Sunday, July 16, 2017

Suitmation V: SuperCult Reanimation

Suitmation V: SuperCult Reanimation
by William D. Tucker 

take after take
different angles
hour upon hour
I do the specified actions
can't see shit
but all the moves are mapped out
I don't need to see
to make the moves
better that I don't see
or understand this moron movie at any level other than profit motif

the script is video game adaptation sequel junk, read a page or two,
lost interest,
forced myself to choke the rest of it down
my indifferent contempt
almost made me forget to purify myself as per doctrine
but it is better that I am present
to take on the pollution
wring value from fraudulent pseudo-cinema

I said sequel
because the first one made money
so they're firing up a bargain basement sequel
tied to the most recent game release
market research indicated a strong showing even among the hatewatchers
make money by design
that's the only way to do it

so I endure tedium, risk heat exhaustion under all that rubber and plastic
soon enough
that's a wrap
applause from the crew
no stars brave enough to wade this deep into the  schedule
who's in this movie again?

I go back to my hotel room for the cat nap
the meditation,
the ritual ablutions,
get my head together for what I'm compelled to do
after every one of these turd-shoots

I pull on my sleek-suit
the sensory deprivation snug-helmet that's more mask than helmet but it's just enough of a helmet, too
and in the early AM
I put on the final layer
the gear I've constructed at my own expense which closely approximates the film getup
and I work through all the moves I learned in fragments
work through them 'til they're in a continuous flow
I fill in all the logical gaps of that dumbfuck script
bring a pathos I hope is worthy of Karloff, Chaney, Chaney Jr., Lugosi, Lee, and all the potent and honorable Japanese monster performers past, present, and future,
until the stupidity, incoherence, and greed are properly expunged
and I have my own perfect cut of the film unspooling inside my heart
and I'm free to get on with my life.

Sitting on some park bench watching the sun rise
monsterhead-encased snug-helmet next to my hip
burning up in the rest of my gear, body crackling with unearthly energies
no trace of fatigue
better than sleep, dreams, all that standard shit.
-July 2017

Copyright 2017 by William D. Tucker. All rights reserved. Used with permission. 
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