Will You Please Fuck Off?—the movie

The one thing the world will never have enough of is the outrageous.—Salvador Dalí 

Toby travels with a woman who pays. He's got it made, except that her nine-year-old daughter is smarter than he is.  Based on the novella:
Lazy, good-for-nothing, pleasure-loving Toby, in flight from his creditors in America, has tried it as an English-teacher in Paris ("know-your-words sort of thing") and as a tour guide in Italy and Greece ("I've always regarded Europe as more or less of a restaurant.")

Proposed cast: Stelio Savante (Toby)
and has now relaxed into the good life, traveling with rich bubblehead Marcie,
to Bali, Hydra, Puerto Vallerta, wherever he can avoid cold weather and alarm clocks.  Marcie is the widow of a scientific genius, now dead in some wacko experiment, and her nine-year-old daughter by him, Andrea, thinks in megabytes.
And there's the rub: "Marcie is no smarter than anybody else; the child is smarter than anybody else"including Toby, who she treats as her yo-yo.  She'd have got rid of him long ago but her mommy loves him, so she keeps him around to, what, play with. 

Proposed cast: Ben Shockley (Haze)
Marcie’s father-in-law, billionaire Hazelton Turnbull “Hard Turd” Harding IV, loathes Toby, and loathes giving Marcie her allowance to feed him.  But he loves his little granddaughter, and there lies the control.
Now Haze has summoned Marcie and Andrea to London, so they can pose as a family while he pretends to buy and old house, but in fact wants to marry Marcie to Lord Michael, and pass the title on to Andrea.

Proposed cast: Scott Hinds (Lord Michael)

They distract Toby with Dr Lu, a hooker posing as a psychiatrist,
who lures him into compromising situations; one of which involves dropping his dry goods in front of the Queen.  

Proposed cast: Mary Reynolds (HRH) 
And as if he didn't have enough trouble, the house is haunted by a gay ghost who's in love with Toby.  

Proposed cast: Mat Baynton (Oliphant)

  Will You Please Fuck Off? is part of the Toby series:

 Pretentious Pictures presents a London comedy. 

OUT OF INDIA, An Action Adventure

Reg’d © Library of Congress
A jail bird, an Indian holy man and a woman from the WHO team up to spirit a herbal cure for hemorrhoids out of India.  Think of:

Proposed cast: Harrison Ford (Mitch)
MITCH, an American in India, is doing time in a Calcutta prison for smuggling (let’s not ask what), when a Bagwan, also in for smuggling, is thrown into the crowded cell with him.

The Bagwan's villagers have shown him a herbal cure for hemorrhoids—works instantly!— handed down secretly for millennia; not even the local Muslims know.  And he can spring Mitch if Mitch can get it out of the country. 

Proposed cast: Sir Ben Kingsley (the Bagwan)
Despite lucrative foreign contracts with pharmaceutical companies in Ohio, the BAGWAN can't get it out past the red tape.  It makes up as a suspicious-looking white powder and he can’t afford to baksheesh all those officials. 

The two go into business. Mitch takes a steel suitcase of the stuff out of the southern hills to Bombay, where an associate, a fisherman, will sail it past the customs cruisers to a waiting freighter.

But here's another steel suitcase being tied to the roof of a bus by an Afghan horseman.  

So heavy is it (so stuffed with opium) and so cumbersome that he puts a curse on it, and we follow that suitcase south into India on buses and trains, from runner to runner, watching the curse work its evil on each of them until, on the train into Bombay, it gets mixed up with Mitch’s. 

Proposed cast: Rebecca Hall (Jill)
As this is happening he meets Americans JILL and Harold from the World Health Organization, doing a report on Indian women. A starving kid grabs her traveler's checks, Mitch reluctantly intercepts them and lets the kid go, and their prickly relationship begins.

