Submissions to the Ergodic Film Project
Script:
http://xanaxsupervortex.wordpress.com/2011/06/27/my-script-to-the-ergodic-cinema-project-on-mubi/
I encourage to read the notes at the end.
Yay Dylan! And Bobby, I got your email, so I shall access it from home tonight.
We’re just waiting on JP. now.
For voting: PLEASE SUBMIT YOUR VOTE BY TOMORROW, WEDNESDAY, 6/29, BY END OF YOUR DAY.
Please vote YES or NO for each script.
Reminder — VOTE for scripts submitted today
JP., please submit your script here.
OK. Got to read them now.
https://docs.google.com/document/d/1pZSW5ojUVkOKsvXpl6kA7E3hxs6WcwZr_37D22KuGP8/edit?hl=en_US&authkey=CMH5u94D
*Not final draft.
One scene was cut due to reworking around one of my members leaving, it will be added back in. It involves Jeff buying a card for Jess tying in one of the scripts I’m connected to.
Dialogue and other things are still being worked as well.
Also let me know if the link works, I’ve never used google docs before.
It works, thanks, JP.!
EVERYONE CAN VOTE NOW. As usual, I can only vote in a tie. You cannot vote for your own script. The majority wins, whether or not all members vote — so please everyone, cast your votes so Dylan, Bobby and JP. can move on to production! :D
Yes on Dylan’s read it yesterday.
Sent request to Bobby’s, it’s not viewable without
Yes for Dylan’s.
I have not read JP’s yet.
Also, I checked my settings, and according to that, anyone should be able to view my script without me adding them. Not sure what’s up with that.
I don’t know… Google docs can be a bit weird…
Thanks for voting, guys. I think you’re going to be voting in your own scripts, because no one else is piping up. Which means ultimately, that all MUST be good… :D
You know me, I’ven’t seen anything I dislike yet, vote for all. Alllllllllll!
—DiB
Yessss!
Vote tallying coming along with the logo vote tallying in a couple of hours…
GO ERGODIC! :D
OK, in the effort of moving forward and because to me no news means a positive note, I hereby pass all scripts in the name of the group.
YAY! Dylan, Bobby, JP. — onward to PRODUCTION!
MY PITCH:
A man wearing aviators and smoking a cigar enters his office and reads a cheesy thank you card. Inside it says “Thank you for the loan.” “No… thank you!” he says and carelessly tosses the card aside. A medium shot reveals he is wearing a robe and sandals à la Jesus, complete with with longish brown hair and beard. He changes from his robe to a long-sleeve white shirt and light khakis, keeping the sandals, and adorning himself with a halo. He sits at his desk and presses his intercom, saying in a pleasant voice, “I’ve arrived. Is there anyone here to see me?” His secretary answers back, “Yes, shall I send the first one in?” “That would be lovely” answers the lender. A moment later, a man enters.
“How can I help you, my son?” The client goes on to explain how he needs to pay his mortgage. Cut back and forth among different clients with different financial needs. Education loans, first-time homebuyers, small business startups, etc. He generously secures loans for them.
Later another debtor enters the office. The lender is displeased, emphasizing the debtor’s late payments. The lender is stern. The debtor begs, emphasizing the state of the economy. The lender explains that he will have to begin seizing property from the debtor and that he should be happy to still have his life and his family for support. “Surely someone in your family can help you pay your debts?”
Later another debtor arrives. This one is about to default. He pleas with the lender, emphasizing the state of the economy. The lender is no longer amused. “There’s that idea again, ‘the state of the economy.’ You know, I could care less about ‘the state of the economy.’ How about the state of my economy?”
The lender proceeds to give the debtor a very cynical lesson on the economy. He explains that he owns everything, so when a debtor borrows money from him, the lender doesn’t gain anything, but rather rents both the money and whatever he buys with it. The lender, on the other hand, now has ownership of the debtor, and it turns out most private property leads to the lender, hence he is close to owning the world.
The lender goes on to rant, “You know what the problem is? You people treat this life like it’s a game! You don’t want improvement – you want to escape. You want to escape the game by playing the game! What you don’t seem to realize is that if you play the game, you lose! The game is fixed, bucko, you lost by playing, and if you can’t pay up, then it’s game over, so where’s my money?!”
The debtor looks at the lender in awe. “Why are you staring at me like that?” asks the lender. “I think I just realized what you really are,” says the debtor. The lender pauses and says, “Oh no, did… did my halo go out again?” The lender reaches up for the halo but it is gone, and we see poking through his hair two small red horns now revealed.
