentin T., sniffing: “Ahhh, 'feel so much better now. Thank you Harvey, thank you.”

Harvey Weinstein: “That's my boy. That's my meal ticket. Go 'n get 'em tiger!”

Tarantino storms out of his caravan to recapture the set.

“All right people, LET'S FUCK!! This time for real!! Don't Daddy-oh me you 'so witty like I don't know my Cheech from my Chong! You put a foot wrong one time in this scene, I bitch-slap you straight to your mother like Tex Avery's wolf's just spotted Vampirella in a bikini!! Who's the king of the midnite jungle here, huh? Who's the capo di capo of Category III remasterings??”

Second team assistant: “Oh you 'so cool Quentin. I wanna mass-produce bite-size -yet toddler friendly- replicas of you for Planet Hollywood.”

And so they reshoot the scene. Heads splatter on bakelite seats, vintage jukeboxes in working condition, wood panels, splayed white socks (??), extras' brillantined hairdoes, furry dices, Red Apple cigarette packs, Kurt Russell's eyepatch, your mother in a thong, psychedelic bongs, Bugs Bunny (TM) calendars.

Quentin T.: “And... cut! That was so cool, man! Like total cool, amaze balls and shit! The shotgun action straight into the peace sign bandanna: 100% cool! Eat your heart out, les frères Dardenne! Who else could have thought of that! What better metaphor to signify the post-ironic re-appropriation of ball-breaking boring idealistic Zeitgeist via the exploitative male gaze of late adolescents enamoured with phallic substitutes! Godammit, I am making a point here, I am making a point!”

Placating Braaad, placating him: “Yes you are, you certainly are, Quentin. And not an unwelcome one too, in these uncertain times...”

Quentin T.: “'You see? I'm onto something aren't I?”

Nice guy Braaad: “Yes you are chubby cheeks - in your own way you only want the best out of people”

Quentin T.: “Too right I do!”

Doubles down Crapio: “And it's all through the magic of fillum. For what are we, if not phantoms? Twenty-four flashes of light a minute and yet we matter... We deliver.”

Braaad: “We bear witness.”

Crapio: “Yesterday I was a self-doubting washed-up pretender, a jejeune pay-for-hire, an uncopacetic projection – And now I have regained my self-respect thanks to my buddy here” (modestly smiles Braaad) “and a bit of the old ultra-violence. ...Ain't that a kick.”

The spotlights get switched off, the stage hands roll up the backdrop, the Marilyn lookalike takes off his wig and sashays away to join his loved one.

Quentin T. is down to his last PowahSpeedDrink (TM). He is getting emotional: “Ah thank you guys, thank you. That's freakin' cool of you to be -yo- so understanding of my vision and shit. I meet journos, I want to shut off their asses! I shut them off, that's what I do, but with you two... Ah with you two it's like we're fifteen and crashing the Rialto fleapit to catch the “Bad Taste” (Peter Jackson, 1987) / “Meet the Feebles” (idem, 1989) double-feature together!”

Not a dry eye in the audience – and adds Tarantino: “Tell you what guys, you 'my niggas!”

Braaad and Di Caprio exchange a look, roll up their sleeves and pin Quentin T. up against the wall: “About that word, Quentin...”

The End,

“there'll always be a moon over Marin”.

*”Carte blanche” in English.