Proposed cast: Catherine Tate (Franny)

Also on the train is lascivious FRANNY, a small-time smuggler (it's a widely-practiced trade there), who guesses that Mitch too is a runner, and flirts with him shamelessly—

Proposed cast: Dev Patel (Shubash)

—although she has something going with shy and proper SHUBASH, an untouchable ("We'll see about that") she has brought into the first-class carriage over the objections of the conductors, and seduced.

He has sold his patrimonial acre and is on his way to Bombay (they say Bombay there, not "Mumbai") to make his fortune, though he knows he'll have to sleep on the sidewalk. 

When they get to Bombay and Mitch realizes the switch, and the opium is stolen, and the drug lord won’t believe him, and his fisherman contact is murdered, and a corpse is planted in his room, he goes to Jill for help.

She thinks he’s smuggling something bad but they’re already on a non-stop-bus-car-train-boat chase that gives her a closer look at the country, fast as it goes by, than she’d bargained for— 

Proposed cast: Satish Shah (Under-Assistant Sub-Inspector Pramod Gupta)

—until Mitch is arrested by Under-Assistant Sub-Inspector GUPTA, a likable fool despised by his superiors for being honest.  
Mitch persuades Gupta to have the ships in Madras port searched, and when nothing is found gives him the slip.  But Gupta stays on their trail.

Based on the novel.  Here's the first scene:


A BAGWAN (holy man), sixty, dignified, long white hair and beard, saffron robe, WALKS TOWARD US TAPPING his folded black umbrella like a cane, escorted by TWO GUARDS with heavy bamboo cudgels. 

They pause before an iron door, a guard UNLOCKS THE DOOR AND IT CREAKS as he opens it.  The Bagwan looks at the guards.  

They look at him.  He steps inside, still facing them and they SLAM IT on him, LOCK IT and WALK AWAY.


The BAGWAN turns to peer into the darkness. 

As his eyes grow used to it we see A HUNDRED MEN huddled on the floor with no room to move.

He steps among them firmly but awkwardly.

(indignant shout)
I am a Bagwan!

ONE MAN kneels up and touches the Bagwan’s shins with both hands, then his own heart; the Bagwan’s feet, his own heart.

OTHERS - sleepy, surly - ignore him.  As he steps through with more confidence, SOME make obeisance, OTHERS don’t. 

Sitting against the wall tightly squeezed among other PRISONERS, MITCH, a middle-aged Westerner, looks up, bearded, heavy-eyed, in rags: he’s been here for a while.  The Bagwan stands facing him.

BAGWAN (cont’d)
I am a Bagwan!


(manages to step forward importantly)
A Bagwan.

Good.  I’ve got a few questions.

I wish to be seated!

Why don’t you levitate?

The Bagwan would like a place against the wall!

Takes time to get to the wall.

The Bagwan BARKS ANGRILY IN HINDI at the man beside Mitch, who MOVES AWAY.  The Bagwan sits, and surveys his new estate.

You have questions?

How did I get here?

You are paying for the sins of a past life.

How did you get here?

Injustice!  For smuggling something perfectly legal!

A RAT SQUEALS.  Mitch quickly WHACKS it and lifts the dead RAT by the tail, its neck broken.

Meat for supper!  Got a match?

I do not eat flesh.

Deeper darkness.  A small fire of straw on the floor.  Mitch and THREE MEN pick at the bones of the roasted rat.

(to the Bagwan)
Got any floss?
(licks his fingers)
What were you smuggling?

Hemorrhoid medicine.
(to Mitch’s double-take)
An ancient remedy handed down in my village since before the Buddha.  Not even the local Muslims know.  Works instantly!  When I’d lived among them for a while they offered their secret up to God.

If I sit here much longer I’ll need some.

Secretaries, truck-drivers, beggars on curbs, pregnant women, homosexuals, holy men who sit for years meditating - I was a sufferer myself!  Now at last there is Bagwan Bubu’s All-Herbal Cure for Hemorrhoids!  On every corner will be my picture holding it up!  I’ll have an ashram with swimming pools and three hundred and sixty-six Rolls Royces - one for leap year!  How better to show contempt for such things? (FLINCHES at a COCKROACH crawling on him)

(plucks it off and eats it)
Not much protein in the diet. 
(back to the subject)
Why smuggle it?

