It Ain't Me, Babe

Is this me?

I passed myself on the stairs this morning. I was coming up as I was going dowm. As I went by, I didn't acknowledge my presence. But after a few steps, I turned to watch myself go.

I wrote those lines immediately after the incident occurred in the stairwell of a medical office building. The one heading south was me, the other guy on the ascension, a definite look-alike. Well, it would have been a little more accurate had he not been ten, dare I say, fifteen years my junior. He was certainly a couple of inches taller and most assuredly slimmer and trimmer than the earlier model typing these words. I looked pretty good, if I do say so myself even though my other self in the doctor's smock may not return the compliment. He was a version of me that perhaps could and maybe even should have been. A young professional. Well, young-er. I tried not to let it bother me since this is the version I'm stuck with and I'd better just make peace with it. Since I had a few years on him, at least I can claim to be original and not extra crispy.



Or is this?

What I find significant is that scenes like this are occurring with increasing frequency. My doppelgangers, clones and lookalikes are popping up all over the place and it's getting rather unnerving.

My whole life, I've heard that I resemble somebody else. I look familiar. I remind them of someone they know, often in a roundabout fashion.

"You kinda sorta look just like my neighbor's cousin's boyfriend's brother."

I've always wondered if the opposite is true. Does someone ever look like me? Ask a rhetorical question, sometimes you get a rhetorical answer.

Nope, not this guy.

Over time, I've gotten the celebrity comparisons, usually those that do not flatter me in the least. Right about the time I graduated high school, I became the receiving end of Bob Denver comparisons. Not Maynard G. Krebs. Not Gilligan. Not even one of the FAR-OUT SPACE NUTS. My number landed on Dusty from the thankfully long-forgotten syndicated western sit-com DUSTY'S TRAIL. This was back at a time when I was a thin as a hitching post cowboy at Pollardville Ghost Town with the hair roughly the same length as Dusty's, not to mention I was overacting to the nth degree in various gunfighter skits on Main Street. I confess that I had been bitten by the broad comedy bug, so my acting skills would have been right at home on the TRAIL. I didn't like the analogy, but at least I understood it.

Fast forward to Oregon in the year 2000. after a particularly grueling and soul-kicking day at work, I stopped by my local Blockbuster Video for some cinematic sedatives. At the check-out, the dweeb in blue and yellow shirt just had to push my buttons.

"Anybody ever tell you that you look like Mr. Roper?"

I should smacked him. I should have left. I should have smacked him, then left. Instead, I answered in the negative and sulked home. No wonder Blockbuster wnt out of business. I've never been insulted by a Redbox.

This same scenario replayed a year later at another check-out line, this time at Trader Joe's from some limp wahini in a Hawaiian shirt. And as recent as two weeks ago, I was tagged in a picture by some dork on Facebook. If I'm not mistaken, I think this guy might have worked a register at one time too. Does a cashier's job description include assholiness?

Dude, seriously?

So three votes for Mr. Roper, supporting character on the abyssmal 1970s sitcom THREE'S COMPANY portrayed by the inimitable Norman Fell. I don't mean to besmirch the memory of Mr. Fell, a rock-solid character actor with ten times the talent of Maynard Gilligan Denver. Norm appeared in hundreds of TV shows better than THREE'S COMPANY with memorable turns in THE GRADUATE, CATCH-22, BULLITT and THE END. I would have been blessed to have such a career. Being accused of looking like the man or the impotent, homophobic lech he portrayed is another story altogether.

Some comparisons were not as insulting, like the Russian soldier in the original John Milius version of RED DAWN. When a friend pointed out a member of a Soviet tank crew harassing Lea Thompson, I responded like Hans Landa. "That's a bingo!" We had a match, except that he appeared to be at least six inches taller than me.

In the more recent past, the incidents have increased at an alarming rate, especially since I'm starting to see me in other places than a mirror. It began with that encounter on the stairwell.

Not a week later, a cafeteria worker at a Newberg hospital that I frequent on a daily basis for work asked if I had a second job with UPS. Apparently, there's another me delivering packages in Yamhill County.

