We Are the Light(33)
“We’re playing the leads,” Eli said, leaning forward in the recliner with a protective glint in his eye. “Mr. Goodgame and I will also be codirecting. We insist on retaining control of the script.”
“We also absolutely must premier the film at the Majestic Theater,” I added. “That’s nonnegotiable.”
“Of course,” Mark said.
“It’s the whole point,” Tony added. “Why we’re sitting here with you this morning.”
“We want to…” Mark said. “How did you put it last night?”
“Sanctify the space?” I said.
Mark and Tony nodded.
But the tension returned when they insisted on reading the script before they committed. With our fate dangling in the balance, Eli and I pulled up the PDF on my laptop and then gave them the room.
Outside, we threw a Frisbee back and forth in the space between the tent and the backside of our home.
The boy was a bit inflated—as you Jungians would say—by Mark and Tony’s flattery and attention. I know because he kept trying to make trick catches—one-hand grabs behind his back and between his legs—which he pulled off about forty percent of the time, but with unending energy and glee and even cockiness.
“Don’t worry, Mr. Goodgame. They’re going to love it. How could they not?”
“But will they get it?”
“They said they went to film school, right? They own the historic Majestic Theater! If not them, then who?” Eli said, before listing many other facts about Mark and Tony meant to prove that they were film aficionados and therefore our storytelling equals—meaning we’d all surely get along fine, creatively speaking.
But then Eli frowned and said, “You don’t think they’ll find our script derivative, do you? I mean all monster movies follow a basic format, so it’s not plagiarism so much as paying homage to beloved tropes. Right?”
He went on for a bit about the genre here, listing specific scenes, plot points, and themes from films I’ve heard of and some I’ve even seen—like Dracula and Creature from the Black Lagoon and Wolf Man and Frankenstein and King Kong—and others I’d never even heard of, such as Gojira and Cat People and The Leopard Man and The Beast from 20,000 Fathoms. Eli’s monster movie lectures are always interesting and animated by unbeatable passion, but I was growing more and more concerned that Tony and Mark wouldn’t pick up on the subtext of our story—what didn’t smack you across the face with black-and-white letters on the first read through, but instead buzzed with great life-giving authority in the peripheral.
A complete and thorough grasp of what we’d accomplished surely required multiple reads over weeks and maybe even months. Was it even possible to specifically get—in just one rushed read—that the film wasn’t simply about “a monster” at all but was a nuanced exploration of a real human boy’s wounded psyche? A boy who feels like a monster? And would they understand the subtle complexity of the makeshift father figure who loves the boy monster despite all his shortcomings? Would they get that this unlikely platonic love bond teaches an entire town how to be human again? That the town is embittered by a tragedy that really has nothing to do with the boy monster in question, but on whom they projected all of their hate and shame and frustration anyway? Would Mark and Tony appreciate the level of difficulty required to complete the mission that winged Darcy had laid squarely on my shoulders—what had made my bones hum in glorious vibration?
I knew it would kill me dead if Mark and Tony emerged from the read with mixed emotions and post-read notes about adding more car chases or steamy love scenes or discussions about product placements or maybe even suggestions about elevating the talent level, especially since neither Eli nor I had ever officially acted before. But if completely unknown Ben Affleck and Matt Damon could star in a multi-million-dollar production of Good Will Hunting, surely Eli and I could star in our own local production of The Majestic Prince of Monsters. Mark and Tony weren’t even real Hollywood producers anymore, and there was no world in which I’d sell out the integrity of our film to the first local yokels who came knocking. No, I would stand my ground! And I’d stand it with unmovable dignity and a pride that transcends fame and money and the approval of the local film community!
I had really gotten myself worked up in the backyard, while throwing the Frisbee and awaiting the fate of our movie script.
But then Eli was pointing back toward the house. When I turned around, Mark and Tony were giving us four thumbs-up. And then we were all shaking hands and talking about putting our film together—outlining all the required logistics, most of which I hadn’t even known existed, let alone considered.
“The Survivors’ Group members will be given first chance to play the roles,” I said once again. “That’s nonnegotiable.”
“Sure thing,” Mark said, smiling like a proud father might. Then he added, “This is going to be a really big deal for our town.”
“Utterly transcendent,” Tony echoed. “Art will win.”
And then before I knew it we were all at the Cup Of Spoons sharing the good news with Jill, who made us each a BLT and a cup of tomato summer soup, meaning chilled. The four of us sat there sipping and munching and smiling and talking about the movie and—halfway through the meal—I realized that I had simply forgotten to scan the room for people who might be staring at Eli or me. And when I observed Eli, I saw that he too had forgotten to be self-conscious, even with the back of his head shaved and a huge white bandage stuck to his skull, which was conspicuous as a toilet paper train emerging from the back of one’s trousers.