I have no licence to export!  When I failed to fill the bowls of all the many officials I landed here!  It makes up as a white powder - very suspicious.  If the tests work I get two point five million dollars and thirty per cent of sales!  I have only to get it to Ohio!

You need an exporter.

(looks at him narrowly)
Not one who gets caught.

It happens.

What were you smuggling?

Mitch just winks at him.

BAGWAN (cont’d)
Where is the toilet?

They step among sleeping MEN toward two barrels.

BAGWAN (cont’d)
(sniffs each barrel, wrinkles his nose)
Which one is for drinking?

(sniffs each barrel)
I’m not sure.
(picks the most offensive and PEES in it)

(PEES in it too)
How were you caught?

They had a mind-reader at customs.  She saw my thoughts.

They FINISH, and drink with their hands from the other water.

(recoils in disgust)
We have pee-peeed in the wrong barrel!

(can only agree)
It happens.

They sit against the wall.

(whispers intimately)
Could you get a case of white powder out of India?

I’d have to get out of here first.

(smiles - that’s easy)
My villagers will raise enough to baksheesh these people.  If I arrange for your release you will be in my employ.

(shakes his head)

Not possible. You will have ten per cent.

Half.  Last price.

Twenty per cent. Last price.  Best price.

Half.  Best price.  Only price.

The Bagwan scowls.
 Reg’d © Library of Congress

Anger, Your

(A chapter in You Have Upset the Balance of the Universe by Being Born, by Dr. Robert MacLean, PhD: http://robertmaclean.blogspot.com/p/you-have-upset-balance-of-universe-by.html)

Anger simply cannot be made to disappear. Not by you.
It isn't like sex. Sex can sometimes be commanded away, at least for the moment (see SEX). It doesn't have to deform the judgment.
Anger does. It can be appeased by the object of your anger. He/she/they can acknowledge your value, recognize your pain, reward your effort and dissolve your anger from without. It's like reading a book that has an effect on you, seeing an exceptional film, falling in love with a painting--it can change your rate of metabolism for hours, days; alas seldom forever. This can be done to your anger but, I repeat, only from without.
In the absence of the world's solicitude your anger lies there wedged, a boulder in a gorge, blocking you. You have to go around. You have to climb. You have to leave behind much--sometimes everything--that you were. Your comfort, your dignity, your sense of being able to control what happens to you. You will resume these in another life, the life that awaits you on the far side of the boulder.
This, by the way, is why so much of the world believes in reincarnation (see SELF-IMAGE, YOUR). You are never sure whether reincarnation is to be looked upon as a reward or a punishment. As much as you revel in your own existence you find the idea of having to do it over and over again, odds are in relatively wretched circumstances, dreary beyond relief. Be assured. The fact that half the world believes in reincarnation is no more reason even to glance in that direction than the entire world's believing the earth is flat. Theories of the hereafter are invariably pictures of the now. Panic looks in the mirror. When it realizes it's looking in the mirror it disappears.
You reincarnate several times a day, and never more so than when you are angry.
There is something essentially unfair about anger. With every other emotion--love, sex, hunger, ambition, even fear (see FEAR)--you go forward to engage with the world in a way on which you can reasonably expect to follow through. Follow through on anger and you can wind up on Death Row.
(Freud ascribed guilt feelings to sexual desire. This may have been the case for the Victorian culture he rose to diagnose--see FREUD--but not for you. What makes you feel guilty is anger.)
It is seldom, to the point of negligibility, that your anger can be harnessed to some project that will benefit you. You want to destroy. You want to annihilate. It is irresistible, exponentially self-generating and inevitable. Anger, that is--and as bulky as these observations are they can crowd onto the pin prick of a murderous wrath--makes you angry.