The very next night, I caught an oddball indie film on Showtime written and directed by Quentin Duieux called RUBBER, all about a killer car tire with telekinetic powers. It's less wacky than it sounds, more along the lines of a failed Adult Swim pilot. After an excruciating twenty minutes, my finger poised on the remote, lo and behold, there I was again. This isn't just any old me either, but this version of old me in a pair of mirrored aviator sunglasses driving a pick-up. It is the closest representation of me I've ever seen, so damn exact that I had to check the credits to see if it was indeed me. I don't know. Maybe I recovered from a recent head trauma and didn't realize that I had made this film. That's possible since, in this particular scene, the tire blows my head off, SCANNERS style. Save yourself 90 minutes and check out the clip below if you have any desire to see my melon explode into a ooey-gooey mess.

What the hell is this straight to video sequel to BEING JOHN MALKOVICH existence I find myself in at this point in time? The more this occurs, the more difficult it is to rationalize this as pure coincidence. To make matters even hinkier, I've had the overwhelming feeling of being uncomfortable in my own skin as of late. This could my body changing (or decaying) in the cruel onslaught of time, then taking an off-ramp to fuck with my brain along the way. Am I that close to my SELL BY date? It could be I'm expiring soon and all I've got to hope for is a DOCTOR WHO like regeneration. Then again, if that happens, I wouldn't look like myself any longer and that would take care of two problems with one shot. This seems pretty remote, but a girl can wish, can't she?

Of course, because I am the Ironic Chef, there is a suitable punchline for me and perhaps only me. Ever since I can remember, I've been trying to find myself. Now that I have, it turns out to be some one else.

Be careful what you wish for...or at least how you phrase it.

Red Asphalt: Do You Believe in Magic?

In honor of RED ASPHALT's ascension to a 2011 Top Ten list (seen here at Author Tom Amo's blog), here is an oldie but a goodie about said novel written by yours truly.

RED ASPHALT is about a guy named Calvin Wheeler, a dreamer in denial of his own reality. He feels shackled to his everyday life, a seemingly normal existence that he considers a prison. It's all because he aspires to greater things. He believes that he was put on this earth for a very special reason. Unfortunately, because he has to co-exist with the rest of the world, he thinks that his potential is being squandered and this great gift of his is slipping away from his fingers the longer he has to conform to a society that he wants nothing to do with.
Calvin is under the impression that he could very well be the next George Lucas. He has been working on a novel for almost a decade, one that considers has the potential to explode into a major phenomenon with unlimited franchise potential. He calls his book ABRACADABRA. It’s a massive, colossal fantasy epic that mashes sword and sorcery together with science fiction and world history into one big ass casserole.Calvin is so convinced of its success that he is staking his entire life on it to the exclusion of everything else, including his job, his marriage and his own sanity.
For Calvin, his novel is a do-or-die situation, in more ways than one. The book becomes an all-consuming obsession for him. It's a romantic notion to say that...to quote yet another movie because that's what I do...there's a line in a great film written and directed by John Milius called THE WIND AND THE LION when Sean Connery says "Is there not one thing in your life that is worth losing everything for?" For Calvin, his "one thing" is his book and he has staked everything on it.
So is Calvin a good writer? He could be. He has a lot of good ideas, but he's never completed anything, nor has he shown any of his work to anybody. He tells his wife about the book. He even discusses its progress with her. But he's never shown any of it to anybody including his wife. He wants to wait until it's finished and it may never be done. ABRACADABRA represents a sanctuary for Calvin. He's safe when he's working on it. Since he's been beginning lose a few marbles, it's always been there for him. Once it's done, he'll have nothing else, nowhere else to go. He'll have to deal with the reality of getting the damn thing published and therefore, out of his control. He wants to succeed, but only on his own terms and it don't work like that. Somebody's going to have to read the damn thing eventually. It keeps it to himself, how will he ever succeed? Does it make ABRACADABRA a book at all? It's that hoary old cliche of the tree that falls in the forest making a sound or not. But that's not even Calvin's biggest problem. Time's a wastin' and he damn well knows it. He's been working on ABRACADABRA for so long that it's starting to fade away from him and he knows that. He hasn't even begun to assemble a workable first draft, opting to just work out the story details first. After seven years, it’s has worn out its welcome before he's even begun. Time is constant. It won’t stop anyone or anything, least of all Calvin. Now time is running out.
At one point, Calvin says, "Without magic, there is nothing." When his world crashes in on him, he begins to think that magic is nothing more than tricks we play on ourselves. When he realizes what his delusions have cost him, Calvin loses his way back to reality.
Abracadabra.