The debtor has a moment of epiphany. He furiously condemns the “lender” for doing this to people and claims with wavering confidence that he is still in possession of his own soul. The lender calmly says, “Come on, what are you gonna do?” The debtor picks up the intercom module from the office desk and hits the lender over the head with it. The lender falls to the floor motionless. The debtor hesitates, kneels down, and begins repeatedly bashing the lender’s head in, which is just out of frame, causing blood to splatter.
The debtor stands up with blood on him, drops the intercom, and storms out of the office, but the office door no longer leads to the waiting room; instead the debtor screams and falls into his fiery hereafter. The door closes on its own. Close up on the bloody intercom over which the secretary explains that a relative of the debtor from before has arrived. The lender picks it up and says, “Send him in.” As the new client enters from the waiting room we see the lender sitting at his desk unharmed, with halo, and the room in order. “Have a seat, my son, how can I help you today?”
A BLURB FOR MY PITCH:
A predatory lender masquerading as the messiah may very well be the devil incarnate wreaking havoc on the world’s economy.
Ha ha ha — awesome, D#!
Hello everyone, and thanks for Odilonvert for roping me into this. I noted on one of the many project pages the use of SYMBIOPSYCHOTAXIPLASM as a kindred example. It is hands down one of my most treasured films. I love the fuck out of it. Everyone needs to see it if they even think they are serious about film (at least I think so!!! ;-P ).
My pitch for my Act 5 segment:
I am fascinated by the behind the scenes of the artistic process, but I don’t want to do anything traditional or narrative, and I want to attack this from an oblique angle. As an art historian, I am consumed by the idea of painting, which leads me to the nature of color.
My piece will be an experimental tone poem about color, and how it becomes reality, and how it becomes cinematic. My reference point is Antoinioni’s sensational modulations of color in RED DESERT. I will be using pieces shot by myself as well as found snippets (VERY brief snippets) from other media (most notoriously the classic tour of the Crayola factory from SESAME STREET)
The only narrative portion will be at the beginning, where a person in a car (gender to be determined, although probably a woman) gets into a horrific accident after being distracted by a still frame of the burning bush from the 1956 version of THE TEN COMMANDMENTS The color literally gets knocked out of the scene, and cut to black…. slowly, blood beings to stream and pool on the screen, that bright red color like in a 70’s giallo.
Then we are off to the races as color multiplies cinematically, biologically, chemically. Building to a moments of hypnagogia and synaesthesia. We are trying to rebuild the world. We are trying to piece together a sense of the world, our world, our universe, which is what I think this film as a whole is about. All these detours, all these snatches of life, of light, of dark. At times we end up in my segment back at the crash, sometimes the same, sometimes a different angle. Red is the primary organizing color.
I want the viewer as well as this driver to have the base primal urge to want to piece together and process what has just happened. Perhaps even elements from all other acts/segments come into play. But the puzzle never gets solved, the game never ends, we just keep playing.
It is important that this segment terminates with a audiovisual strobe of red/black and an interpolation of a track off of Antonio Carlos Jobim’s WAVE and a track off of Suicide’s eponymous 1977 debut. This ends abruptly. Life always does.
I hope you like this!!! Glad being on board!!!
LONG LIVE THE NEW FLESH!!!!
Max, abso-freaking-lutely! That sounds amazing.
I’m sorry I’m just getting a pitch in at the deadline. I am ok with my pitch NOT being one taken by you guys, as I’m not sure that it fits the fifth act, and I think I can do more with it less the 15 minute timeframe. I also wonder if the fifth act maybe shouldn’t be one segment, like the first.
For my own purposes, I’m calling my segment “Portrait of the Facist as a Young Man” or “Greenshirt” or “Blueshirt.” (I like blue more, visually.)
Short version
This would be a fairly simple narrative piece. A young man would be taken with and committed to facist ideologies yet to be determined, and attempt to reflect them in his modern life. He’d pick up a girlfriend and a male convert. A violent incident (I’m thinking a hate crime) pushes the girlfriend away, the other convert further into violent white supremacy, and the main character further into seeking to purify himself and his ideologies.
The strain of rigid fascist thought destroys the practitioner as sure as others.
I wish I had drawings or stills for you, but I’ll need to find “leads” yet, find or create the ideology to which the main one would adhere to (American Integralism appears to already be taken.) There’s equipment & locations to borrow yet, too.
Wow you guys are intense!
OK, so ALL, VOTING FOR THESE THREE PITCHES IS ON. I cannot vote unless there is a tie, and note that you cannot vote for your own pitch:
D#: Yes/No
Max: Yes/No
Ricky: Yes/No
Please have your votes in by tomorrow, end of day your time. The majority vote wins.