Comedy of corpses MORTAL COIL

A funeral director in love with an heiress kidnaps her grandfather’s corpse to help her find the will the old man wrote and swallowed before dying.  
Based on the book, short-listed for the London Observer's P.G. Wodehouse Comic Novel Prize:
WARNING: there are details in here about the back room of a funeral parlor that you might rather not know.

The stage version is at Bakers Plays.


plus this:

equals this:

Proposed cast:
Seth Rogen
Delmore Danruther—clown, slacker, womanizer, wild man on the dance floor—takes nothing seriously, especially his job as a funeral director.

He fields the calls, picks up the bodies (sometimes from accident scenes, grotesquely distorted), sells the coffins, organizes the ceremonies, occasionally presides at them himself, and has to do all the jobs that go with the turf—help with the embalming, wash the cars and clean the toilets.

Amidst all this chillingly realistic death he's a Bugs Bunny of a guy—playful, ironic, false eyebrows as he reads a service, ball-and-paddle in the back room, loves driving the big cars.

But if he gets a call from someone whose family member has just died, he can suddenly be tender. And despite his boss's nagging he won't sell grief-vulnerable people coffins they can't afford.

Had a job hosing down buses at the terminal, then was picked up in a bar by Hannah Merklinger, whose husband owns the funeral home. She got him the job, part of which is keeping her happy.

Falls so deeply in love with Merrilie that he almost dies for her. When he gives his all and then finds her in bed with someone else, it breaks his heart and his spirit.

Proposed cast: Rebecca Hall
MerrilieGornton, twenty-five, beautiful, refined, the potential heiress to a huge fortune, moves in a horses-and-sports-cars world out of Delmore's reach, has a blond-god boyfriend in the background.

Combines innocence and curiosity in a way that keeps us guessing. Is she caring or calculating?

Is horrified when Delmore lets her see some realities in the back room, but discovers in herself a fascination with them that amounts—fortunately for him—to a fetish.

In discussion: Paul Mazursky
Anson Gornton, eighty-six, Merrilie's grandfather, CEO of multinational empire Gornton Pharmaceuticals and one of the richest men in the world, is on his death bed.

Creaky-voiced but loud and authoritative all the same.

Surrounded by family members awaiting their share of the pie.

Mistakenly pronounced dead, then wakes, takes Delmore in his cheap black suit for Death himself and confides in him.

We’re never sure if he’s crazy or making sense.

Extraordinarily well-hung.

Wraps his will in cigarette foil and swallows it before dying, causing a scramble for the body, which Delmore abducts.

Proposed cast: Peter Bogdanovich
The boss, funeral-home proprietor J. Luther Merklinger, late middle age, is a pasty, insipid tightwad.

Sucks up to the Gorntons.

Has it in for Delmore, who never makes any big sales. Suspects him of fun-having in the back room.

Has no idea his wife is sleeping with Delmore.
THEME SONG (for cheerful female voices, to the tune of "Shuffle off to Buffalo"): 

When you're in the mortuary
You may find it cold and scary—
No, no, don't recoil.
Off you're gonna shuffle,
Shuffle off this mortal coil!

Comes the undertaker later
And he'll drain your radiator
And he'll change your oil.
Off you're gonna shuffle,
Shuffle off this mortal coil!

First he'll put you on the table,
Then he'll pump out your insides.
He'll make your condition stable
With formal-de-hyde!

You'll be magotty and wormy—
It's enough to make you squirmy—
When you're in the soil.
Off you're gonna shuffle,
Shuffle off this mortal coil!

Just because you feel immortal
Doesn't mean you'll never die.
You'll get hard and rigor mortal—
No use to won-der why!

When you're pushing up the daisies
You'll be lying back and lazy--
No more moil and toil.
Off you're gonna shuffle,
Shuffle off this mortal coil!

Shuffle off, shuffle off, shuffle off, shuffle off,
Shuffle off this mor-tal coil!