RED ASPHALT is available in paperback, download and on Amazon Kindle. For more info, visit http://www.scottcherney.com
Thomas Amo is the author AN APPLE FOR ZOE and LET'S GET LADE both available on Kindle

The Canyon Kid Rides Again!

"This here's a song of the lone prairie

It's a tale of woe and of misery

It's a tale of right and a tale of wrong

All about the weak and the very strong"

(sung to the tune of BURY ME NOT ON THE LONE PRAIRIE)

So begins SONG OF THE LONE PRAIRIE or POEM ON THE RANGE, a western comedy melodrama originally written over twenty years ago by yours truly and produced on the stage of the Palace Showboat Dinner Theater at Pollardville.


When the straight shooting, and guitar strumming singing cowboy hero known as The Canyon Kid, returns to Dirt Clod, Missouri, he finds his hometown in the grips of a tyrannical albino “hanging judge” named Basil Kadaver and his evil co-horts, including the slinky gypsy seductress Nastassia Kinky and her half-wit brother, Two Gun Boris. To make matters worse for The Kid, he also discovers that his childhood sweetheart, Darla Darling, is engaged to Dalton Doolin, a known desperado who is now the town sheriff. The action culminates in a knockdown, drag out slugfest on the streets of Dirt Clod when justice at last triumphs and The Canyon Kid saves the day.

Yeah, it was a hoot, all right, at least that's what the critic for The Stockton Record said. It was the best review I had received up to that point.

SOTLP (aka SOTLIP) was actually the best melodrama script I ever wrote. It represented the culmination of everything I had learned up to that point at Pollardville, the place I had considered my "college". You see, I got to do everything I ever wanted to do in show business at the place we called the Ville-acting, writing, directing, producing, stand-up, singing, dancing, improvisation and so on and so forth. This included my apprenticeship as a stunt cowboy performer in Pollardville Ghost Town all the way to my post-graduate studies as the writer/director/master of ceremonies on the Palace stage. It was the best time of my life and SONG OF THE LONE PRAIRIE was pretty much my grand finale.

It began as a possible running character in the Ghost Town, though it never got out of the idea stage out there. The character of Two Gun Boris, however, did end up in one of the gunfights, since it was written specifically for Grant-Lee Phillips who was working there at the time. But I knew that The Canyon Kid needed to be the hero of a melodrama and so it began. Previously, I had co-written LARUE'S RETURN with my best friend Edward (Max) Thorpe and had flied solo with THE LEGEND OF THE ROGUE which Bill Humphreys had admirably interpreted on the Ville stage. Ed had concocted the initial story for LA RUE before our collaboration while the script for LEGEND actually only took me a week . But SONG took a few years to put together. I had an idea here and an idea there, but nothing came together.

Then I hit on the idea of the albino hanging judge as a villain, probably inspired by Stacy Keach's character Bad Bob from John Huston's LIFE AND TIMES OF JUDGE ROY BEAN written by John Milius. (Yes, I just mashed Bad Bob and Judge Roy Bean together and came up with an albino hanging judge. I always was the clever boy) Some of the early drafts involved a lot more about Judge Basil Kadaver that, unfortunately, got lost in a fire. There had been a great scene involving the judge as a baby, throwing a hangman's noose over the side of his bassinet. I never could recover those bits nor could I muster up the inspiration to recreate them, unfortunately. The other characters that popped out of my head-Charlene Atlas, the female blacksmith and Two Gun Boris' hot as balls gypsy fortuneteller sister, Nastassia Kinky, more than made up for it.