And THANK YOU to D#, Max and Ricky for submitting your pitches right on time! :)
D#- No.
Max- Yes.
Ricky- Yes.
The script for my segment, apologies for the lateness!!!
AWESOME, MAX!
EVERYONE: VOTE DUE BY THE END OF YOUR DAY TOMORROW.
NOTE that majority wins, and I cannot vote unless there is a tie.
Max’s script = Yes!
I vote yes for Max’s script. I can’t wait to see how that segment turns out.
I vote yes to Max’s script!
Vote yes to Max’s script.
—DiB
yes on maxxx script
DONE! YAY!!!
MAX’S SCRIPT: PASS! You are now officially in production, Max!
I will update the status table later today to reflect this and a link to your script.
Onward, Team Ergodic!
REPOSTED FROM THE COMMUNICATIONS THREAD
Leefurfur pitch concept:
i’m not exactly sure how to do a pitch, i’ll just post my short story and you guys just tell me what you think. Brutally honest feedback is welcomed! Thanks!A Lesson In Dogg
______________
Don’t know, maybe. These words were cruel inventions for the sake of convenience. Average-V loved using these words. On the way to his smeared adulthood, he went to school, made love to local food and became boring/impatient. His friends did not care about the environment, so he decided it was best to let that thought go. Besides, he viewed the end of human civilization as a blessing in disguise. To that, he said “why sad? Let’s welcome the new owners of this shitty place!”. He was friendly about it. His friends didn’t give a flying fuck about the gahment(politics), he agreed. They were convincing in their arguments and he admired their non-apologetic personalities. He wanted that for himself. In other words, his friends eat shit…he also eat. But they had to have a convincing argument. All of them were model citizens. He said " As long as the government lets me make money can liao why care so much later they angry we suffer". Only two essentials to him being alive. Like food and water. Money and fornication. Yes, he indulged to kill time.“What is life but wasting time why not just PARTY. FUCK. PARTY + FUCK = FARKTY!!!” He wasn’t as stupid as his profile pictures suggested. He just wanted to act blur, live longer than forever. Bring on the fun fun fun. He was an amicable person that loved to avoid. He didn’t understand the beauty of the oval shape. He wanted to grab every opportunity fortune offered him. He saw the glass(usually half empty or full) as a permanent urinal for him to fill up to the brim. On most sunset eves, he engaged in long journeys into the vacuum blanket of sleep. He never dreamt at all. He came to the conclusion that it was because of his age. “The older you get, the lesser you need to dream because you become so comfortable with your existence. Your imagination doesn’t even think about escaping into some wild invention of your desires. Dreaming is for failures lor”. He knew what he wanted. He knew what he was. He knew how he wanted. He knew who he was. He was what he wanted and how else would he live his life? The same.
The next morning, he awoke on the streets as a dog; a poodle. He became a street dog. For the next few years, he suffered died and was spat on until he woke up again on that very same morning.
Average-V sat up and let everything from his previous encounter with despair settle at the bottom of his cognitive vessel. He was really thirsty and hungry but he knew if he tried to devour food or drink he would still not be satisfied. He felt like his body was a hologram of past baggage now all gone. He stood up to walk outside. He walked outside to see if anybody was home. The walls were as confounded as his facial expression. There was nothing he could grip on to with his usual despair. He just could not push himself to feel an emotion. Angst, frustration, melancholy what did they all mean. The words themselves sounded like a foreign language that was long dead and desecrated. He felt the urge to take off all his clothes. A strong impulse deceived him into doing so. He sat down on the velvet couch and sighed. His clothes laid on the floor like pet animals waiting to be cuddled. He paid them no attention. He didn’t feel any better. He felt his surroundings exaggerate itself into double its wave length. He looked past the curtains in an attempt to grapple back some control. It was really dark. Was it night already? He couldn’t remember if the sun had set or if it had risen to begin with. A sewer brimming with something so disorienting he felt himself slip away from his already floating body. This was new to him. He was insecure, he was just unsure. A newly extinguished conscience probably wasn’t so bad. He wondered about his life the way dead people tried to. He stopped after failing to close his eyes from glaring into a strenuous wall of white. He simply sat there – naked – staring at the furthest wall he could reach with his lactating mind. And for the first time in years he asked himself a question that he almost couldn’t remember until today. “Is it all over? Or is it just beginning?” Don’t know, maybe.
—the dialog may sound weird because it’s a local way of speaking
odilonvert
Bobby — still can’t access your script. I’ve requested access, FYI…