When I saw the headline “Russia Attacks Georgia,” my first thought was: Does this make Red Dawn a documentary?

Yeah, wrong Georgia.

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I know, this is hardly an original sentiment these days, but I feel the need to add my voice to the choir asking the man to stop—just stop—before he does any more damage to my cherished entertainment memories.

It was bad enough when he decided to “improve” the original Star Wars trilogy with some highly obtrusive digital effects. Then, of course, he refused to allow fans to have the true, original, un-messed-with movies on DVD until they howled so much that he relented… and then turned out some half-assed non-anamorphic, non-restored, laserdisc ports and called it good. Not satisfied with constantly tweaking the old movies, he finally revisited the galaxy far, far away only to turn in three pretty bad films, full of clunky dialogue and stale plots, all so he could further play with all his digital toys, seeing just how many Gungans he could put on screen at one time before the render machine choked. Then he started cutting in elements from the new prequels into the original movies (Temuera Morrison’s voice for Boba Fett, Hayden Christensen in the Jedi lineup at the end of Return of the Jedi) to give his saga some semblance of planned cohesion. But now, no longer happy with botching the Star Wars universe, he’s turned his attention to Indiana Jones.

A little background, in case you don’t know. Frank Darabont, screenwriter and director of The Shawshank Redemption, was hired, among many other screenwriters, to work on a script for the new Indy movie several years ago, based on a story by Lucas. (At this point in my career as a jaded cynic, I realize that “story by Lucas” means he at one point said something to the effect of “Let’s do something with crystal skulls. And the lost city of gold. What’s it called? El Camino? Ah, look it up. Oh, and Russians. Throw some aliens in, too. I like aliens.”) So Darabont worked on the script for a year, collaborating closely with Spielberg, until he had something both he and Steven liked. Harrison Ford read it and said he was on board. Everyone was happy with the script… except Lucas. He scrapped it (sort of) and said they’d start over with a new screenwriter. Darabont was understandably upset and parted ways with Lucas. Indy 4 eventually got made with a new Lucas-approved script.

Now, I like Darabont, enjoy his work, and I was disappointed that his script didn’t make the cut. I was even more disappointed after seeing Indiana Jones and the Adult Diaper of Doom, finding it a hollow, pale imitation of the series’ former glory, disjointed, meandering, with lousy dialogue, obvious sets, a hero who is no longer the hero, and the clear indication that Lucas was grooming Shia LeBeouf’s character to be the new Indiana Jones. Still, that’s life in Hollywood. Tough break for Frank and the fans.

Then my good friend over at Scuzzbuster.net got his hands on what appears to be Darabont’s original script. He was nice enough to send it my way and I read through it. Suddenly I went from disappointed to outraged. This script was definitely better. The dialogue had that familiar Indiana Jones zing. Indy himself was more fully realized, given an actual character arc and development, rather than just putting the hat on again and calling it good. Marion was still in the movie, but now a far more active participant, involved in the quest in a direct way right from the beginning, not just someone who got kidnapped. There was more action, more humor, great nods to the original movies, just an all around better story. Indy was once again the star of the show, an active participant, rather than the tag-along baggage boy he basically is in the new movie. But it all got shelved because Lucas, out of new ideas, needs to keep mining his previous glory and had to establish a new character to take over for Ford so he can milk the franchise for three more pictures.

To add insult to injury, large chunks of Darabont’s script were lifted and placed in the new script. Sadly, the now-infamous refrigerator scene was one of those elements, but there were plenty of others: the fire ants, the warehouse chase, the rocket sled, the jungle truck chase, the three waterfalls, many more. Lucas apparently hand-picked some of the moments he decided were “cool” and had the new writer cram them in around the new material. So the audience gets a watered-down Indiana Jones movie, Lucas gets another $14 million, and everyone’s happy (except the audience).