I was off and running after writing and directing three back-to-back vaudeville productions at the Ville as well as assisting my mentor Lou Nardi with his two shows. Finally, SONG was starting to take form and in early 1987, I finally finished my lil' ol' magnum opus and was allowed by producer Goldie Pollard to direct it as well. (I think this was more economical this way-getting a script and a director for one lump sum-but an opportunity is a damn opportunity and I am eternally grateful for the chance)

Casting the show as easy as pie and I couldn't have asked for a better cast-EVER. Greg Pollard was the aw shucks epitome of The Canyon Kid. Bob Gossett fit Judge Basil Kadaver like a glove. As an albino, he looked just like a walking skeleton. Elaine Slatore was dead-on perfect as Nastassia, as funny and sexy as only she could be. Two Gun Boris was claimed and owned by John Himle. No one could have been better Dalton Doolin than Tony Petrali. Layne Randolph and Paula Stahley as the Mayor and Charlene were on the money. The came two actresses out of left field. Suzi Yelverton, all of fifteen years old, played the heroine's mother without a hitch. Then, for my heroine, Darla Darling, I had the pleasure of directing Leslie Fielding in her one and only Pollardville show. She was underplayed her role to perfection, a stark contrast to the regular melodramatic heroine which caused her to elevate her character to new heights.

At the time I was directing SOTLP, I had been immersed in two other projects at the same time. I was working as a second assistant director on my first feature film RETURN FIRE: JUNGLE WOLF II (a story I'll save for another day) and producing/promoting/hosting my very own comedy open mike night at the Ville, an off-shoot of my burgeoning (and was it burdening?) stand-up career following my first place showing in the one and only Stockton Comedy Competition. I was really running myself into the ground fast. In fact, I collapsed from exhaustion about five weeks into shooting. Oh well. I needed the rest apparently.

While recovering, I had a brilliant idea of an ending for SONG-a fight scene to beat all fight scenes, one that would involve every member of the cast and from everywhere in the theater-on stage, off stage, in the audience and so on. And so it was. The Canyon Kid fought Dalton Doolin. The Mayor had it out with the Judge. Darla and her mother took on Nastassia. And finally, Charlene punched it out with Boris. They all duked it out in the name of entertainment. It was my version of the BLAZING SADDLES fight and put this show over the top.

SONG OF THE LONE PRAIRIE opened November 6, 1987 and ran until May of 1988. What a great run and, if I say so myself, what a great show. Bob Gossett recently ran a copy of SONG on Portland cable access. While the video and sound quality was crude, it still holds up.

Now twenty years later, I expanded the script a bit (kind of George Lucasing it into a "special edition") and published it.

The cover sure do look purty, done it? The cost is $8.95 for paperback and $5.00 for a download e-book. Performance rights are available too since this was the whole point of publishing it to begin with. Well, that and to satisfy my long beleaguered ego. (Okay, everybody, in true melodrama style give me an "AWWWWWWWWWWW...........") Since LARUE'S RETURN has had some success on stage, I t felt it was high time to get SOTLP out there so others can enjoy it as well. Yes, I'm damn proud of my work. What of it? More info about performance rights can be obtained by e-mailing me at: writtenbysc@gmail.com

To buy SONG OF THE LONE PRAIRIE or to read a free preview, go to my storefront at:

http://www.lulu.com/scottcherney

Until next time, pardners, happy trails to you, until we meet again...

(Sorry, Roy. I couldn't resist)

Newman's Own

The recent passing of Paul Newman has garnered many well-deserved tributes to both the man and his career. A giant has crossed our paths and his footprints he left on this earth are deep, leaving lasting impressions on those whose lives he’s touched by the way this man had chosen to live his own. His most famous film roles in COOL HAND LUKE, THE VERDICT, BUTCH CASSIDY AND THE SUNDANCE KID and THE STING have all been the subject of focus since Newman died and deservedly so. However there are some they may fall through the cracks that are also well worth mentioning. Newman worked a wide array of directors, most notably Martin Ritt in his formative years , especially the brilliant HUD with the equally brilliant Patricia Neal and Melvyn Douglas. He never strayed far from more daring filmmakers like Robert Altman or The Coen Brothers. Newman even worked with Alfred Hitchcock in TORN CURTAIN. While not one of his best, Hitchcock’s film does engage Newman in one of the most brutal and realistic fight scenes in history. Then there is the underappreciated western tall tale THE LIFE AND TIMES OF JUDGE ROY BEAN directed by John Huston and written by John Milius. Based on the legend of the notorious Texan hanging judge, ROY BEAN falls under the category of that pantheon of western known as the End of the Wild West. It can stand proudly next to PAT GARRETT AND BILLY THE KID, MONTE WALSH or even BUTCH CASSIDY itself. ROY BEAN has an impressive cast including Ava Gardner as Lily Langtry, a young Victoria Principal in one of her first roles, Ned Beatty, Anthony Perkins, Roddy McDowall and Stacy Keach as Bad Bob…the original Bad Bob, the albino. And the memorable, melancholy score by Maurice Jarre haunts to this day. Even the cornball theme song MARMALADE, MOLASSES AND HONEY (sung by Andy Williams!) works in a strange way.

But the whole show belongs to Huston, Milius and Newman. Huston’s direction is loose and fun-loving, even borrowing from the cult classic EL TOPO in the opening scene, then spinning a yarn as masterfully as he does with his pet project of THE MAN WHO WOULD BE KING a couple of years later. Milius proves that he has always been one of the best screenwriters of that period with a distinct voice that is sorely lacking in today’s films. His script is chockfull of memorable dialogue.

Judge: Justice is the handmaiden of the law.

Deputy: I thought you said the law was the handmaiden of justice.

Judge: Works both ways.

As for Newman’s howling at the moon performance as Roy Bean, it stands out in an illustrious career as one of his best. Observe the daring and crazy ass shouting match he has with his bear and marvel at the way this wild beast does not tear him apart on camera. The final shootout alone is worth the price of admission when the elderly Judge Roy Bean steps out the saloon before an entire arsenal pointed in his direction. Someone tosses a torch at him that he catches in mid-air. “Who the hell are you?” someone else yells.

“Justice, you sons-of-bitches!” he replies, tossing the torch back and starting the fire that sets the whole town ablaze. Fantastic. 

THE LIFE AND TIMES OF JUDGE ROY BEAN is well worth discovering, probably more successful than BUFFALO BILL AND THE INDIANS, though I admire that as well. It makes a great companion piece to Sydney Pollack's JEREMIAH JOHNSON starring Newman's buddy Robert Redford. Make a double bill out of 'em, pop some Newman's Own popcorn and have a great night at the movies. 

As the Judge himself would say, “That is my ruling.”

One on One with Scott Cherney (Literally)-Part Two

Continuing with the first bloggerview (interview blog, whatever) with Scott Cherney, author of the brand spanking new novel, RED ASPHALT.


ETC: You mentioned that Calvin (the main character of RED ASPHALT) believes he has a great gift to give to the world. What might this great gift be?

SCOTT CHERNEY: Calvin is under the impression that he could very well be the next George Lucas. He has been working on a novel for almost a decade, one that considers has the potential to explode into a major phenomenon with unlimited franchise potential. He's so convinced of its success that he is staking his entire life on it, pretty to the exclusion of everything else.

ETC: Sounds like a "do-or-die" situation.

SC: As a matter of fact, it is, in more ways than one. The book becomes an all-consuming obsession for him. It's a romantic notion to say that...to quote yet another movie because that's what I do...there's a line in a great film witten and directed by John Milius called THE WIND AND THE LION when Sean Connery says "Is there not one thing in your life that is worth losing everything for?" Being a romantic, I understand that. So does Calvin. His "one thing" is his book. But just because it's romantic doesn't make it any less impractical.

ETC: What is the name of this magnum opus in question?

SC: Say what?

ETC: What's this here book he's a'writin'?

SC: It's called ABRACADABRA, a massive, colossal fantasy epic that mashes sword and sorcery together with science fiction and world history into one big ass casserole. ABRACADABRA is an old concept of my very own that goes back to the late 1970s. Just like so many pieces I've worked on over the years, it sat in storage ready to be shit-canned, but I ended up saving it by sticking it into RED ASPHALT when I turned Calvin into a writer. I'm really pleased that I gave
ABRACADABRA one last chance because it ended up taking on a life all of its own. It also ended up being an integral part of the main story.

ETC: How so?

SC: At one point, Calvin says, "Without magic, life is nothing." Later on, he's convinced that there is no real magic, only tricks we play on ourselves. Abracadabra. It's also a better title than PRESTO CHANGE-O.

ETC: Is he right?

SC: There is no right or wrong. It depends on your perspective. I don't want to get into a debate about faith vs logic. Again, I'm a romantic. I think miracles can happen and that's not religious dogma, just goofy optimism, something I tend to balance with bitter cynicism. It makes a nice cocktail, don't you think? On the other hand, Calvin feels duped, especially by himself. When he realizes what his delusions have cost him, he thinks it was all just a trick. There's a big difference between delusions and imagination. Calvin doesn't realize that until it's too late.