Some folks will likely say I’m a fanboy whiner, that no Indiana Jones movie would have been good enough after 19 years of waiting. Possibly true. Those movies were from a different time, and I was a different person. Even Darabont’s script probably wouldn’t have provided the magic I felt back then. But you know what? Having read it, it probably would have come a lot closer and just been a generally better movie than what they wound up throwing on the screen, which is a shameless attempt to establish a new franchise at the expense of the old one. Lucas has even said he wants to do more Jones films, with Shia as the star and Ford as the sidekick, teaching the kid and passing the torch, and that’s why I have to implore Lucas to, for the love of God, stop. No more. Quit. Retire. Make home movies. Come up with some new ideas, if you can. But for crying out loud, stop destroying the franchises that made me fall in love with movies to begin with.

And Star Wars TV series, now? Two of them? Dude, it’s over.

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Have you ever had a nightmare, wake up, then you’re so scared you have a hard time going back to sleep? Why is that? Your brain made the whole thing up, it knows it was fake, now it’s too wigged out to sleep? Shouldn’t it just say, “Yeah, I was just yankin’ ya. I was ticked about that stupid Sudoku thing you made me do this afternoon. We even? Let’s get some sleep.”

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I believe I’ve mentioned in previous posts about how utterly suck my apartment complex is. I know I’ve mentioned the parking debacle, but now we have a fantastic new development.

We live on the top floor of a three-story building. There’s empty space above us, I think for ductwork and such, but no apartment and no people. About a week ago, my fiancee and I heard a strange scratching, rustling sound coming from the ceiling. We tapped the area with a broom handle and were rewarded with scampering footsteps. Obviously, some sort of local wildlife had found its way into the attic area directly above our apartment and was making itself right at home. Not comfortable with rodent-based life forms living overhead, I called the apartment office the next day to report the problem.

“We have some sort of animal living in the area above our apartment.”
“What makes you think it’s an animal?” they asked. Personally, I thought that was a pretty stupid question.
“Well, it’s running around and, by the sound of things, chewing on wood and wires. So unless you’re missing a maintenance guy who’s gone feral, it’s an animal.”
“We’ll send someone over right away.”

Turns out “right away” actually means “never” as a week has gone by and absolutely nothing has been done. The critter is still up there. Worse, it sounds like now he has friends, and some of them are large. We’ve had some pretty serious thuds from up above. I envision a raccoon and a ‘possum helping each other drag in little couches and end tables.

I’ve called the office twice more, still with no results. I called again today, Sunday, and was told that there were no maintenance people available on Sunday, apparently because nothing ever breaks on the weekends.

“You do understand that this thing is chewing up your property, right?” I asked the woman on the phone. “Isn’t it in your best interest to stop it before it does any more damage?”
“There’s nothing I can do today. I can put in another maintenance request and have them call you, if that would help.”
“How exactly will that help?”
“Well… you’ll know that they’re going to look into it.”
“Can’t you call Animal Control?”
“No, this is a maintenance issue.”
“Well, they’re not around. Tell you what, I’ll call Animal Control for you.”
“Oh, no. You can’t do that. It’s not your property. We have to do that.”
“OK, then do that.”
“I can’t. That’s a maintenance issue.”

They all used to be government employees, you can just tell.

So as I type this, the increasingly bold critter and his friends sound like they’re having a rave party directly above my head. And they’re chewing on the rafters for appetizers. And all I can do is wait for tomorrow for the maintenance guy to call (assuming he even will) which will somehow miraculously fix all of our problems.

I wonder if I can at least charge the furry little bastard rent?

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I’ve been seeing a lot of signs posted along the side of the road lately that say, “Stop Paying Rent!” and then there’s a phone number. Frankly, I think this is a fantastic idea and have chosen to take the sign’s advice and stop paying my rent. I’m sure my apartment complex will understand. If they give me any grief, I’ll just have them call the phone number on the sign. Let them sort it out.

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I find it hard to take anyone seriously who uses the phrase “super-duper” in a conversation.

Also, “rinky-dink.”

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