ETC: How does a "big ass casserole" taste?

SC: With the right ingredients, not too shabby. If you cook it right, it hardly has a trace of ass.

ETC: It sounds yummy. Is Calvin a good cook?

SC: You mean a good writer? He could be. He has a lot of good ideas, but he's never completed anything, nor has he shown any of his work to anybody. He tells his wife about the book. He even discusses its progress with her. But he's never shown any of it. He wants to wait until until it's finished and it may never be done. ABRACADABRA represents a sanctuary for Calvin. He's safe when he's working on it. Since he's been beginning lose a few marbles, it's always been there for him. Once it's done, he'll have nothing else, nowhere else to go. He'll have to deal with the reality of getting the damn thing published and therefore, out of his control. He wants to succeed, but only on his own terms and it don't work like that. Somebody's going to have to read the damn thing eventually. It keeps it to himself, how will he ever succeed? Does it make ABRACADABRA a book at all? It's that hoary old cliche of the tree that falls in the forest making a sound or not.But that's not even Calvin's biggest problem. Time's a wastin' and he damn well knows it.

ETC: What does that mean?

SC: He's been working on ABRACADABRA for so long that it's starting to fade away from him and he knows that. He hasn't even begun to assemble a workable first draft, opting to just work out the story details first. After seven years, it's getting tired before he's even begun. Time is constant. It doesn't stop for anything. It's certainly not going to wait for Calvin or anyone else for that matter. Time is big theme in RED ASPHALT-the lack of time, time running out, the passage of time, no time, overtime and, like I just said, wasting time. I guess it all boils down to mortality. But with writing, as time zips on past, there's always that possibility that the wonderful idea you have been slaving on for so long will someone else's as well. They may beat you to the punch, even if you came up with that brilliant idea first.

ETC: Explain.

SC: This has happened to me more times than I'd like to admit. My next novel, the one I alluded to earlier, has been my own dream project almost as long as ABRACADABRA was. In that time, I've seen two different things appear on the horizon-one, a movie the other, a TV series. Both derailed my book and forced me to make changes, else it looked like I was ripping them off. The movie was GHOST, the TV show, SIX FEET UNDER. Now that some time has past, I feel confident enough to move ahead.

ETC: This is the second time you've made some connection between you and Calvin

SC: For good reason. I based a lot of Calvin on myself. I've been a lab courier just like Calvin. I also taught traffic school. Calvin lives in the same house where I grew up...I take that back. I lived in the house next door. I'm also a writer with many of the same frustrations and conflicts Calvin has had.

ETC: So RED ASPHALT based on a true story?

SC: Sort of. I prefer "inspired by true events". I took a lot from my own life as inspiration, but it's not a biography. It's not supposed to be. It's a work of fiction. A lot of the people and events are true, but not all. Keep in mind that everyone and everything is seen through Calvin's eyes, a very skewed vision of the world to say the least.

ETC: What's the percentage of fact to fiction?

SC: I'd say about 60/40. That's 60 fact-40 fiction.

ETC: What was your reasoning for doing this?

SC: It's the old chestnut of "write what you know". I actually thought it would be easier. Once I jumped into the deep end of Lake Me, it became a lot more difficult. I began to see the real reason that I had for writing this story to begin with-to exorcise a lot of my personal demons. A lot of this book was written out of pain. Back in the early nineties, when I first conceived of this story, I was on quite a rocky road myself. Much of what I wrote came from a dark place that got even darker once I started digging. I ended up not delving into some of my real issues and instead embellished others in their stead. I didn't begin to see the light until about the middle of the second draft, realizing that this form of cheap therapy was actually working. I used to consider acting a form of therapy, but since I had to put that part of my life on the back burner, I needed another outlet or else I was going to end up a babbling baboon for the rest of my born days.

TO BE CONTINUED
STAY TUNED FOR THE EXCITING THRILL-PACKED CONCLUSION OF
"SCOTT CHERNEY:FACT OR FICTION?"

FOR MORE RED ASPHALT INFO, VISIT MY WEBSITE